Tuesday, January 20, 2009

I've Been Dardosed

Pierre Fournier, the mastermind behind the wonderfully obsessive Frankensteinia blog, kindly wrote the other day to inform me that I'd been chosen as one of his five tag-ees for the Dardos blogging Award. I'm not sure where the Dardos Award originated because I'm pretty far down the line of recipients, as far as I can tell, but here's the legend behind it:

"The Dardos Award is given for recognition of cultural, ethical, literary, and personal values transmitted in the form of creative and original writing. These stamps were created with the intention of promoting fraternization between bloggers, a way of showing affection and gratitude for work that adds value to the Web.

"The rules are: 1) Accept the award by posting it on your blog along with the name of the person that has granted the award and a link to his/her blog. 2) Pass the award to another 5 blogs that are worthy of this acknowledgement, remembering to contact each of them to let them know they have been selected for this award."

I thank Pierre for his thoughtful consideration, as expressed here, which moves me on to Condition #2. I can't guarantee that any of these bloggers haven't already been recognized by Dardos and the spreaders of its happy contagion, but the object of this exercise is to help get the word out about people doing quality blogging. With that in mind, I hearby Dardose...

Stephen R. Bissette's Myrant. Even if there was a tin cup attached to his blog, Steve would give you way, way more than your money's worth. An unpredictable mixture of personal diary, sketchpad, auction house and burning Bush screeds, it also presents some of the most insightful essays on horror and cult cinema found anywhere online. In addition to everything else he does, I blame him for inspiring me to start Video WatchBlog.

Glenn Kenny's Some Came Running. Glenn says His Lovely Wife is a fan of mine, so it's the least I can do. Just kidding. This infectiously readable blog was set up overnight in response to Glenn's sudden firing as PREMIERE's film blogger sometime near the outset of the Great Film Critics Massacre of 2008, and I've been part of his daily audience ever since. I was about to blog in memory of Kathleen Byron the other day, till I saw this and realized I couldn't possibly improve on it. Here he proves himself a master of saying a lot in very few words -- must be that PREMIERE training. Plus he loves import discs and other filmo-fetishistic weirdness. And when Glenn writes about music, I'm always gasterflabbed by how many other interests we have in common. The only non-VW contributor among my choices, though not by conscious design.

Maitland McDonagh's Miss FlickChick. Maitland, the author of MOVIE LUST, FILMMAKING ON THE FRINGE, THE 50 MOST EROTIC FILMS OF ALL TIME and the ever popular BROKEN MIRRORS/BROKEN MINDS: THE DARK DREAMS OF DARIO ARGENTO -- was another casualty of the Massacre, forfeiting her position as TV GUIDE's senior movies editor after 13 years of solid service. Since last October, she's been steadily blogging, mostly about scary movies, always in her uniquely smart, uniquely alluring way. Even her account of a day trip to the Bronx Zoo captured something of her trademark vibe: "Suffice it to say that the highlight of my day was having a hissing cockroach crawl across my hand and hiss in my ear."

Richard Harland Smith of Movie Morlocks. For my money, RHS is, hands-down, one of the most talented and original writers about genre film working today -- and sometimes he actually does this for my money. In a saner world, he'd have a lucrative job as one of the nation's leading opinion-makers. As it is, he's one of a revolving group of bloggers at TCM's Movie Morlocks, and his remarkably candid, personal reading of THE INCREDIBLE SHRINKING MAN is a recent advertisement of his uncompromising ability.

Sam Umland's 60x50. I often think I need to stop visiting the film blogs I frequent and start tracking down more music blogs. Sam explains that his 60x50 is "an experiment in invention and discovery, inspired by an observation made by William Stafford in WRITING THE AUSTRALIAN CRAWL. The purpose of this blog is to demonstrate Stafford's insight that a writer 'is someone who has found a process that will bring about new things he would not have thought of if he had not started to say them.'" Prompted randomly by the date on the calendar, Sam not only writes short thematic essays on popular music, but excavates meaning from obtuse rock lyrics, explores commonly misheard lyrics, and is always coming up with something insightful and rewarding.

Just click on the italicized blog titles, and you'll be taken right there.

Sunday, January 18, 2009

Happy Birthday to John Charles!

VIDEO WATCHDOG's un-pho-to-graphable associate editor John Paul Charles turns (cough, cough) years old today, and is no doubt celebrating with a movie. It's bound to be either Asian in origin or very, very bad. If he's really living it up today, it might even be both.

