episode list:
The Show's Tenth Year
469.) (rerun) Halloween show: Vampire lesbians on film.
interview
470.) Antonio Fargas interview, part 2
471.) "Consumer Guide" episode, featuring segments of a MOMA retro of Delphine Seyrig's work, and video releases: It All Starts Today, The Piano Teacher, and Tuvalu.
472.) Tribute to black-and-white game shows of the 1960s, with clips gleaned from the Game Show Network, plus commentary from yrs. truly. Shows covered are "To Tell the Truth" (clips include appearances by the inspiration for Hitchcock's The Wrong Man, Dr. Seuss, and Alan Freed), "Password" (guests include Otto Preminger, Sammy Davis, Peter Lawford, and James Stewart), and the most bizarre creation of the Goodson-Todman mill, "I've Got a Secret" (clips include Joan Crawford, Boris Karloff, Jonathan Winters, and Salvador Dali).
473.) Robert Altman tribute, on the occasion of an NYC retrospective called "Altman's '70s." Clips and commentary from yrs truly, focusing on Altman's techniques his early '70s "revisionist" films, his best-known (Nashville) and a personal fave that as of this airing still hasn't made it to VHS/DVD, Three Women.
474.) (rerun) Thanksgiving-stars of the '60s return in embarrassing movies.
475.) (rerun) Steve Allen "Deceased Artiste" tribute, Part 5
476.) Editorial rant, and clips from various recent acquisitions, including Godard's video feature "Grandeur et Decadence d'un petit commerce de cinema..." (top-notch video-shot tale of a small studio, run by the ever-manic Jean-Pierre Leaud). Plus: a Romanian rockabilly band with a sense'a humor, and rare Velvet Underground reunion footage (from a 1972 Paris concert--Reed, Cale, and Nico).
477.) Rare rock/pop clips: Kate Bush's 1979 Xmas special (plus odd TV appearances), John and Yoko play with Zappa and the Mothers at the Fillmore in 1971 (a collaboration that offers brilliance and confusion), and Iggy Pop guesting on "Dinah!" with a backing band that includes Tony & Hunt Sales, and David Bowie on keyboards.
478.) (rerun) Mooch
479.) Review of indie feature made by former guest Joe Chan, Not a Day Goes By, plus "Deceased Artiste" tributes to Spike Milligan, Richard Harris, and Joe Strummer.
480.) "Deceased Artistes of 2002" continues, with short tributes to, among others, Peggy Lee, Linda Lovelace, Dee-Dee Ramone, and Rod Steiger.
481.) The last batch of "Deceased Artistes" are saluted, as we present clips from the work of John Frankenheimer, Karel Reisz, George Roy Hill, and Billy Wilder. Also: scenes from the hard-to-find journey into indulgence The Gong Show Movie.
482.) (rerun) George Kuchar/Kenneth Anger clips.
483.) Costa-Gavras interview. Discussed are his latest film, Amen. and his opinions on political filmmaking. Part 1.
484.) Costa-Gavras interview, part 2. Also: review of the restored DVD of Fritz Lang's classic Metropolis.
485.) (rerun) Budd Boetticher interview, part 1.
486.) R.W. Fassbinder tribute, on the occasion of a film festival at the Film Forum; also the DVD release of various RWF titles. Clips and commentary from yrs truly, speaking about Fassbinder's visual style, themes ("emotional exploitation" between lovers and strangers), and influences. Also: the use of pop music in his austere first features.
487.) "Consumer Guide" time again, with a rare Paul Morrissey film (Madame Wang), the all-midget caper movie of the centry--and probably all time--AIP's Little Cigars, and the Filipino version of "Wonder Woman," Darna.
488.) (rerun) Stan Freberg Chun King hour.
489.) Round-up of titles from the "Rendezvous with French Cinema" presentation at Lincoln Center. Included are Michel Blanc's farce See How They Run, Claude Berri's Housekeeper, the literary adaptation 24 Hours in the Life of a Woman, and Olivier Assayas' cyber-thriller/think-piece demonlover.
490.) Interview with Marina de Van, actress and filmmaker. Ms. de Van talks about her feature debut Dans Ma Peau (In My Skin), about a young woman with a compulsion to cut herself. Ms. de Van also talks about her work with Francois Ozon, starring in See the Sea and Sitcom and co-scripting his Under the Sand and Eight Women.
491.) A timely episode, as the Funhouse weighs in on the Iraqui invasion, with clips that won't be seen anywhere else on TV while the U.S. is at war: anti-Bush comedy (from George Carlin); reflections on America's "bully" mentality (from Bill Hicks); a short snippet of "war porn" (classic anti-war flicks used as mental turn-ons by younger types eager to join the Armed Forces); commentary on the ridiculous "french fries/freedom fries" congressional proclamation, with sequences from Jean-Luc Godard's In Praise of Love, in which Uncle Jean ponders the idea of America as acquisitor of other country's histories; and anti-war comedy, done to perfection by the Brother Marx ("All god's chillen' got guns...").
492.) Tribute to the work of Nicholas Ray, in conjunction with a MOMA salute. Included: his early noir work, '50s widescreen classics, and final triumphs (Bitter Victory) and oddities (Hot Blood).
493.) (rerun) Tuesday Weld tribute.
494.) Our annual Easter bash returns with a host of odd clips, including a unique exorcism from an anime feature, choice clips from two straight-to-video films (one inspirational, the other...not), and another installment of the terrifyingly derivative "Bibleman" home-video series. If you've ever wondered what a sitcom/gangsta/inspirational drama directed by former sitcom star Todd Bridges would be like, then this is the episode for you!
495.) Shelley Berman interview, part 1. Mr. Berman talks about early experiences on stage as an actor and stand-up, in particular his work with The Compass (Chicago group that also included Nichols and May and Barbara Harris). Also: movie/TV clips, and the stand-up comedy legend (precursor to every neurotic comic out there) shares his opinions of voice mail (anti) and the work of Kafka (pro).
496.) (rerun) Sammy Davis, part 1.
497.) (rerun) The Naked Killer--the director's cut!
498.) A salute to the film work of William Klein, including clips and commentary on his films Who are you, Polly Maggoo? Contacts, Mister Freedom, his three documentaries about charismatic black figures including Muhammad Ali, the Greatest, and his latest mind-bender, the kaledoscopic creation Messiah.
499.) An interview with Guy Maddin, on the occasion of the NYC release of his film Dracula: Pages from a Virgin's Diary. Maddin speaks about his visual style, his influences (including the ever-indulgent master, Erich von Stroheim), and plan to remake various lost films.
500.) "Consumer Guide" time again, as we explore "The American Film Theater" collection on VHS and DVD. Included are clips from Rhinoceros and the underratedThe Maids. Also: a scene from a Kinky Friedman documentary, and a review of the French feature Man on the Train.
