Across America, strange things are happening. Seemingly ordinary, middle-aged citizens are, without explanation, attacking formerly top secret government facilities. The attackers are from all different walks of life. One was an auto mechanic. Another was a priest. There was even a housewife who, after blowing up a power station, committed suicide with a poison pill that the KGB stopped issuing a decade ago. Before launching their attacks, each one of them received a phone call in which a Russian man recited a poem by Robert Frost.
The Americans may not understand what is happening but the Soviets do. Immediately after the Cuban Missile Crisis, the KGB planted sleeper agents across the United States. They hypnotized and brainwashed the agents so thoroughly that they no longer remember that they are agents. The Frost poem was the trigger designed to activate the agents, all of whom were meant to attack what were then valuable parts of America’s infrastructure. With the arrival of détente, the program was abandoned and the sleeper agents were simply left behind in the United States. But now, a former hardliner (Donald Pleasence), is activating the agents one by one. Because he has a photographic memory, KGB colonel Charles Bronson is sent to the United States to track down and kill Pleasence before the United States discovers the truth about what is happening. Lee Remick, as an American KGB agent, is assigned to work with him but is also ordered to kill him once the assignment has been completed.
That Telfon is one of Charles Bronson’s better post-Death Wish films is largely due to the presence of Don Siegel in the director’s chair. As a director who specialized in intelligent genre films and who helped to make Clint Eastwood one of the world’s biggest stars with Dirty Harry, Coogan’s Bluff, The Beguiled, and Escape from Alcatraz, Don Siegel was the ideal director to bring out the best in Bronson. Like St. Ives, Telefon features Bronson in an uncharacteristically cerebral role. For once, he spends more time analyzing clues than he does shooting people and Bronson is surprisingly credible as a man with a photographic memory.
As directed by Siegel, Telefon is almost a satire of the type of violent action films that Bronson usually made for directors like Michael Winner. In Telefon, both the bad guys and the good guys are equally clueless. All of the KGB sleeper agents are dumpy and middle-aged and the film continually emphasizes that they’ve all been brainwashed to attack targets that are no longer strategically important. Donald Pleasence, playing one of his raving villains, wears a blonde, Beatles-style wig for much of the film.
Though the ending is a let down, Telefon is still one of the best of Bronson’s late 70s films.
(I originally shared this film back in 2011 — can you believe we’ve been doing this for that long? — but the YouTube vid was taken down. So, I’m resharing it today!)
For today’s excursion into the world of public domain horror, I offer up the film debut of Francis Ford Coppola. Before Coppola directed the Godfathers and Apocalypse Now, he directed a low-budget, black-and-white thriller that was called Dementia 13. (Though, in a sign of things to come, producer Roger Corman and Coppola ended up disagreeing on the film’s final cut and Corman reportedly brought in director Jack Hill to film and, in some cases, re-film additional scenes.)
Regardless of whether the credit should go to Coppola, Corman, or Hill, Dementia 13 is a brutally effective little film that is full of moody photography and which clearly served as an influence on the slasher films that would follow it in the future. Speaking of influence,Dementia 13 itself is obviously influenced by the Italian giallo films that, in 1963, were just now starting to make their way into the drive-ins and grindhouses of America.
In the cast, keep an eye out for Patrick Magee, who later appeared as Mr. Alexander in A Clockwork Orange as well as giving a memorable performance in Lucio Fulci’s The Black Cat. Luana Anders, who plays the duplicitous wife in this film, showed up in just about every other exploitation film made in the 60s and yes, the scene where she’s swimming freaks me out to no end.
(One final note: I just love the title Dementia 13. Seriously, is that a great one or what?)
It may seem strange, at first, that I am including the 1971 best picture nominee, A Clockwork Orange, in a series of Back to School reviews. Certainly, Stanley Kubrick’s iconic adaptation of Anthony Burgess’s novel is not usually described as being a film about juvenile delinquency but that’s exactly what it is.
Many viewers tend to forget that Alex (played by Malcolm McDowell, who was nearly 30 at the time) and his three droogs are all meant to be teenagers. (Only Michael Tarn, who played Pete, was actually a teenager at the time the film was shot. Warren “Dim” Clarke and James “Georgie” Marcus were both in their late 20s.) There’s even a lengthy scene in which Alex is interrogated by a social worker, P.R. Deltoid (Aubrey Morris). Viewers are usually so surprised when Deltoid suddenly grabs Alex’s crotch that they forget that the whole reason Deltoid even came to the flat was to find out why Alex had been skipping school. (“Pain in my gulliver,” was Alex’s oft-quoted excuse.)