A resident of Guelph, Ontario and the author of the authoritative THE HONG KONG FILMOGRAPHY 1977-1997 (McFarland and Company), John first appeared in VW in the Letterbox of our third issue, adding some valuable information to our coverage of Wes Craven's THE LAST HOUSE ON THE LEFT. He then addressed himself to the task of making it impossible to work without him and, by our 12th issue, he had ascended to the position of full-fledged contributor. Amazingly, though we have been working closely together for the past (gulp) 18 years, John and Donna and I have never met. (I'm still hoping to meet Donna someday... Just kidding! But when we're in the midst of working on a new issue, like now, it's kind of close-to-the-truth kidding.) The one time when we were in John's neck of the woods, back in 2000, turned out to be one of the rare times he had to be somewhere else. Hopefully, we'll be able to thank him in person someday for all that he's given to VW over the years.

After a period when he wasn't able to contribute as a writer as often as he would have liked, John is turning in more and more reviews these days, so stay tuned to forthcoming issues for his takes on different movies. In the meantime, visit his Hong Kong Digital site, which you can reach over there >>>> on my list of permanent links.

I'm happy to report that John's HONG KONG FILMOGRAPHY is finally due to be published in softcover by McFarland in March. You can pre-order your copy here. If you can't wait or prefer the hardcover edition, this is where you want to go.

Saluting Miss Stacia

Miss Stacia (Blake), stage dancer with the rock band Hawkwind (1971-75).

"She was a bookbinder by profession, and then she had an uncontrollable urge one night to take all her clothes off and paint herself blue! It was probably a throwback to the Roman invasion of Britain -- you think 'woad,' y'know?... She was great, blowin' bubbles onstage and shit. She was an impressive woman... six foot two with a 52-inch bust... An overwhelming sight for the youngsters in the crowd."

So remembered Lemmy (bass, vocals), when interviewed for the 2007 BBC Four documentary HAWKWIND: DO NOT PANIC, directed by Simon Chu. The entire program is accessible at YouTube in nine segments; the segment specifically relevant to Miss Stacia is Part 5 (0:24-2:02), though she does appear briefly elsewhere.

A 1974 PENTHOUSE interview with Stacia, who often danced topless and sometimes completely unclothed, gave her true Amazonian proportions as 42-28-39. Nevertheless, surviving film footage leaves no doubt that she was a staggering, opulent apparition in action and the perfect visual complement to Hawkwind's boistrous, chugging brand of sci-fi rock (some of which featured the collaboration of novelist Michael Moorcock). The fans who knew Hawkwind only from records and those who saw them live certainly have different tales to tell. To the best of my knowledge, no footage from Stacia's fondly remembered tenure with the group (which included the legendary "Space Ritual" tour) has ever been released on tape or disc.

Today, Stacia Blake lives in Ireland where she pursues a career as a fine artist. She maintains a website with a gallery of her acrylics and watercolors, some of which are available for purchase. More information (and speculation) can be found on her Wikipedia page here.

Saturday, January 17, 2009

Just To Prove Life's Not All About Death

... I'm still thinking about Myriem Roussel, all these weeks later. And the fact seems to amuse her.

Secondly, a trés Joyeux Anniversaire to Françoise Hardy, who turns 65 today. Listen and sing along. And for the Francophobes in my audience, here's one just for you.

For Your Oscar Consideration

Best Supporting Actress: The Monkey from Dario Argento's MOTHER OF TEARS.

Friday, January 16, 2009

Farewell to Richard Seaver

Another important recent death which has escaped general notice, at least in the blogging worlds I frequent, is that of American editor, publisher and translator Richard Seaver. He died last Monday at the age of 82.

You can read a full NEW YORK TIMES obit here, but Mr. Seaver was invaluable to my literary upbringing and consciousness as the editor-in-chief at Grove Press during their 1960s heyday. During those years, he approved or perpetuated Grove's sponsorship of such writers as Samuel Beckett, William S. Burroughs, Alain Robbe-Grillet, Henry Miller, Marguerite Duras, Hubert Selby Jr., and even the Marquis de Sade (whose works he personally translated). He also translated many books for the company, notably THE STORY OF O by the pseudonymous Pauline Réàge, which he pseudonymously translated under the alluring name Sabine d'Estrée. When he left Grove to become an editor at Viking Press, with his own subimprint ("A Richard Seaver Book"), he took Burroughs with him; it was at Viking that Burroughs published the important trilogy of works that began with CITIES OF THE RED NIGHT. Seaver was also responsible for a valiant attempt to find an American audience for the great Irish comic novelist Flann O'Brien. He later founded Arcade Publishing. According to the NEW YORK TIMES, he completed a memoir of his life in publishing shortly before his death.

Richard Seaver was one of progressive publishing's great brand names, perhaps its last great brand name. Anything that bore his byline or endorsement was certain to be challenging, elevating and pleasurable, always well worth reading.