501.) The "Guide" comes back, with an exploration of the works of Chris Marker, including clips from his magnificent documentaries/essays (tied to a local film retrospective); also, the work of a far different filmmaker (but one whose work also assaults the viewer), Brazilian horror filmmaker Jose Mojica Marins, aka "Coffin Joe."
502.) "Consumer Guide" journeys around Europe (or at least the Common Market) with Fellini's The White Sheik, Clouzot's Quai des Orfevres, Schlondorff's Coup de Grace, and Derek Jarman's landmark punk pic Jubilee.
503.) Birthday show, with commentary from yrs truly and a presentation of clips from Herb Gardner's wonderful meditation on aging, loneliness, and self-destruction, Who is Harry Kellerman and Why is He Saying Those Terrible Things About Me?
504.) "Consumer Guide" time once more, as we examine the work of Erich Von Stroheim, the master of excess and well-dressed villainy. Also: the documentary Hell's Highway, about the gory driver's-ed movies of the 1960s and '70s.
505.) Fassbinder is under the spotlight again, as we take a "Consumer Guide" look at four titles by the prolific German genius filmmaker (from three separate companies!).
506.) (rerun) Kiyoshi Kurosawa, part 2
507.) (rerun) D.A. Pennebaker and Chris Hegedus interview, part 2.
508.) "Deceased Artiste" tribute to Buddy Hackett. We revisit the wondrous Hey Babe and read the roly-poly funnyman's brilliant poetry. Also: clips from his illustrious game show career.
509.) Interview with French actress/director Nicole Garcia. We speak about her latest film as a director, L’Adversaire. Ms. Garcia also talks about her work as an actress in the sexy thriller Peril and the sublimely acted mystery Betty Fisher, and her experiences costarring with Harvey Keitel and Johnny Lydon in the cheesy New York-set crime saga Corrupt.
510.) Our “Deceased Artiste” tribute to pro wrestling legend “Classy” Fred Blassie centers around my interview with the “Hollywood Fashion Plate.” The interview is punctuated by clips featuring Fred’s ring work, his hit novelty tune “Pencil Necked Geek,” his sublime stints on the mic as a manager in the WWF, and his two “mainstream” appearances: as a guest star on "The Dick Van Dyke Show" and in the timelessly demented My Breakfast with Blassie with Andy Kaufman.
511.) Program blacked out by...the NYC blackout!
512.). Two Funhouse icons, actress Beverly Michaels and B-moviemaker extraordinaire Hugo Haas, are saluted once again with clips from Pickup and The Wicked Woman.
513.) A tribute to NYC filmmaker Harry Hurwitz's nostalgia comedies. Scenes from his uneven grab-bag That's Adequate precede an appreciation of The Projectionist, his colorful, silly, and oddly moving homage to the Golden Age of the genre movie. When Chuck McCann and Rodney Dangerfield are slugging it out in tights as superhero and supervillain, you know you're in strange territory, kids.
514.) Our annual Jerry Lewis episode focuses this year on Jer's comments about dead folks (namely, his supposed bedmate, a certain MM, and "the old ski-nose"). A Jer "news" update is followed by some pungent clips from the 2003 telethon, the last outpost of old show business on TV. It's hard to pick a favorite moment, but one dystrophic lady's remark that she has "the Jerry gene," Tony Orlando's post-9/11 comment that "we're fighting another form of terrorism [here]...known as MD," Charlie Callas's record pantomime to "I Remember It Well," and Tony O. doing both a patriotic ode he penned ("God's Country") and a fiery version of Prince's "Purple Rain," all seem to qualify.
515.) “Consumer Guide” time again, as we review the Kino release of The Holy Mountain, a silent “mountain movie” starring controversial (and very recently deceased) filmmaker Leni Riefenstahl when she was but a simple iconic dancing girl; the 2002 historical farce from Polish director Andrzej Wajda Zemsta starring Roman Polanski in one of his few acting roles for another director; and the Anthology Film Archive’s ongoing retrospective of the works of Italian suspense/horror maestro Mario Bava. Included: scenes from Black Sabbath, (personal fave) Lisa and the Devil, and the recently assembled “lost” Bava film Kidnapped.
516.) Our second interview with filmmaker Olivier Assayas, done on the occasion of the NYC opening of his film demonlover. We discuss his trademark “long takes,” the themes and messages in his latest film (including a discussion of the film’s coda), as well as his “little catsuit fetish.”
517.) The “Consumer Guide” returns with reviews of Costa-Gavras’s Amen (with footage from our recent interview with the filmmaker). Also featured: the ’70s cult movie The Honeymoon Killers, Alain Resnais’ classic Hiroshima Mon Amour, and the lurid and amusing Imamura film The Pornographers.
518.) The "Consumer Guide" focuses in on melodrama as we review a current
theatrical feature and a DVD release. The theatrical title is My Life
Without Me, a film with tragic themes that avoids TV-movie melodramatic
clichés. We speak with star Sarah Polley and director Isabel Coixet about
the film (and Ms. Polley's amazing career as the star of a number of great
recent independent films). The DVD release is of an Italian silent film that
is out-and-out melodrama of the first order, Assunta Spina. The
wonderfully amusing documentary supplement The Last Diva gives us a
look at a real-life "Norma Desmond," Italian silent legend Francesca
Bertini.
519.) The show celebrates its 10th anniversary! Your humble host recounts
some Funhouse history, as well as rambling on about the many joys and
problems that have punctuated ten very active years. Included: clips from
favorite celebrity interviews (from Gena Rowlands to the Uncle Floyd cast),
and some brief snippets of movie scenes that have become motifs on the show
over the years.
520.) We thrive on odd juxtapositions in the "Funhouse," and this "Consumer
Guide" is a fine example: first off, we examine the work of German filmmaker
Monika Treut, spotlighting her gravely sincere and wildly colorful study of
the BDSM lifestyle, "Seduction: The Cruel Woman," featuring Fassbinder/Von
Trier fave Udo Kier being tormented by some earnestly nasty ladies. Then we
return to the American Film Theater series, for scenes from Robert Shaw's
shifting-surface masterwork The Man in the Glass Booth and two
"anti-sitcoms" in which British clans pick each other apart, David Storey's
In Celebration and Harold Pinter's The Homecoming.
Back to top
The Show's Eleventh Year
521.) The first part of our interview with actress-singer Jane Birkin. Ms.
Birkin talks about her latest album and stage show, Arabesque, which
offers a selection of songs by Serge Gainsbourg reworked by an Algerian
arranger. She also offers reflections on her relationship with Mr.
Gainsbourg, and speaks about the complexity of his lyrics, translating into
English some choice couplets from the many songs he exclusively wrote for
her (during and well after their legendary romance). Included are
contemporary clips from the Arabesque show, as well as select moments
featuring Serge with and without his "female B-side," Jane B.