So, make no mistake about it. Among other things, A Clockwork Orange is a film about both the problem of juvenile delinquency and the continuing debate concerning what the authorities should do about it. Stylistic and philosophical differences aside, A Clockwork Orange comes from the same cinematic family tree that’s given us everything from Rebel Without A Cause to Bully to Spring Breakers.
Of course, that’s not all that A Clockwork Orange is about. It’s a Kubrick film, which means that there’s several different layers to work through and multiple interpretations for what we see on-screen. For those who may not be familiar with the film, it takes place in a recognizable but futuristic England. (One of my favorite theories is that A Clockwork Orange was about what was happening on Earth while David Bowman was becoming the starchild in 2001: A Space Odyssey.) It’s a violent world, one where there appears to be significantly fewer people around than in the past. The streets are deserted and bombed out. Occasionally, when Alex returns to his home, he passes a mural of idealized working men creating a new world. This rather banal work of Socialist realism has been defaced by obscene drawings and mocking graffiti.
Teenage Alex spends his nights hanging out with his friends (or, as he calls them, droogs), Pete, Georgie, and Dim. They drink at the Korova Milk Bar and wear obscenely oversized codpieces, signifying this society’s obsession with outsized masculinity. When they speak (and when Alex narrates the film), they do so in a rhyming slang called Nadsat. Under Alex’s sociopathic leadership, they spend their nights raping women, beating the homeless, and fighting with other gangs. When Alex is not with his droogs, he enjoys lying around the house and listening to Beethoven (or “Ludwig Van” as he calls him).
After being betrayed by his droogs (who have tired of Alex’s cockiness), Alex ends up imprisoned for murder. However, Alex is offered an early release if he’s willing to take part in the Ludovico Treatment. For two weeks, Alex is drugged and forced to watch violent and sexual films while the music of Beethoven plays in the background. As a result of the treatment, Alex grows physically ill at the thought of both violence and sex but he can also no longer listen to Beethoven. Arguably, as a result of being cursed of his anti-social tendencies, he has lost the only non-destructive thing that he enjoyed.
Over the objections of the prison chaplain (who argues that robbing Alex of his free will is not the same as rehabilitating him), Alex is sent back into the real world and he quickly discovers that he now has no place in it. His parents have rented his room out to a boarder who is now more of a son to them than Alex ever was. The streets are full of men who were previously tormented by Alex and who now wants revenge. In perhaps the film’s most brilliant moment, Alex discovers that his former droogs are now members of the police force. Though they may now be wearing uniforms, Dim and Georgie are still as destructive and dangerous as Alex once was. The difference is that Alex was caught and cured whereas Dim and Georgie discovered they could do just as much damage as authority figures as they did as juvenile delinquents.
In fact, the only people who now care about Alex are the political dissidents who hope to use Alex to discredit the government. However, the dissidents aren’t particularly worried about Alex’s well-being either. He’s just a prop to be used for their own ambitions. Even worse, for Alex, is the fact that one of the dissidents is Mr. Alexander (Patrick Magee), a writer who lost both his ability to walk and his wife to an earlier assault committed by Alex…
(Interestingly enough, Mr. Alexander’s boyguard is played by David Prowse, who later become the ultimate symbol of government oppression when he was cast as Darth Vader in Star Wars.)
A Clockwork Orange is a brilliant film but it’s one about which I have very mixed feelings. On the one hand, you can’t deny the power of the film’s imagery. How many times has just the opening shot — of McDowell staring at us while wearing one fake eyelash — been imitated on TV and in other movies? How much of the film’s dialogue — from “pain in my gulliver” to “the old in-out” — has lived on long past the movie? Regardless of how many times I’ve seen A Clockwork Orange, the film’s electronic score (from Wendy Carlos) never ceases to amaze me. Finally, it’s a film that argues that free will is so important that even a sociopath like Alex must be allowed to have it and that, as the chaplain argues, true goodness comes from within and cannot be manufactured or regulated by a government agency. (It’s also a film that suggests that the government would be just as quick to use the Ludovico Treatment not just on the evil Alexes on the world but on anyone who dared to dissent from the party line.) As I’m something of a “Freedom of Choice” absolutist, that’s a message to which I responded.