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

The Prisoner Escapes

If any actor's death deserves the full treatment here at Video WatchBlog, it's the death of actor-producer-writer-director Patrick McGoohan, which unfortunately has been reported today by the Associated Press and other news sources. Unfortunately, I'm too occupied with various work at present to eulogize him now as he deserves.

I've written quite a bit about McGoohan recently, though, while he was still among us. There was my cover story on THE PRISONER for VIDEO WATCHDOG #142, and my review of his early film THE QUARE FELLOW for last month's SIGHT AND SOUND; his Disney serial DOCTOR SYN - THE SCARECROW is in my "to review" stack for VW; and his performance in Disney's haunting cat fantasy THE THREE LIVES OF THOMASINA has been on my mind the last couple of weeks (I need to watch that one again). As everyone else is saying, McGoohan was THE PRISONER and, as not enough people are saying, he was also John Drake in the greatest espionage series ever, DANGER MAN aka SECRET AGENT.

He was a brittle, charming, mysterious, ruthless, deeply principled actor, capable of turning from kindly to harsh in the steely flash of an eye. His early work shows him in the Richard Attenborough mold (he must have studied BRIGHTON ROCK closely as a young man) but he quickly took charge of his own career and succeeded in shattering those perimeters to become his Own Man. What is left to be said? At his best, he was unbelievably compelling; even at his worst, he was endlessly fascinating -- his audience would delight in constructing theories about why he was off. You would think the abundance of quality work he left behind would satiate us, but he leaves us standing, applauding, wanting more. That, young actors everywhere, is how it's done.

A giant.

Thursday, January 08, 2009

Redmond, Maitland and Cave

I've been remiss in announcing that VIDEO WATCHDOG #146 was mailed to our subscribers just before the holidays and is now on newsstands everywhere. The cover feature is the first-ever interview with 99-year-old Harry Redmond, Jr., whose long special effects career extended from RKO's classic features of the 1930s (THE MOST DANGEROUS GAME, KING KONG, SHE, THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII) to TV's THE OUTER LIMITS in the 1960s. Remarkably, Mr. Redmond appears to be the only worker on the original KING KONG still among us, thereby earning the interview's striking title: "Last Survivor of Skull Island." THE DINOSAUR FILMOGRAPHY author Mark F. Berry, who interviewed Judi Bowker for us in VW #135, adds another feather to his cap with this important career overview, which has already been suggested for a Rondo Best Article Award over on the Classic Horror Film Boards. You can find out more about the issue and its contents, and even order your copy, on the VIDEO WATCHDOG website.

Donna and I are only now starting to work on VIDEO WATCHDOG #147. The feature article in this issue will be another of our popular Round Table Discussions, this one devoted to Dario Argento's THE MOTHER OF TEARS, one of the more controversial horror releases of recent years. In this case, our round table is composed of , including input from Kim Newman, Richard Harland Smith, Brad Stevens, yours truly and -- happily making her first VW appearance since our 8th issue, back in 1991 -- BROKEN MIRRORS/BROKEN MINDS author Maitland McDonagh!

On a more personal note... I've been preoccupied over the past four months with writing a short story for an anthology of fiction based on the music of Nick Cave. I've never had much luck with writing short stories, and I guess this still holds true, since this one ultimately swelled into a novelette of five chapters, running close to 17,000 words -- just a couple of pages shy of novella status. I loved working on it and feel very pleased with the result, and am now contending with the usual post-partum depression though my nest is anything but empty. I've sent the story to the anthology's editor and will tell you more about it if and when it's accepted.

Mr. Lonely

Why, it's easy to join Facebook! Just reach out and click!

In the past couple of weeks, my daily e-mail arrivals have dropped from an average of 40-50 per day to maybe 10. I blame Facebook.

I don't think Don Siegel would have approved of Facebook.

Him! He's not my Facebook Friend!

Tuesday, January 06, 2009

Ron Asheton: The Coltrane of Psych Guitar

"C'mon, Ron... I say, c'mon, Ron... C'mon and tell 'em how I feel!"