522.) Halloween is celebrated with a slew of clips selected by cohost and vampire aficionado Bob Schaffer. We move from the lovelies in fangs (menacing Anita Ekberg, and threatening a libidinous Italian gent) to more esoteric fare, including a NYC-produced, vampire-themed softcore bondage romp, a surreal Czech coming-of-age wonder (Valerie and her Week of Wonders, and a miraculously strange vampire tale from the Philippines (The Blood Drinkers).
523.) Return to Fassbinder-ville as we review more of the DVDs that have hit the market in the short span of one year. From early works (in which RWF combined Brecht and the American gangster movie) to complex later classics (Chinese Roulette), with side-trips to the filmmaker’s strangest film (Whity and one of his finest (The Merchant of Four Seasons), the lowdown is given.
524.) The second and final part of our interview with Jane Birkin. Ms. Birkin shares further reminiscences of the mythically indulgent genius Serge Gainsbourg, and talks about working with Jean-Luc Godard in Keep Your Right Up. Also: Ms. Birkin reflects on the ’60s psychedelic farce Wonderwall and Mr. Gainsbourg’s debut as a filmmaker, Je T’Aime, Moi Non Plus.
525.) Reviews this week include the DVD premieres of a trio of very different features, all boasting melodramatic plot elements. First, we go Danish, with a Dogma character study Kira’s Reason, then visit the last work of the legendary Sam Fuller, Street of No Return, and finally return to the work of first-time feature director Marina de Van, whose In My Skin has acquired a distributor since we conducted an interview with her.
526.) Nostalgia reigns as we present clips from two oddball items featuring a veritable host of guest-star cameos. Don't Worry, We'll Think of a Title is a Morey Amsterdam production (yes, ol' Buddy wrote it too). After The Dick Van Dyke Show went off the air, Bud and Rose Marie reunited for this stunningly numbing exercise in which "the Human Joke Machine" (Buddy's nickname in the biz) trades quips with his old showmates Rose and Richard Deacon, and encounters a host of TV comedians, all present on the Desilu Studios (where Don't Worry was shot). The night's main feature is The Phynx, a cult movie-that-never-was that can be summed up as "the Monkees meet 'Mission Impossible.'" Written by the men who gave us the "First Family" LP, the movie follows a rock band created by the U.S. government taking on a super-secret mission. Their job: retrieve dozens of American "icons" being kidnapped by an Eastern bloc government. The VIP kidnap victims are a who's who of '30s and '40s Hollywood (not always A-list, but when else will be able to see the last joint appearance of "Satch" and "Slip," aka Leo Gorcey and Huntz Hall, and Busby Berkeley troupe out his original Golddiggers, all now well in their 60s? "Kemo Sabe" and Tonto show up too). The Phynx also features the usual celeb cameos (Rona Barrett, Colonel Sanders, Ed Sullivan) and inexplicable drop-ins by stars who must've been lured by a paycheck (Richard Pryor, James Brown). See it to believe it.
527.) A round-up of music in the "Consumer Guide" department. Included: '60s
cult figure Arthur Lee (of the band Love) performing his classic psychedelia-meets-Herb Alpert LP "Forever Changes" in concert; clips from the George Harrison tribute The Concert for George; and Sun Ra's demented sci-fi parable Space is the Place (best described as a Rudy Ray Moore-like low-budget effort involving a spaceship run by jazz fusion and a pre-Funkadelic, Egyptian-attired messenger from a Black planet). Also: a tidbit from the Japanese bubble-gum/punk band Judy and Mary.
528.) (repeat) Sammy Davis, part 2
529.) A tune-filled Funhouse episode, as the "Consumer Guide" includes a
look at two innovative musicals from director Rouben Mamoulian,Applause (1929) and Love Me Tonight (1932). Then, we jump forward to rock theatrics with masters Alice Cooper (ably assisted by his colorfully costumed daughter Calico, who makes a fetching Evil Nurse and Whip Girl) on his Brutally Live DVD and the Grand Wazoo himself, Frank Zappa, in his mind-warping concert movie Baby Snakes.
530.) We pay tribute to the Holiday season the old-fashioned way: with an assemblage of clips from the archetypal comedy team, Laurel
and Hardy. There's no March of the Wooden Soldiers here, but yours
truly has gathered together some wonderful clips including moments from
their oddest short, "Their First Mistake," which finds "the Boys" taking
care of a baby and carrying off some lovely pre-Code gags.
531.) The first part of a three-part tribute to the Deceased Artistes of
2003. This week's entries, after a year-end editorial segment, include some major names -- Robert Stack, Richard Crenna, and Charles Bronson. Then we offer our humble salutes to folks the mainstream media considered "peripheral," people who got an obit in "Variety" and some of the L.A. papers, but barely rated a mention on shows like "Entertainment Tonight." We do hope Funhouse viewers recognize the names Joanna Lee and Billy Van, but even if they don't, we're ready to fill 'em in....
532.) We pay tribute to 2003 Deceased Artiste emeritus Johnny Cash by presenting clips from his 1969-71 variety series. Like so many other variety shows from the time, the Cash series was a rather astounding mixture of the old and the new - the Man in Black played host to everyone from Phil Harris to Derek and the Dominos, had a house band that included Carl Perkins, sang his hits in a streamlined, sped-up fashion that *some* network exec thought was an improvement, dueted regularly with both his guests and wife June Carter, and offered a really enlightening musical reflection of the times. Includes, if we do say so ourselves, a splendid selection of scenes, ending with the most famous moment on the series, Cash's duet with a strangely sonorous Bob Dylan on "Girl from the North Country." But don't worry, folks - we always tout our love of "high art and low trash," and one of Johnny's guests just plain doesn't belong on the show (although her kitsch/camp credentials mean she truly belongs in the Funhouse). Such was the joy of variety in the '60s.
533.) Our tribute to the Deceased Artistes of 2003 closes out with tributes to playwright Herb Gardner and "the old Ski-nose" himself. Gardner is a Funhouse fave who had a very small body of work -- only five plays and one screenplay in his four-decade-long career - but he made a very singular contribution to the language of NYC nonconformists and, love him or hate him, his dialogue stays with you long after the show is over (take that, Neil Simon). There's nothing we can really add to the mythos of Bob Hope, except to note that he gave us about 15 years of great screen comedy (with many hours of fine radio entertainment), and then went on to star in over 40 years worth of bad TV comedy specials. Let other shows rightly pay tribute to the great movie comic who inspired both Woody Allen and Roy Orbison - we choose to acknowledge all those years of Hope-induced pain. Also: a short tribute to writers and directors who died during the year.