(At the same time, A Clockwork Orange does not argue that Alex’s actions should be free of consequences. If anything, the film’s message seems to be that things would have been better for literally everyone if the government had just left Alex in jail, as opposed to trying to “fix” what was wrong with him.)
And yet, I have mixed feelings about A Clockwork Orange. I guess my main issue is that the film doesn’t always play fair. Malcolm McDowell is allowed to give a charismatic and well-rounded performance as Alex but nearly everyone else in the film is directed and written as a one-dimensional caricature. Whereas Anthony Burgess’s novel emphasized the very real damage that Alex did to his victims, the film tends to surround Alex with comedic grotesqueries. By both making Alex the only fully developed character in the entire film and then casting the energetic and charismatic Malcolm McDowell in the role, the film seems, at times, to come dangerously close to letting Alex off the hook for his worst crimes. It also leaves the film open to the oft-repeated charge of glamorizing sex and violence. (According to Roger Lewis’s biography of the author, that was Anthony Burgess’s opinion of the film.) For the record, I don’t think A Clockwork Orange is an immoral film but I understand why some people disagree.
For that reason, A Clockwork Orange remains a controversial film. In fact, I’m somewhat surprised that this subversive and deliberately confrontational film was nominated for best picture. It was only the 2nd (and last) X-rated film to receive a best picture nomination. Though it lost to The French Connection, A Clockwork Orange continues to be a powerful and controversial film to this day. Perhaps the biggest indication of A Clockwork Orange‘s success is that it’s still being debated 45 years after it was first released.
(I originally shared this film back in 2011 — can you believe we’ve been doing this for that long? — but the YouTube vid was taken down. So, I’m resharing it today!)
For today’s excursion into the world of public domain horror, I offer up the film debut of Francis Ford Coppola. Before Coppola directed the Godfathers and Apocalypse Now, he directed a low-budget, black-and-white thriller that was called Dementia 13. (Though, in a sign of things to come, producer Roger Corman and Coppola ended up disagreeing on the film’s final cut and Corman reportedly brought in director Jack Hill to film and, in some cases, re-film additional scenes.)
Regardless of whether the credit should go to Coppola, Corman, or Hill, Dementia 13 is a brutally effective little film that is full of moody photography and which clearly served as an influence on the slasher films that would follow it in the future. Speaking of influence, Dementia 13 itself is obviously influenced by the Italian giallo films that, in 1963, were just now starting to make their way into the drive-ins and grindhouses of America.
In the cast, keep an eye out for Patrick Magee, who later appeared as Mr. Alexander in A Clockwork Orange as well as giving a memorable performance in Lucio Fulci’s The Black Cat. Luana Anders, who plays the duplicitous wife in this film, showed up in just about every other exploitation film made in the 60s and yes, the scene where she’s swimming freaks me out to no end.
(One final note: I just love the title Dementia 13. Seriously, is that a great one or what?)
It took me two viewings to really appreciate the film Chariot of Fire.
First released in 1981, Chariots of Fire won the Oscar for best picture. It’s also one of the few British productions to take the top award. (British films are regularly nominated but the winner is usually an American production.) A few nights ago, it was broadcast on TCM and I watched it for the first time. And I have to admit that I struggled to follow the film.
It’s not that the film’s story was exceptionally complicated. At heart, it’s an inspirational sports film and it features all of the clichés that one usually associates with inspirational sports films — i.e., come-from-behind victories, eccentric trainers, athletes who are determined to compete under their own terms, training montages, and a memorable score. (The score for Chariots of Fire was so effective that it’s still used as the background music for countless Olympic specials.)
No, I struggled to follow the film because it really was just so extremely British, featuring everything from Cambridge to Gilbert and Sullivan to a rigidly enforced class system to casual anti-Semitism, This may have been a sports film but it was a very reserved sports film. If Chariots of Fire had been an American film, we would have gotten countless shots of people screaming, “YESSSSS! GO! GO! GO! GO!” Instead, the characters in Chariots of Fire are far more likely to say, “Good show, old boy.” Whereas an American sports film would have scored a montage of competition to the sound of “Eye of the Tiger,” Chariots of Fire features a men’s chorus singing, “For he is an Englishman….”