So pleads Iggy Pop at the height of the Stooges' classic punk rant "No Fun," from their 1969 self-titled debut release -- because there comes a point in this song when even Iggy Pop can't express with voice, dance, exposed genitals or peanut butter what he feels. For that, he needed guitarist Ron Asheton. For the first 2:43 of the song, Asheton anchors the song with steady, distorted, rhythmic riffing from the right channel -- and just when we think we've heard everything this anthem to teenage boredom has up its patched denim sleeve, Iggy's pleas prompt Asheton to launch into the fuzziest, dirtiest, squiggliest, squealingest, noodly guitar solo ever heard, absolutely merciless in its full-on drilling against the hard stone walls of ennui.
"Well, come on! Well, come ON! Well, COME on! Well, COME ON!"
THE STOOGES was produced by ex-Velvet Underground member John Cale at a time when multi-track recording was already a couple of years removed from extreme stereo separation, but Cale went ahead and placed Ron's separately recorded solo in the left channel only, which made its sonic attack more focused and insistent, with the added bonus of embodying an especially excruciating "fuck you" to any hippie stoner of the era who might attempt listening to the record through stereo headphones. I once made the mistake of listening to the album this way, cranked way up, and the solo drilled straight into one of my molars and loosened a filling.
So minimal that any kid with access to two strings can play it, "No Fun" has become a standard of its genre, covered by many different (well, other) artists, but none of the cover versions can compare to the original because Asheton's solo is actually thematic, starting out with lazy, unfocused, mondo-distorto notes that gradually find focus and fire, only to succumb once again to boredom -- bee bee boop BLEEEEEEEEEER, bee bee boop BLLLLLEEEEEEEEEEEER -- as if he's too bored to continue being one of the hands-down-greatest psych guitarists ever to wear a shoulder strap and iron cross.
"Yeaaaaaaah, my MAN!" Iggy congratulates him, right there on the record. As always with the Stooges, it was when they were least brilliant that they were most brilliant.

And today comes the ultimate bore: the news that Ron Asheton was found dead today in his Ann Arbor home at the age of 60. The victim of a likely heart attack, no foul play suspected. He died alone, discovered by police notified by concerned neighbors who hadn't seen him in a few days.
More than just introducing "No Fun" to the world, THE STOOGES opens with "1969" and "I Want to Be Your Dog" -- already two inarguable petitions for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. (Every year that self-styled church of music locks the Stooges out, they flaunt their ignorance of their own gods.) Throughout the record, Ron Asheton (who, on the cover, looks like the real Max Frost) takes the late Sixties gimmick that was the Vox wah-wah pedal and wields it like Jackson Pollack wielded paint, ladling its molten liquidity over ballads and trances and odes to teenage solipsism.
The group's next album, 1970's FUN HOUSE, produced by Don Gallucci, has at various times been called The Greatest Rock Album of all time by Joey Ramone, Lester Bangs, Jack White and yours truly. I actually bought the first two Stooges albums without having heard them, except in my mind's ear as I read Lester Bangs' "Of Pop and Pies and Fun" essay in the pages of CREEM magazine (reprinted in the PSYCHOTIC REACTIONS AND CARBURETOR DUNG collection). The music more than lived up to its promise: "one of those rare albums that never sits still long enough to actually solidify into what it previously seemed," Bangs wrote in one of his most inspired insights. Lester hated FUN HOUSE on his first listen, but having gone through his process with him in print, I loved it on mine. It's a descent into the maelstrom that drops you down on the street where the faces shine, drags you through the dirt, and leaves you standing in the midst of Los Angeles in flames. (I hadn't thought about it till just this minute, but in some ways, FUN HOUSE is, or might as well be, a rock opera based on Susan Strasberg's STP freakout scene in PSYCH-OUT.) Ron's guitar sound on the album is enormous, silvery, modal, oceanic, godly -- but, during the epic ballad "Dirt," with the taint of human emotion.
One of my proudest possessions is THE FUN HOUSE SESSIONS, a delirious Rhino Handmade limited edition box set that collects every second of music laid down by the Stooges during their week-long recording sessions for the album, with one entire disc turned over to take after take after take after take after take after take after take after take after take after take of "T.V. Eye," a song that surely features one of hard rock's top twenty-five power riffs. Of course I took the dare, the plunge, or whatever it was, and I may damn well take it again later today.
When Iggy brought guitar wiz James Williamson into the band, Ron was demoted to bass guitar, the instrument formerly played in the Stooges by Dave Alexander (who died in 1975). Their third album, RAW POWER, credited to Iggy and the Stooges, is a classic in its own right, despite the curiously shrill and tinny mix given it by David Bowie for its 1973 release. It was remixed in the 1990s by Iggy, who showed how important Ron's thunder was to the overall sound -- the remix never fails to make me run to the volume control to turn the sucker down. This is an album that wants to trash your house.
The audio document of the last Stooges concert, METALLIC K.O., is the Altamont of vinyl -- less compelling as music than as a sociology documentary/thriller combination, as Iggy taunts and insults an audience of abusive bikers. MKO was all it took for me to become a compulsive collector of Stooges bootlegs, and I know that I was not alone in my habit as countless releases began emanating from Skydog, Bomp and other indy labels to drain my vinyl budget. It was an expensive but worthwhile indulgence, bringing to my attention lost live and studio gems like "I've Got a Right", "Gimme Some Skin", "Open Up and Bleed", "Rubber Legs", "Shake Appeal", "Heavy Liquid" and the unspeakably wonderful "I'm Sick of You."