534.) The "Consumer Guide" feature returns to the Funhouse this week as we mix the high and low, French style. The first two features are tame French nudie movies reworked by producer/director/all-around porn entrepreneur Radley Metzger. The first is a simple affair, but the second has been re-edited for DVD release to re-include a little girl cut from the first U.S. edition on the movie, one Catherine Dorleac (who is supposed to be 13 in this flick, but looks way too young to have starred in Polanski's Repulsion a mere 8 years later-our theory: the film had a delayed release even in La Belle France). The third and fourth features spotlighted on the show are items from director Claude Miller, the coming-of-age drama starring Charlotte Gainsbourg L'Effrontee (growin' up to the sound of cheesy Italian Euro-disco) and the taut, character-driven thriller Mortelle Randonee. Discover the noir novel that was adapted into the last-mentioned (also made into the more traditional Eye of the Beholder) and spawned your narrator's favorite quote to depress school yearbook readers: "Time passes. Nothing remains. Except old photographs of young faces."
535.) The Consumer Guide department has no borders: First off is an exploration of the Murnau box set (no, it ain't sittin' on the shelf in Best Buy) for fun with the "other" great German master. Next, it's a short jaunt back into "Deceased Artiste" territory for a tribute to Sir Alan Bates, an Englishman who knew how to sling a sarcastic remark. And then we're back to La Belle France for a celebration of a certain somber singer-songwriter (say that three times fast), the blissfully tuneful and delightfully dated Jacques Brel is Alive and Well. (well, it turns out he was dyin' when the pic was filmed - and he was from Belgium!).
536.) (Repeat) Sammy Davis with guest James Brown kickin' ass on The Hollywood Palace plus notes on Sammy from yrs truly and some inspirational moments from his appearance as a priest on The Mod Squad.
537.) The Consumer Guide features a tribute to two auteurs whose work has been taken out of the vaults and polished up real nice. First up, we review three DVDs of films by Jacques Demy-two are early, widescreen b&w classix, and the third is a wondrous docu by his widow Agnes Varda detailing a number of the director's more imaginative, colorful, and downright bizarre works (none of which, we'll take bets, will be restored, or given a U.S. distributor, anytime soon). The second segment is an overview of the Bertolucci retro going on at the Museum of the Moving Image. He may be an uncertain commodity these days, but at one time this Socialist stylist was the brightest star in the Italian cinema, taking his inspiration (heavily) from Godard, adding gorgeous camera language, and fostering some of the most memorable screen performances in the late '60s/'70s.
538.) We revisit the disturbing, objectionable, but compellingly watchable Goodbye Uncle Tom (1971). We contrast the newly released "director's cut" of this deranged docu-drama, from the Italian filmmaking duo that gave us Mondo Cane with the English-language version we've come to know and wonder at. The film's oddly graphic depiction of the ways Africans suffered under slavery here in the U.S. is set to the bouncy, irresistible (and woefully out-of-place) melodies of Riz ("More") Ortolani. The final sequences--in which an early-'70s black radical snaps and kills as many pasty-faced, consumer-society whites as he can get his hands on--aren't out of place in the longer version of the film, which includes more black militant material...as well as the same unsettling torture scenes and exploitative sexual sequences (the movie was shot in Haiti). The Italian version of the film is a truly radical piece of cinema-that's just as unpleasant, offensive, and uniquely deranged as the English version. It's amazing to think that invaluable, U.S.-shot documentary footage snipped from the film (including MLK's funeral, Dick Gregory running for President, and a Panther meeting) was hiding in the vaults of Signore Jacopetti (the exploitative half of the duo) and Prosperi (the guy who believed-or so he claims--that they were making "documentaries").
539.) Part One of my very friendly and informal interview with the stars of
2001: A Space Odyssey, Keir Dullea and Gary Lockwood. The two gentlemen are very disparate types: Mr. Dullea is a pensive, quiet soul (an alumnus of the NY theater and star of such low-budget gems as David and Lisa), and Mr. Lockwood is an irreverent, West Coast kinda guy (surfer, rancher, who appeared in big-budget films like Splendor in the Grass). We review both men's careers as we lead up to their onscreen teaming (with HAL, of course) in Kubrick's masterpiece.
540.) Part two of our interview with the actors who starred in Kubrick's
sci-fi classic 2001: A Space Odyssey, as we talk about the voice of HAL (as heard on-set), the mysteries of the "Stargate," Gary Lockwood's stint in the Star Trek pilot (Roddenberry wrote a role especially for him--replete with blazing dimestore contact lenses), Keir Dullea's starring role as the Marquis de Sade in one colossal '60s misfire, and his work in the cult cheapjack Canadian series Starlost. The show concludes with a nice round of "Dueling Hustons," as both men reminisce about the late great macho director.
541.) Further demonstrating our devotion to old-fashioned, auteur-driven
film buffdom, we review entries from the ongoing "Rendezvous with French
Cinema" and pay tribute to our favorite Danish film innovator and madman,
Lars Von Trier. The French titles are the taut, twisty thriller Sight for
Sore Eyes and the surprisingly super-adorable musical farce Not on the
Lips by former see-it-three-times-to-understand-it Nouvelle Vague aesthete
Alain Resnais. We don't usually need a reason to pay tribute to the talents
of the eccentric Von Trier, but since AMMI has decided to present a
comprehensive retro of his work, we're more than happy to provide a
"greatest bits" montage, along with the usual background and contextualizin'
by yrs truly.
542.) We remain infatuated with consummate entertainer Sammy Davis Jr., but
also have a fondness for Sam the Man's schlockier '70s appearances. This
time out we present some solid '50s TV footage proving that the man could
dance, sing, and do fine impressions; then we visit a 1973 amazement called
NBC Follies, that tried to resurrect vaudeville and the Flo
Ziegfeld-style stage spectacle. This is attempted with dancing girls in
ridiculous costumes (think Billy Rose meets Bob Mackie), solo musical
numbers (Andy Griffith really gets the audience swingin' with "Day by Day"),
and vaudeville-staple skits performed by the cast, including the always-game
Sam and his one-time mentor in show-biz, the ever-feisty (and extremely
scary) Mickey Rooney -- the two ham it up big-time in a would-be yukfest
"School Days" skit. A trivia tidbit for those into conceptual continuity,
Funhouse-style: this special was written by Gerald Gardner and Dee Caruso,
scripters for the Monkees , and produced by Booker and
Foster, the team that gave us the "First Family" album AND the astoundingly
misguided Phynx.