It takes a bit of getting used to and perhaps I knew that because, even as I was watching Chariots of Fire, I still set the DVR to record it. The first time I watched the film, I was overwhelmed by the culture shock and the resolute Britishness of it all. My reaction was to think that, much like The Big Chill, Chariots of Fire was a “you just had to be there” type of film, the type of film that was once impressive but now just inspires you to go “meh.”
And I was prepared to write a review stating just that. But, somehow, in the back of my mind, I knew that I should give Chariots of Fire another chance before I dismissed it. Maybe it was the fact that I couldn’t get the damn music out of my head. Who knows? But I couldn’t think about the film’s opening — with all those men running on the beach and getting mud all over their white uniforms — without smiling.
So, seeing as how I am currently snowed in for the weekend, I spent this morning watching Chariots of Fire for a second time and I’m glad that I did. Because you know what? Chariots of Fire is actually a pretty good film. It tells the story of Eric Lidell (Ian Charleson) and Harold Abrahams (Ben Cross), two British runners who competed at the 1924 Olympics. Harold is a student at Cambridge. He’s an angry young man who is running to prove all of the anti-Semites wrong. (Of course, Harold is angry in a very sort of upper class British way). Eric is the son of missionaries who views running as a mission from God and who refuses to run on a Sunday. The film looks gorgeous, Charleson and Cross both give good performances, and that music demands an emotional response. While Chariots of Fire may not be a great film, it’s definitely a likable film and there’s something to be said for that.
“It was in the reign of George III that the aforesaid personages lived and quarreled; good or bad, handsome or ugly, rich or poor, they are all equal now.”
— Barry Lyndon (1975)
As I may have mentioned yesterday on this site, Texas has finally caught up with the rest of this frozen country. Starting on Sunday night, it has finally been cold and wintry down in my part of the world! For two days straight, schools have been closed and the streets have been covered in ice. And, even though the temperature got slightly above freezing today, I have been told that I can expect to wake up tomorrow morning to a snowy wonderland.
And I hope that’s the case because I would love to stay home on Wednesday! Ever since the 31 Days of Oscar began, I have recorded so many movies off of TCM that I am running dangerously close to running out of space on the DVR. The best thing about being snowed (or iced) in is that it gives me an opportunity to watch some of those films.
For instance, I spent this afternoon watching the 1975 best picture nominee Barry Lyndon. And when I say that I spent an afternoon, I mean that literally. Clocking in at a little over 3 hours, Barry Lyndon is a film that’s so long that it even provides an intermission so the you can stand up and stretch your legs.
Seriously, I was really thankful for that intermission.
Which not to say that Barry Lyndon is a bad film. Far from it! It’s actually one of the best films to be included in this year’s 31 Days of Oscars. While I may have no first hand knowledge of what it was like to live in the 1700s, I can now say that I definitely have a clue on account of the fact that I’ve seen Barry Lyndon.
Directed by the great Stanley Kubrick and based on a novel by William Makepeace Thackery, Barry Lyndon tells the story of a penniless Irishman Redmond Barry (Ryan O’Neal) who, following a duel with a wealthy British captain, is forced to flee from his home. After being robbed by a highwayman, Barry joins the British army but, upon being sent to fight in Germany, discovers that he has no love for combat. As such, Barry deserts but is then captured by and forced to enlist in the Prussian Army. Once the war ends, Barry is order to spy on a professional gambler who the Prussians suspect might, himself, be a spy. Barry and the gambler soon become partners and travel around Europe together. However, Barry has decided that he now wants to marry into wealth and he gets that chance when he meets the Countess of Lyndon (Marisa Berensen), whose husband is dying.
When we come back, Redmond Barry is now known as Barry Lyndon and appears to have everything that he’s ever wanted. However, while Barry may have been naturally lucky when he was poor, the opposite is true once he’s rich. Despite his new station in life, Barry is never truly accepted by his wife’s circle of friends. Furthermore, his son, Bryan (David Morley) is injured while out riding a horse and Lady Lyndon has a nervous breakdown as a result. Meanwhile, Barry’s stepson, Lord Bullington (Leon Vitali), hates him and spends most of his time plotting ways to get rid of his stepfather.