Cool portrait of Ron Asheton by Rick Chesshire, found in the Caricatures slideshow here.
The original lineup of the Stooges reformed (with Minuteman Mike Watt now on bass) in 2003 after a nearly 30-year hiatus, during which time Ron had toiled in bands like Destroy All Monsters, The New Order and New Race, and also did some acting in minor league horror movies (one of his pet enthusiasms) like MOSQUITO, FROSTBITER: WRATH OF THE WENDIGO and LEGION OF THE NIGHT. Asheton went right back to playing Stooges guitar as if none of the intermediary years had passed, maintaining a tight steer on the shows as Iggy went his own dionysian way.
The group's only reunion album, 2007's THE WEIRDNESS, is as lyrically stupid and musically monotonous as the first two Stooges albums, but producer Steve Albini emphasizes the heavy-handed rhythm side of the band, downplaying Ron's ingenuity as a soloist, and unlike the classic albums, there's not much musical variety. There are no ballads, and too many of the songs share the same kick-off, the same key, the same shtick. Nevertheless, in live concert, the reunited Stooges -- the original members now at least pushing 60 -- continued to cook like eternal teenagers, Iggy continuing to dismantle the traditional boundaries separating artist and audience by diving into the mosh pits and inviting ticket buyers to come onstage and share his microphone, while Ron stayed by the amps as designated band driver, standing zen-still as he continued to perfect his searching squall.
When I call Ron Asheton the Coltrane of Psych Guitar, I'm not being colorful or facetious. The two musicians, one uber-respected and the other uber-unpretentious, one a musical maestro and the other an autodidact who came to guitar from the accordion, actually have a great deal in common -- in their modal approaches to soloing, their brave explorations of the glory of noise, even the ways in which they made a spirit of love spurt like paydirt from music under the hard drill of probing persisitence. It doesn't take exceptional ears to hear glimpses of "A Love Supreme" in "We Will Fall" from THE STOOGES, and in the course of my own bass-ackwards musical education, I first heard music that fit the description "sheets of sound" on FUN HOUSE, courtesy of Ron's dense soloing, years before I discovered Coltrane.
A few years ago, Elektra/Rhino Records reissued the first two Stooges albums in deluxe editions that incorporated additional discs of alternate and extended takes. Anyone craving a superdose of what made Ron Asheton so special need look no further than the previously unreleased "full versions" of "Ann" (7:52!) and "No Fun" (6:49!) appearing on THE STOOGES' second disc -- and we can also share in how misunderstood and undervalued he often was when his sizzling extended lead on the end of an alternate "Real Cool Time" is followed by producer John Cale drolly asking, "Can we cut that off at 2:20?"
Stranger things have happened (The Who touring minus the late Keith Moon and John Entwistle, hello?), but I would imagine the Stooges are behind us now. Iggy Pop is Iggy Pop, but goddamn the past tense, Ron Asheton was the Stooges. We might think our teenage years, when the Stooges' music was most relevant to us, are behind us too, but as modern life conspires to make us spend our adulthood in rooms with computers, texting each other, craving human interaction, hating to be alone and having to troll on Facebook for friends, their music continues to speak to us more directly than we may be willing to admit.
Another year with nothin' to do.
Don't let me be alone.
Ain't no wall.
Can I come over 2night?

Saturday, January 03, 2009

Here's To Edmund Purdom

Actor Edmund Purdom -- whose initial stardom in the stodgy 20th Century-Fox epics THE EGYPTIAN and THE PRODIGAL gave way to a lengthy career in international co-productions and dubbing gigs -- died January 1, 2009, in Rome, at the age of 84.

Born in Hertfordshire, England in 1924, Purdom's early work as a Fox contract player landed him minor bits in TITANIC and JULIUS CAESAR but, more importantly, put him in the right place at the right time. In 1954, when Mario Lanza put on too much weight to carry THE STUDENT PRINCE, director Richard Thorpe put Purdom in the lead, and when his JULIUS CAESAR co-star Marlon Brando pulled out of THE EGYPTIAN, Purdom rode that opportunity to a brief-lived stardom. His star then descended fast: He was named the 1954 recipient of the Golden Apple Awards' "Sour Apple" as "Least Cooperative Actor" and, by 1957, he was back in England working on the TV series SWORD OF FREEDOM. Two years later, he was doing anonymous voice work for THE DIARY OF ANNE FRANK.