543.) Being as fixated as we are with the work of "Uncle Jean" (aka master filmmaker Jean-Luc Godard), Media Funhouse could hardly let the appearance of a full-length Godard biography from a mainstream U.S. publisher (!) pass unnoticed. I had the opportunity to chat with JLG biographer Colin MacCabe recently, and this week we present part one of the discussion. Mr. McCabe talks about his approach to his subject, his chats with Godard intimates (who knew that the radiant Anna Karina was so unhappy that suicide attempts were made?), and his experiences as an exec producer on three (count 'em, three) Godard essay videos. Given the misguided preconceptions most folks have about Uncle Jean's work (i.e., that it's heavy and didactic – more about this in part two of the interview!), we will note that our chat is light and informal, and that the clips on this episode are from films that have remained unreleased in the U.S. (no musical numbers for Quentin Tarantino to latch onto and adore).
544.) Time for the Funhouse’s annual Easter Parade of pop-culture blasphemy. This year we have a number of fun cwazy Kwistian collectibles, plus an item or two to offend people of other faiths. Some new music-videos (it ain’t Carman, but the music is bouncy as hell), a curious look at the proposed Xtian way to view James Bond thrillers -- with appropriate Biblical references concerning “world domination” and premarital sex -- and a return to the strangely Schumacher-esque straight-to-video series Bibleman starring born-again auteur Willie Aames. The last-mentioned features a very special link to one of our favorite “Total Filmmakers” (take one guess). The piece de resistance is our expose on religious-themed “marital aids.” Rest assured: this is a Passion-free episode, but the emphasis is on the merchandising of the exploits of that wise, gentle soul who is rumored to have said, “I can see your house from here…."
545.) This week we roll out a vintage episode featuring part one of my interview with one of the most lovably silly kiddie hosts in TV history, Soupy Sales. The Soup reveals what it was like growing up as a Jewish kid in the South, talks about our fave cut-rate puppets (the fact that he refers to hepcat lion Pookie as “he” is just one more reason to love the guy), and his immutable laws for the throwing of pies. We also cover the famous Rat Pack piefight, appearances by other show-biz names (sadly not preserved on either video or kinescope), and his pals, White Fang and Black Tooth. He may have had some health troubles in the past few years, but his mind (and sense of timing) is still razor-sharp, as befits a TV comedy legend.
546.) The conclusion of my interview with Jean-Luc Godard biographer Colin MacCabe finds Mr. MacCabe holding forth (with much good humor) on topics that need entire college courses to dissect, including: Uncle Jean's use of citations from books, music, paintings, and other movies; the much-overlooked aspect of humor in his movies; his current, post-Marxist, 21st-century political outlook; and why his absolutely brilliant and essential video-essays haven't yet cropped up on video or DVD in the U.S.
547.) Part two of our friendly chat with a man who livened up many an afternoon in NYC (and around the country), Soupy Sales. In the concluding installment of the chat, we talk about Soupy’s decision to leave Metromedia TV and call it quits, his movie vehicle Birds Do It (“used as punishment in several states,” sez Soup), a noted Rat Packer (who missed the pie fight) in same, his return to TV (in blazing-red-sweater color) in the late ’70s, and his days in NYC radio on WNBC-AM. All that and plenty of vintage clips—including a guest appearance by the father of "shock rock", Alice Cooper, and another (on his variety show pilot) by Ernest Borgnine “as Judy Garland” (the lady herself then wanders out, and that’s what makes-a da clip history, boss).
548.) The first part of a two-part presentation which finds the Funhouse
presenting insanely different rendtions of Lewis Carroll's classic Alice in Wonderland. To set up the quiet brilliance of the BBC-TV version from 1966, we first re-present a selection of clips from an all-star bona fide kitsch extravaganza. The slice of "happy pain" in question is the 1985 Irwin Allen-produced two-part TV movie that features a script by young adult novelist Paul Zindel, songs by Steve Allen, and costumes and sets by.well, whomever had done Land of the Giants and Lost in Space for Irwin. I showed clips from this tacky gem a few years back when Steverino left this mortal coil, but it's important to note that although his contribution is mighty special (especially the number cooked up for a way-outta-control Carol Channing), the other reason the show needs to be seen is its assortment of then-famous TV talent, seasoned vets who were known to slum (Jonathan Winters, Sid Caesar and Imogene Coca-but not together), and purebred stars who would do anything for a buck.with the spotlight on two of our faves, Ringo Starr as the Mock Turtle and Sammy Davis Jr. as the Caterpillar (smokin' a hookah, and tap-dancing, naturally). If you caught it last time, it's worth a second look (all new host segments from yrs truly), if only to contrast this overblown spectacular with next week's subdued British absurdist masterwork; if you've never seen it before, you're in for a surprise.or something.
549.) Part two of our journey to Wonderland takes us back to 1966. Jonathan Miller’s BBC TV adaptation of Carroll’s classic is a truly refined absurdist work, as quiet as it is strange, that plays out Alice’s journey as if it were an adolescent’s descent into madness (punctuated by occasional bouts of that other teen plague, boredom). The film is beautifully shot (imagine Victorian photography crossbred with mid-‘60s Bergman) with no costumes and no musical numbers. The top-notch cast includes Michael Redgrave, John Gielgud (in the role occupied by Ringo Starr last week, for those keeping track), Leo McKern, Malcolm Muggeridge, Peter Cook as a truly bouncy Mad Hatter, and Peter Sellers as the King of Hearts. Those who saw our preceding show will have the distinct pleasure of comparing Wonderlands — suffice it to say, much as I revere Steve Allen, the Ravi Shankar score provided for this version seems to be a bit truer to the dreamlike quality of the material.
550.) Two French film personalities are interviewed this week's show. The first guest is filmmaker Gilles Bourdos, director of Sight for Sore Eyes, a tautly composed adaptation of a Ruth Rendell thriller. Bourdos discusses the value of “long take” in thrillers, the influence of Hitchcock, and the very interesting way the French government funds its independent film industry. Our second guest, actor Lambert Wilson, is a French star who might best be remembered from the two Matrix sequels, but has been working in French features and international co-productions since the early ’80s. This first part of our chat with Wilson focuses on his performance in Alain Resnais’ super-cute musical Not on the Lips. Find out which Golden Age movie comedian is Resnais' favorite (can ya picture "The Road to...Marienbad"?).
551.) We revisit the very singular work of '50s B-budget god Hugo Haas in this episode. Regular Funhouse viewers will know how much I deeply revere this, er…consistent filmmaker, a man who was clearly severely warped by "the Blue Angel" at a young age. This episode continues our chronological journey through the big Czech’s oeuvre, and puts us smack-dab in the reign of his second blonde-fatale, Cleo Moore. The more melodramatic moments of Strange Fascination (Hugo as concert pianist ruined by blonde) and One Girl’s Confession (Hugo as Balkan gambler helped by blonde, but ruined by his own desire to rip her off). The featured flick is Bait (1954)—yes, this is the Haas production that is introduced in person by the Devil (played by Sir Cedric Hardwicke--get to see Satan's projection room!), and features Cleo as a good girl, sci-fi cult hero John Agar as Hugo’s intended stooge, and Hugo himself as a very greed-driven (can anybody say Fred C. Dobbs?) prospector.