And, naturally enough, it all leads to one final duel in a barn, in which two men point guns while surrounded by the deafening sounds of hundreds of pigeons cooing.
I’m at something of a disadvantage when it comes to reviewing Barry Lyndon because I watched it on television and Barry Lyndon is one of those films that demands to be seen on a big screen. For all of the dramatic moments and satirical asides (this film has a wonderfully snarky narrator), Barry Lyndon is ultimately most concerned with recreating the past as authentically as possible. Watching this film, you really do feel as if you’ve traveled back to the 18th Century, where all of the rooms are lit by candle light and one’s station in life can be determined by the ornateness of his or her costume.
As I watched Barry Lyndon, I had to wonder — whatever happened to Ryan O’Neal? I recently saw O’Neal in a film called The Listand it was hard to believe that the terrible actor from that film was the same guy who starred in Barry Lyndon. Kubrick may not have a reputation for being an actor’s director but Ryan O’Neal gives a great performance in Barry Lyndon. (Compare O’Neal’s performance in the earlier Love Storyto his performance here and you’ll see how good a job Kubrick did when it came to directing O’Neal.) When we first meet Barry, he is an almost passive aggressive character, a cunning guy who has the patience necessary to wait for his opportunity to advance. It’s only during the second half of the film that Barry becomes a truly sympathetic character, redeemed by both his love for his son and the fact that all of his enemies are even worse than him. The strength of Ryan O’Neal’s performance can be found in the fact that Barry can be both amoral and sympathetic at the same time.
So, I’m glad that the streets were icy on Tuesday. I’m thankful because it gave me a chance to watch Barry Lyndon.
And yes, I’m also very thankful for that intermission.
So here we are, 24 days into October, and I have yet to share an old Vincent Price film! It’s not October without at least a little contribution from Vincent. Well, allow me to correct that with today’s horror on the lens, the 1964 Roger Corman film The Masque of the Red Death.
Based on the classic story by Edgar Allan Poe, this film features Vincent Price giving one of his best performances as the doomed and decadent Satanist Prince Prospero. The film’s cinematographer was future director Nicolas Roeg and The Masque of the Red Death is probably one of the most visually impressive of all of Corman’s films.
Tonight was the season finale of Game of Thrones season 4. It was another great piece of storytelling that managed to juggle several subplots and giving each one their own time to shine.
The latest “Guilty Pleasure” is the 1980 epically mind-numbing fantasy film Hawk the Slayer starring the great Jack Palance in the the villainous role of Voltan the evil elder brother to the film’s title character, Hawk the Slayer. This film is in the other side of the quality spectrum of tonight’s Game of Thrones season finale.
Hawk the Slayer was part of the 80’s flood of sword and sorcery films that included such titles as Conan the Barbarian, Beastmaster and Ladyhawke. To say that this film was bad would be an understatement. Yet, I’m quite drawn to it whenever I see it on TV. In fact, it was on syndication that I first saw this when I was just a wee lad. I might have been around 9 or 10 when I came across it halfway through.
Maybe it was the fact that I was just discovering Advanced Dungeons & Dragons, but this film spoke to me. It had that timeless story of brother against brother. The evil tyrant with legions of evil ne’er do wells against a small band of class-specific heroes and rogues. I mean this had it all. We had the hero of the film who I would probably place in the swordsman class. Then we had Ranulf with his repeating crossbow that would be the band’s rogue. Of course, there’s Gort the giant with his mighty hammer and Baldin the dwarf skilled in the art of the whip. But the one character that really shouted RPG for me throughout this film was Crow the Elf who could fire his bow as fast as any machine gun I’ve ever seen.
I think it’s very awfulness is why I keep returning to it whenever I see it on TV. The acting is atrocious with special effects that even in 1980 would be seen as laughable. The characters themselves were so one-note that one wonders if the person who wrote the screenplay was actually a trained monkey. Yet, the film was fun for all those reasons. It’s one of those titles that one would express as being so bad it’s good. Even now, with childhood several decades past, I still enjoy watching Hawk the Slayer and always wonder when they plan to get the sequel set-up and made.
Oh, the synth-heavy disco-fantasy-western soundtrack was also something to behold.
For today’s excursion into the world of public domain horror, I offer up the film debut of Francis Ford Coppola. Before Coppola directed the Godfathers and Apocalypse Now, he directed a low-budget, black-and-white thriller that was called Dementia 13. (Though, in a sign of things to come, producer Roger Corman and Coppola ended up disagreeing on the film’s final cut and Corman reportedly brought in director Jack Hill to film and re-film additional scenes.)