Much like Cameron Mitchell, Purdom found Rome to be a rich playground of opportunity for actors disregarded by Hollywood. His Italian career began with Riccardo Freda's TRAPPED IN TANGIERS (1957) and would eventually encompass some of the best, worst and most intriguing Italian pictures of his time: FURY OF THE PAGANS, NEFERTITI OF THE NILE, Sergio Corbucci's 1966 remake of THE MAN WHO LAUGHS, Pupi Avati's THOMAS E GLI INDEMONIATI, Jess Franco's LOS OJOS SINIESTROS DEL DR. ORLOFF and UN CAPITAN DE QUINZE ANOS, DR. FRANKENSTEIN'S CASTLE OF FREAKS, Massimo Dallamano's THE CURSED MEDALLION, MR. SCARFACE, Umberto Lenzi's riotous CITY OF THE WALKING DEAD aka NIGHTMARE CITY, PIECES, ATOR THE INVINCIBLE, AFTER THE FALL OF NEW YORK, ANTHROPOPHAGUS 2 aka MONSTER HUNTER and the TV-Movie SOPHIA LOREN: HER OWN STORY, in which he played actor-director Vittorio de Sica. In 1984, he directed his only film: DON'T OPEN 'TIL CHRISTMAS, a low-budget "slashing through the snow" item in which he also starred.

Purdom also narrated the English version of the film SWEDEN, HEAVEN AND HELL -- which happened to be the subject of two feature articles in VIDEO WATCHDOG #145, still on sale at newsstands at the time of his death.

The IMDb credits Purdom with the familiar quote, "One of the symptoms of an approaching nervous breakdown is the belief that one's work is terribly important" -- suggesting that he was the sort who preferred a lifetime of work to a "career."

Thursday, January 01, 2009

In Genuflection to Myriem Roussel

Since compiling my list of Twenty Favorite Actresses for this blog a couple of weeks ago, I have been unexpectedly blindsided by the work of another actress, another European actress, who somehow failed to captivate me on the first pass. I'm speaking of the Moroccan-born Myriem Roussel, best remembered for playing the title role in Jean-Luc Godard's controversial HAIL MARY (Je vous salue, Marie; 1985, pictured above and below). Were I compiling my list today, I'd be tempted to include Roussel -- a daring and talented, even iconoclastic actress, and one of the very few able to retain an aura of mystery while leaving little or nothing of her physicality to the imagination in various body-conscious films.

I've not been able to find out much about Roussel online except for a brief interview by Gerald Peary, which purports to be the only one she ever granted. (Colin MacCabe's book on Godard quotes her, in English, from another interview published in France.) Besides that, the IMDb shows that she has continued to work, for the last decade exclusively in French television. The IMDb lists a December 26, 1962 birthdate for her, while the French website for her current French teleseries DIANE, FEMME FLIC ("Diane, Lady Cop") records her natal day as February 26, 1961. Prior to HAIL MARY, she played small roles in Godard's PASSION (1982) and FIRST NAME: CARMEN (Prénom: Carmen; 1983, in which she's excruciatingly lovely as a swan-necked violinist), but the role that first caught my attention and led me back to these others was Luciano Odorisio's SACRILEGE [La monaca di Monza, 1986], in which she plays the 15th century historical figure of Sister Virginia Maria de Leyva -- the haughty, landowning nun at the nunnery at Monza who publicly offended a neighboring young nobleman, who had his comeuppance by seducing her repeatedly, corrupting her sisters, and undermining her authority in the eyes of the church.

It would be insulting and dismissive to call SACRILEGE a "nunsploitation" film, but that's how it was sold and how I approached it. I sought it out because I've been asked to contribute a chapter to a forthcoming biographical book about my friend, the actress Coralina Cataldi-Tassoni, and SACRILEGE was chronologically the first film she made, playing the small but important supporting role of Sister Candida. (Coralina has one important scene in the film that was actually banned from exhibition in Italy, but which is included in the Substance Video DVD -- a fact that amazes her, as she has never seen the footage and considered it lost!) What I didn't expect is that SACRILEGE would turn out to be such an elegantly crafted little gem; it's exquisitely photographed by Romano Albani (Argento's INFERNO) and also features one of Pino Donaggio's most beautiful scores. But what is most lingering about the picture is what lingers about the films Roussel made with Godard: the devotion it pays to her Renaissant loveliness, which somehow looks as much at home in a nun's habit as in the basketball uniform she sports in HAIL MARY. There's a scene in SACRILEGE where Sister Virginia, awakening to her sexuality under the smouldering, corruptive gaze of neighboring nobleman Giampaolo Osio (Alessandro Gassman), looks into a mirror and pulls her habit away from a cascade of long auburn hair. The effect is nearly breathtaking:

What makes this moment so powerful is how, in the space of these few frames, Roussel's expression subtly morphs from timid curiosity to combined arousal and sorrow -- she tears her habit like a hymen -- and then from awe at her mirror's disclosure of her sensuality to a final expression that shows contempt for her vanity as she feels herself empowered by it. It is the moment of Sister Virginia's emergence as a complete, sexual being, body and soul, and by this point in the movie, we feel our heart breaking for her as it also pounds for her. SACRILEGE closes with a freeze-frame of Roussel's face that is too dark to reproduce here, but believe me, it would not look at all out of place hung in the Uffizi Gallery.

Godard (who has cited Roussel as one of the three faces of his cinema, along with his ex-wives Anna Karina and Anne Wiazemsky) cast her in his films at a point when his work became obsessed with composition and the schism between the static nature of great paintings and the necessity of motion pictures to move. Roussel was the perfect Muse for this era of his filmmaking because her beauty is absolutely in keeping with that of the models who posed for the great paintings of antiquity. Godard underscores this fact in the PETITES NOTES... featurette that accompanies HAIL MARY on the New Yorker Video DVD by dissolving between one of Roussel's screen tests and a Leonardo da Vinci sketch of the Virgin Mary:

I liked PASSION and loved FIRST NAME: CARMEN (which offers a delicious quote from Rainer Maria Rilke: "Beauty is only the start of bearable terror") but must admit, as moved as I was by Roussel's performance, to not fully understanding what Godard was up to in HAIL MARY, a film whose impenetrable qualities were surely a deliberate part (if not a double entendre) of his semi-reverent plan. In my equal parts impressed/befuddled view, I think Peter Rainer of THE LOS ANGELES HERALD EXAMINER summed it up quite capably in his back-cover blurb "Bewildering, beautiful." Suffice to say, I glean as much -- if not more -- profound satisfaction from these two genuinely miraculous frames as I do from anything in HAIL MARY itself.

Coralina tells me that Myriem Roussel kept to herself during the making of SACRILEGE, and didn't get to know her. It was possibly the nature of Roussel's role in that film which made her remoteness from fellow cast members seem the correct stance to maintain, but the Peary interview also describes the actress as "shy." A hypothetical lack of social skills could also explain why Roussel, after breaking off with Godard, has made only a dozen or so features and a few shorts in the past 23 years, while Juliette Binoche -- who had an early supporting role in HAIL MARY, and isn't terribly good in it -- went on to an extraordinary career (not to mention high placement on my Top Twenty Actresses list). Online images of Roussel are rare -- but here's a link to a couple of shots of her from DIANE, FEMME FLIC which show her now as a less ethereal but still handsome woman in early middle age. Somehow a TV cop show isn't a port I would have forecast for this particular actress, but sometimes a so-so career is indicative of a sage preference for private life, security and personal happiness; I hope this has been the case with Godard's Mary. You want someone like this to be happy.
As with too many of my favorite actresses, very little of Myriem Roussel's work is available in English apart from the few titles I've mentioned, but I'm determined to see more of it. I'm particularly curious to see SADNESS AND BEAUTY (Tristesse et beauté, 1985), THE VENUS TRAP (Die Venusfalle, 1988) and THE EYE THAT LIES (L'oeuil qui ment, 1994).

Have a Super Fine 2009

Last night was December thirty-one
But now a brand new year's begun!
So let's turn off the Dick Clark show
And finish off the Veuve Cliquot
By toasting all we've left to do:
May all our New Year's dreams come true.

Monday, December 29, 2008

The Happiest Christmas

Donna and me at Cincinnati's Amarin restaurant, on our 34th anniversary -- December 23, 2008. Photo by Linda Wylie.

In many, mostly personal ways, 2008 has been the best year of my life to date and, though I don't think I expected it to be so, our 2008 Christmas turned out to be the happiest in memory and, I suspect, the happiest ever.
Donna and I usually spend the holidays alone, except for the evening we share with family members on Christmas Eve and one or two friendly visitors from out-of-town, but this year, we invited our friend Linda Wylie to come up from Nashville to share Christmas with us. We decided she would spend six days here, the 21st through the 27th, which meant that she had to bring her pet Westy, Shelby Gunn, with her. Our household of spoiled cats would be turned upside-down by the presence of a dog, but we felt they needed the experience. As it happens, our two male cats spent nearly all those days in our basement, cowering in groundless fear of the peppy little pooch, while our female -- the snooty one who never deigns to greet or acknowledge human company -- assumed the role of sovereign protector, venturing forth to flaunt her disregard of our four-footed guest and occasionally hiss to keep this bright-eyed intruder at bay.
Shelby Gunn, the Watchdog's watchdog.