552.) This week in the Consumer Guide department we review two recent DVD releases: Sister, My Sister constituted the second pass at the “Murderous Maids” storyline (which we discussed weeks back in relation to Genet’s The Maids) – this time out, the sisters were not only thoroughly British Frenchwomen, they were also lesbian lovers. God is Great… could be seen as yet another Audrey Tatou vehicle (that gamine gets around, doesn’t she?), although it was made before Amelie, and is an awfully cute tribute to Woody Allen’s urban neurotic comedies. Our feature segment contains part of my interview with Lars Von Trier’s hero and collaborator Jorgen Leth. Mr. Leth was in town to promote the uncategorizable but infinitely enjoyable The Five Obstructions, which consists of our Lars challenging him (a poet, filmmaker, Danish consul in Haiti) to remake his classic 1967 short The Perfect Human with certain “obstructions” in place. We at the Funhouse subsequently had an obstruction bedevil us, as our in-person chat with Mr. Leth was eaten alive by a vengeful digital camera (guess it didn’t like the Easter show). But Jorgen L. is nothing if not a patient, charitable sort – see him deal with “diabolical” Lars to understand fully – and so he agreed to do a new interview over the phone. Thus, my second chat with the Danish icon (and film-school instructor to most of the key Dogma directors) discusses Obstructions and Leth’s own activities.
553.) The Media Funhouse Consumer Guide dept. is open for biz again as I review a whole mess of DVDs, going from country to country and time period to time period. First up is a German production directed by melodrama master Douglas Sirk – he never was a subtle filmmaker, but his Nazi-era movies (he fled before it really hit the fan) are truly beyond the pale if La Habeñera is any indication. German actors playing Puerto Ricans, an Aryan-lookin’ Swedish kid pining for snow while living in P.R., and the Swedish wife of a bullfighting “don” pining for her homeland as a fever rages over the island -- they just don’t write ’em like this anymore. We move on to a long-missing (at least here in the U.S.) Fritz Lang feature, Liliom, which is a French adaptation of the play that wound up becoming Carousel. No one sings “My Boy Bill,” but you do find Charles Boyer as a bona fide cad feeling up his intended, Fritz’s impression of carny life, and a trip over France with some heavenly minions. We then explore Kieslowski’s gorgeously quiet Short Films (one about Love, one about Killing, if you’re not familiar) and, a personal fave, Dennis Potter’s exquisite tribute to the emotional power of popular music, Pennies from Heaven (the original BBC miniseries).
554.) To the charge that we at the Media Funhouse live in the past, we can only reply, well.sometimes it's entirely necessary. This week my annual "Host's Choice" episode finds me waxing rhapsodic--after a brief hiccup of seasonal lamentations--about Sidney Lumet's 100% authentic NYC comedy Bye Bye Braverman. Lumet has the reputation of being one of the foremost New York film directors, but this stems almost entirely from his crime sagas and brilliant acting showcases like The Pawnbroker. Sure, Garbo Talks ain't nothin' to write home about (and leave The Wiz for some other discussion), but Braverman is an unheralded gem that features a beautifully bittersweet script by variety show vet Herb Sargent and a busload of great performances from "New York actors." The 1968 film follows a quartet of Manhattanites, middle-aged Jewish intellects all, getting lost as they journey to Brooklyn for their friend's funeral ceremony. But you've probably already guessed that the movie ain't about the journey--it's about middle-age, the healing power of pop culture (yeah, that again), and the pleasures of companionship (especially when it comes to laughing in a place of worship).
555.) A reprise of part two of my very cordial interview with the late auteur and man’s man, Mr. Budd Boetticher. This part of our chat covers Budd’s best-known period as a director: when he was making a series of exquisite low-budget Westerns starring Randolph Scott. The show starts out with an anecdote about Budd’s Hollywood hero, John Ford, which strikes a sentimental note for those who saw part 3 of my interview – Budd speaks about how Ford’s close friends humored him when he was dying, encouraging his dreams of making “one more movie.” Budd’s own plans to produce a final feature about his wild days making the bullfighting docudrama Arruza seemed in many ways to echo his pal “Jack”’s life-sustaining dream. The spirited 84-year-old director also talks about his often drunk friend John Wayne, and the brilliance of his frequent screenwriter/collaborator Burt Kennedy.
556.) This week we re-present part three of my friendly chat with B-budget movie legend (and man did he hate the term “B-movie”!) Budd Boetticher. This episode centers around Budd’s later films and his wild experiences attempting to film a documentary about his bullfighter friend Carlos Arruza (included were Arruza's sudden death, Budd's bankruptcy, and a forced stay in a mental asylum). Clips from his final Western, A Time for Dying (1969), are featured -- an odd item that Budd did his best with (two godawful lead performances and a scene-stealing, profoundly memorable character turn by ol’ Victor Jory as Judge Roy Bean), but the producers were intent on burying as a tax-shelter pic. We also discuss the plans that were made for Budd’s “final” film — a fictionalized account of his troubles with Arruza to be directed by Robert Towne or Curtis Hanson or Taylor Hackford, or any of Budd’s other admirers who, like he did with John Ford (as noted in part two of our chat), were willing to keep a noble old fighter’s dream alive.
557.) The second and final part of my chat with comedy legend Shelley Berman. In the first part we discussed Mr. Berman’s work with the pioneering Compass troupe (which became the Second City) and his monologues, which inspired many a later "egghead" comedian, especially a young Woody Allen. At the point we left the conversation, we were discussing Mr. Berman’s TV work—this time we start out with a bit on his Twilight Zone episode (written especially for him by Rod S.), and then proceed straight into (his “show business term”) the kvetching. Loosened up by a martini, Mr. Berman does shtick about driving, NYC, and even public access (yr host just let ’im roll). Included are scenes from his seminal supporting role in The Best Man and his current stint as Larry David’s sorta doddering dad on Curb Your Enthusiasm. Mr. Berman may appear to be ribbing yrs truly at some length, but he was incredibly nice when the camera went off (the man is a college prof these days when not out on the road and, it is, after all, an act the guy’s doin’). A very fun episode, if we do say so ourselves.