Regardless of whether the credit should go to Coppola, Corman, or Hill, Dementia 13 is a brutally effective little film that is full of moody photography and which clearly served as an influence on the slasher films that would follow it in the future. Speaking of influence, Dementia 13 itself is obviously influenced by the Italian giallo films that, in 1963, were just now starting to make their way into the drive-ins and grindhouses of America.
In the cast, keep an eye out for Patrick Magee, who later appeared as Mr. Alexander in A Clockwork Orange as well as giving a memorable performance in Lucio Fulci’s The Black Cat. Luana Anders, who plays the duplicitous wife in this film, showed up in just about every other exploitation film made in the 60s and yes, the scene where she’s swimming freaks me out to no end.
(One final note: I just love the title Dementia 13. Seriously, is that a great one or what?)
For my first horror review of October, I want to tell you about a movie that was directed by one of my favorite Italian filmmakers, Lucio Fulci. That movie is the unjustly neglected Gato nero, or the Black Cat.
In The Black Cat (loosely — and I do mean loosely — based on Edgar Allan Poe’s short story), the great David Warbeck plays a detective who is sent to a small English village to investigate a series of mysterious deaths. Corpses are turning up covered in scratches. A man crashes his car after a black cat suddenly shows up in the passenger’s seat. A young couple is found dead in a locked-up boathouse. Evidence suggests that the killer entered through a small air vent. No human could fit through that vent but…how about a cat? Warbeck enlists the aid of a visiting American photographer (Mimsy Farmer) to investigate the crimes and he soon comes across a half-crazed medium (Patrick Magee) who just happens to own an adorable, if ill-tempered, black cat…
Fulci is well-known for directing such seminal (and gory) horror films as Zombi 2 and The Beyond trilogy. The Black Cat was made during the same period of time as his more infamous films but it has never received as much attention. Perhaps that’s because The Black Cat almost doesn’t feel like a Fulci film. The gore is played down, the plot is coherent and (for a Fulci film) surprisingly linear, and the film even has a playful sense of humor to it. Indeed, this often feels more like a minor, if entertaining, Hammer film than a Fulci film. However, visually, this film is clearly the work of Lucio Fulci. With his constantly prowling camera following isolated characters through dark streets and passageways, Fulci manages to make a small English village feel just as menacing as the dying Caribbean island from Zombi 2. For all the attention given to Fulci as a “master of gore,” the true strength of his best films came from Fulci’s ability to create a palpable atmosphere of dread. Fulci used gore as a tool but not as a crutch and if The Black Cat is a minor Fulci film, it’s still a film that proves that he was a far better director than even many of his fans give him credit for.
The Black Cat is surprisingly well-acted by a cast that’s made up of an appealing combination of Fulci regulars and English B-movie veterans. I read an old interview in which Warbeck complained that he felt his performance here was “boring,” but actually he was the perfect lead for this type of film, likable and with enough of a sense of humor to keep you watching. Al Cliver may not be a household name but he and his blonde mustache seemed to show up in just about every movie Fulci made and he shows up here as well. This time, he’s playing a local English constable and he’s no more believable here than he was playing a scientist in The Beyond or a boat captain in Zombi 2. Still, any true Fulci fan will always be happy to see Cliver show up in a Fulci film because — much like familiar but bland wall paper — he lets us know that we’re home. Patrick Magee is probably best known for his over-the-top performance as Mr. Alexander in A Clockwork Orange. Magee goes just as much over-the-top here but, just as in A Clockwork Orange, Magee’s performance fits in perfectly with the film he’s appearing in. Much as Stanley Kubrick contrasted Magee’s performance with Malcolm McDowell’s more subtle work, Fulci contrasts Magee’s theatrical approach with the more relaxed performances of Warbeck and Farmer. Did I just compare Lucio Fulci to Stanley Kubrick? Yes, I did and I stand by it.
However, the real star of this film is the black cat. Trust me, this black cat (or black cats as I imagine several were used) is both adorable and blood-thirsty. I still say that our cat Doc is the cutest black cat in the world but this film’s murderous feline comes in a very close second.
Through the Shattered Lens 