We only got to know Linda -- who plays Nurse Moan-eek, the ditzy sidekick to Larry Underwood's Doctor Gangrene on the Nashville-based CREATURE FEATURE -- at WonderFest last year, but she rushed into our hearts and quickly became one of our dearest friends. More than that, it would now seem, she's like a missing piece from our household; while she and Shelby were here, both Donna and I felt happier and more complete. When she and I are together, I feel myself in the company of a kind of friend I've always needed but never had -- someone who makes me laugh, feel at ease, and become more of an extrovert (not to mention drink and smoke too much... but hey, it's the holidays); and when she and Donna are together, they become an amazing third entity -- funnier, more boistrous and uninhibited, always in perfect sync. We first bonded at Louisville's Sapporo, the world's greatest sushi restaurant, so sushi bar-hopping is a big part of our ritual. Linda and Donna even dress the part, donning matching chi-peis or complimentary kimonos (Donna's was given to her by Linda as a Christmas gift) and becoming Sista Red Dawn and Sista Golden Dawn... The Sushi Sistas!

Sushi sistas...

There were never such devoted sistas...

Caring, sharing every little thing that they are wearing...

Lord help the mista who comes between the Sushi Sistas!

I felt truly blessed to have both of these lovely ladies under my roof for a whole week -- and it actually became a whole week. We couldn't bear separating on the 27th, so the visit was extended by a day.
The highlight of that week, more than Donna's and my 34th wedding anniversary or presents or anything else, was seeing The Sushi Sistas sing along to various player piano rolls in the living room of our friends Joe & Patty Busam, including a WHITE CHRISTMAS medley that included the song "Sisters." They sometimes sounded like a pair of mangy cats squalling in the moonlight but, as I'm sure Joe and Patty would agree, witnessing this impromptu performance was the sweetest music to my eyes and ears. I was so happy to be in their zany orbit that I didn't even look at my presents, or remember what most of them were, after I'd opened them... not until last night when things returned to normal. (I did score some cool Xmas swag: a couple of Miles Davis box sets, some EC Comics reprints, and two volumes of TALES OF SUSPENSE Marvel Masterworks, including that unforgettable tale of terror, "Googam, Son of Goom.")
Linda and Shelby had to return home yesterday, and today our house feels like the Executive West Hotel in Louisville on the Monday after WonderFest closes out: much quieter, emptier, a little sad. Now it's time once again to lose ourselves in work and bring the next issue of VIDEO WATCHDOG into the world -- which should make our readers happy... right?
PS: VIDEO WATCHDOG #146 was mailed to our subscribers and distributors on December 19th, the week before Christmas, so it should be in the hands of our first-class subscribers by now or very soon. There's nothing up yet on our website about it, because we've been distracted, but, as it came out a bit late, we're calling it our December/January issue. The cover story is Mark F. Berry's interview with special effects veteran Harry Redmond, Jr., now 99 years of age, whose work on several classic RKO titles has earned him the extraordinary title of "Last Survivor of Skull Island"!

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

R.I.P. Bill Landis

A posting by Lee Peterson at the Mobius Home Video Forum reports the sudden death of exploitation cinema expert, fanzine publisher, 42nd Street projectionist and actor Bill Landis from a heart attack.

Landis, who would have turned 50 next year, published the legendary fanzine SLEAZOID EXPRESS between 1980-1985 and later revived it for six issues with partner Michelle Clifford (with whom he also published the fanzine METASEX) in 1999. The couple collected the best of their writings in the Touchstone/Simon & Schuster book SLEAZOID EXPRESS, published in 2002. He also wrote the book ANGER: THE UNAUTHORIZED BIOGRAPHY OF KENNETH ANGER, reviews for the SOHO WEEKLY NEWS, articles and interviews for FILM COMMENT, THE VILLAGE VOICE, the early years of FANGORIA (his Andy Milligan interview remains one of the most important and amazing documents in FANGO's long history), and other publications.

One of exploitation cinema's most important archaeologists, Landis was the first writer to pay serious attention to the works of filmmakers like Milligan and Michael & Roberta Findlay, and film series like the OLGA pictures, FLESH trilogy and the ILSA saga starring Dyanne Thorne. A whole generation of fanzines, beginning with Michael J. Weldon's original PSYCHOTRONIC, were cast in his image. This IMDb bio tells more, and a whole assortment of promotional interviews can be found here.