558.) First in a series of tributes to the late, great Marlon Brando. Brando may have slowly degenerated into a cartoon in the past three decades, but he was without question one of the key actors of the 20th century and, more importantly for me, a man who starred in some of the best films of the 1950s and '70s and some of the most compulsively watchable bad gems of the '60s and '90s. Our first attempt to pay tribute to the man whose legend looms large, as well it should, is a presentation of scenes from Meet Marlon Brando, the utterly indispensable cinema-verite classic by the brilliant Maysles Bros that chronicles a press junket for the movie Morituri. Marlon never once praises the film, says his costars were a delight to work with, or recites the plotline, in short, he does none of the things we've all come to hate so much, thanks to hours of pointless DVD supplements, years of the E! channel hype-machine, and decades of the commerce-driven nightmare that is Entertainment Tonight. An eccentric, stubborn soul way before the million-dollar paychecks and the weight gain, he's a delight throughout. And if you think that the prospect of seeing raw Brando (with a serious flirt on whenever a female interviewer appears) is worth settin' your lil recording devices for, well then, here's the bonus: since the Maysles showed Marlon at his most uncooperative, I'm also airing him at his most compliant, doing a 1955 guest stint on the TV series MGM Parade opposite a puppet called "Little Leo."
559.) A vintage episode featuring clips from a movie that never plays in rep houses, hasn't appeared on arts cable (or the once-great entity known as PBS), and has slim-to-no chance of appearing on U.S. DVD anytime soon. The film is Anna (1967), a musical French telefilm that plays like a fusion of Funny Face and The Umbrellas of Cherbourg, with a heaping dose of mod '60s pop-art visuals thrown in for good measure. The stars are New Wave mainstay Jean-Claude Brialy and Godard's goddess Anna Karina; their costar and the man who scored the piece is Funhouse favorite Serge Gainsbourg. (Popping in to sing her latest single written by Serge is a young, dulcet-voiced Marianne Faithfull.) We present the film in French because: a.) there is no English-subbed version available, and b.) it's completely comprehensible no matter what the characters may be saying or singing (and if that ain't good enough, yours truly runs down the plot beforehand). Suffice it to say that the film is a undiscovered gem that features two pure-pop tunes sung by Anna --- the waltz-tempo ode to travel, "Sous Le Soleil Exactement," and the truly bitchin' "Roller Girl" -- that will haunt your warped little minds for days after ya hear 'em.
560.) Another super-exclusive for the hardcore film buffs in the viewing audience: clips from the first two installments of Godard's Histoire du Cinema. This extremely ambitious and imaginative survey of the (hi)stories of the movies is the work ol' Uncle Jean concentrated his primary energies on for a whole decade (from '88 to '98-as noted by our recent guest, JLG biographer Colin MacCabe), and the result is the ultimate montage of movie images. This ain't at all like those 30-clips-a-minute Chuck Workman deals you see on the Oscars, though-Godard composed these essays out of photos, overlapping soundtracks, imaginative dissolves and overlays, and his own reflections, complimented by stray voices reading works from classical lit (and we don't think Workman would ever counterpoint movie stills with masterpieces of art, or segue from Leonard Cohen to opera).
561.) The second and final part of my chat with actor Lambert Wilson finds us discussing his work with director Alain Resnais on two utterly charming (god, we don't wanna say) homage-musicals, Not on the Lips and the Dennis Potter tribute Same Old Song. Wilson compares Resnais‚ methods with those of the Wachowski Bros on the Matrix films (he plays the snotty French villain in the second and third movies), and talks about what it's like to be a French guy who speaks flawless English doing an accent Française in an American blockbuster, then doing an American accent in French for a much lower-budgeted auteur film. We also discuss his starring role in Andre Techine‚s erotic drama Rendezvous and his supporting turn as a sleazy, wife-stealin' Italian dude in Greenaway's Belly of an Architect. From Greenaway to Catwoman (Wilson plays Sharon Stone's cohort), Lambert (not Lanford) Wilson has been straddling the fence culturally for some time, and creating some very interesting (mostly villainous) characterizations.
562.) Newspapers and magazines may have paid proper tribute to the passing of the legendary Marlon Brando, but we at the Funhouse found the TV coverage severely lacking. And so we proudly present part two of my ongoing tribute to the man whose influence on modern movie acting was as large as, well, you just supply your own cheap weight gag (the similarities between the fates of Marlon and that of Orson are many--oh, except for the million-dollar paychecks and profit-points that Marlon was able to scam). This time out, we're tackling the period that is generally overlooked, or intentionally skipped over, by movie historians: the time between his first half-dozen movie triumphs and his "return to greatness" in the early 1970s. First off, a little "inspirational reading" of some quotes from the definitive Brando interview, the lengthy chat in Playboy with writer Lawrence Grobel (find out what Marl thought about acting, fame, shamed political leaders, Bob Hope, and the inside of a camel's mouth). Next up is a selection of clips from "forgotten" features, including the brilliant "cold-opening" courtroom sequence from The Fugitive Kind and the very wise (and timeless) close to the otherwise not-so-exceptional The Ugly American. We take a brief detour at Candy (how could we pass that one up?), and close out with a discussion of the film Brando himself praised in interviews, Pontecorvo's Burn!
563.) A vintage episode featuring tunes by our fave poetic and perverse deceased Frenchman, Serge Gainsbourg. Part two of our presentation of clips from Anna (1967), the unreleased French musical that is screamin' for a cult, as well as some pub-films featuring Serge in his longer-haired pop guru mode. For those who missed part one, Anna is a color TV musical that combines Funny Face, The Umbrellas of Cherbourg, and aspects of the pop-art films of photographer William Klein. Tonight's selections from the pic include a Western fantasy (hey, why not?), a critique of U.S. militarism (always timely), and Anna Karina in a spacesuit, exhibiting an adorable inability to pronounce the English word "three" ("one, two, free, four, five, six."). The Gainsbourg clips offer the earliest TV appearance by Jane Birkin and Serge, as well as Anna K. and Serge dueting on a song from Anna for a French variety series, and Serge--looking his hangover-worst--providing his own take on the waltz-time wonder "Sous Le Soleil Exactement."
564.) Rather than waiting until the end of the year to do a "Deceased Artiste" roundup, this week we offer a preliminary recounting of some of the folks who died in the past weeks and months. The eclectic "honorary mention" list includes some pleasant visuals, but the real emphasis in this group is on character actors - who else salutes the passings of Jan Miner and Carrie Snodgress? - and the two "big guns" who died in the same week. Our tribute to the recently-kicked Saint Bonzo includes footage that TCM veered away from - watch the late Prez talk friendly to a chimp, get punched by John Cassavetes, and shot down with a really big gun. Reagan didn't hold a candle to Ray Charles talent-wise (and Brother Ray never traded no arms for hostages, no he didn't), and so we present an extension of the footage I showed (and had to summarily clip) a few weeks back, featuring his killer turn on The Johnny Cash Show.
565.) We once again visit the "Consumer Guide" department, where we spotlight some of our fave directors, including Lars Von Trier whose intense, passionate, and demanding lil masterpiece Dogville has been released on DVD, replete with appropriate snicker-filled audio commentary by the Dogma leader himself. We bounce over to Paris for The Dreamers, Bertolucci's cinephilic menage pic featuring countless references to movies we love - plus all sorts of softcore-seduction-in-an-apartment, a la the grand Last Tango. We stay in France for an appraisal of the super-deluxe DVD release of demonlover which features interesting footage of a business-like (truly intent, you might say) Olivier Assayas filming the s&m/kink scenes in the highly kinetic and thoughtful but uneven film. Our last feature is the Funhouse discovery of the week, the Israeli counterculture music/comic blackout variety series Lool (1970-74). We'll be showing some clips from the series, a groovy color commercial featuring the cast, and the show's offshoot film (directed by a man who clearly loved Godard and Makavejev in 1970, but wound up making The Last American Virgin over here many years later). The show also featured an appearance by American comic Art Metrano, one of the two great "inept magician" standups from our childhood.
566.) When it comes time to unearth a vintage Funhouse episode, I pride myself in always choosing the best of our past decade-plus on the air. This week, since Labor Day has just recently stamped out of the room in a huff, we present one of our best Jerry Lewis tribute shows. The opening segment - in which cohost Stephen Kroninger and I discuss Jer's stalker - may date to the year in which the show was shot, but the rest of the program deals with the everlasting appeal and personal philosophy of the Total Filmmaker. We peruse Jerry memorabilia (including Day the Clown Cried stationery!) and do a capsule tribute to Jer's lost thespic masterwork, The Jazz Singer. The centerpiece of the show is an inspirational reading from our friend Stephen, who tackles Jerry's epigrammatic "instruction book," How to be a Person. You'll learn that you'd best ought to pray, laugh, and "try harder," as well as discover how to react when you see a "cripple." Throw away your dog-eared copies of The Little Prince and The Prophet, cause Jerry knows exactly how to get a handle on the mysteries of existence (plus there's nice doodles on every page!).
567.) This week a vintage episode of the show features part four of my talk with D.A. Pennebaker and his collaborator-wife Chris Hegedus. This program features an informal survey of his concert films. We discuss his work with Ms. Hegedus on Depeche Mode 101, a concert movie that shows the band at their syntho-pop finest (pre-heroin, so no fun backstage hijinks). The movie also follows an obnoxious group of their fans (contest winners) who travel around seeing the band's gigs in several states-herein lies the true moment where a master of cinema verite unwittingly prefigured the "reality show," since this bunch of cosmeticized, teased-hair fanboys and girls are the very prototype of the casts of The Real World, Big Brother, and every other serialized horror currently airing. We also discuss the 1969 Toronto Rock 'n' Roll Revival, where Pennebaker and company shot the first generation of rockers, as well as John Lennon and an impromptu Plastic Ono Band, among others. Most indispensable: Pennebaker's meditations on his collaboration with Richard Leacock and our hero, Jean-Luc Godard, on the very odd One A.M. See the Jefferson Airplane perform on an urban rooftop well before the Beatles, watch Eldridge Cleaver get snotty to Uncle Jean, and, most importantly, see Rip Torn roam through an NYC construction site quoting a Black Panther speech at the top of his lungs.
568.) There's so much clogging up video store shelves these days that we at the Funhouse are glad to provide pointers as to what you might want to check out on your next jaunt to the "alternative" entertainment parlor ('cause the chain stores don't stock too much of this stuff). Thus, our "Consumer Guide" this week spotlights a new series of silent-comedy DVDs featuring the talents of Hal Roach stalwarts Charley Chase (a later Laurel and Hardy gagman) and Stan Laurel (the supreme L&H gagger back when he got directing credit-and utilized the acting talents of his future partner!). Next we look at a series of cult pics that have been released for the first time on disc. Thus, we are able to gaze on stunningly campy disco/glam sci-fi musical numbers, a pair of very square hippies harmonizin' in proto-Spector style, a damn fine guitar band in the middle of a Western, and a lesbian trip to the merry-go-round, as we review The Apple, Zachariah, Good Times, the Cher picaresque (!) Chastity, and Michael Ritchie's brilliant satire of beauty pageants, Smile.
569.) Novelty records don't get no respect. They're thought of as one-shot, trite pieces of resolutely silly pop culture, when some of them have been the most complexly executed (any Spike Jones opus), touching (Allen Sherman mediating on suburbia or weight), nasty ("Short People," Arthur Godfrey's evil "Too Fat Polka"), or sincerely aberrant ("Fish Heads," "They're Coming to Take Me Away.") recordings of all time. For the past 35 years or so one gentleman has been making a specialty of these warped discs, and we're proud to interview him on the show this week. Dr. Demento (born Barry Hansen) is a musicologist-turned-"character" who has trumpeted the joys of the great musical weirdos and innovators of the past and present on his syndicated radio show. We speak more to Demento the musicologist, getting his reflections on the novelty record as a genre, current spoof-music, the evolution of his show from underground hippie vinyl-fest to family-friendly comedy show. Our conversation is punctuated by rare footage of the artists associated with Demento's show: the one and only Spike (forget about Adam Spiegel, the name-thief), Allen Sherman (doing a particularly maudlin rewrite of one of his Jewish folk-song classics), Tom Lehrer (seen in ultra-rare TV footage Demento presented at B.B. Kings; watch the master of satirical tunes in all his nerdish glory), and Demento's discoveries, the current leading practitioner of the novelty record Weird Al, and our favorite strange act from the warped 1970s, Barnes and Barnes (aka Billy Mumy and a pal). It's serious talk about some very funny (and often charmin') music.
570.) Sometimes the Funhouse guests who aren't household names supply the most interesting information. This week a vintage episode features part one of my interview with French director Claude Miller, a sublime craftsman who has split his output between Truffaut-like "coming of age" sagas and razor-sharp thrillers adapted from Anglo/American novelists. We discuss his latest at the time of the taping, Betty Fisher and other stories ("Alias Betty" in the U.S.), from a suspense novel by Ruth Rendell, and his take on the Hitchock "model" for thrillers. We also explore his wonderfully intense adaptation of Patricia Highsmith, This Sweet Sickness with Gerard Depardieu; his work with the late, lamented cult actor Patrick Deweare, The Best Way; and his adolescent tales.
571.) There’s nothing as pleasant as a cooperative guest (we're talking interviews here). In this week’s vintage episode, part two of my interview with filmmaker Claude Miller finds the largely unknown but quite talented cineaste talking about his work as an assistant to three of the greatest “New Wave” directors of all time. Jacques Demy, Jean-Luc Godard, and Francois Truffaut – Miller assisted them all, and while he may have acted only for Godard (we show his appearance in the “pile o’books” sequence of Two or Three Things…), he forged a close friendship with Truffaut. So much so that he directed his final script, The Little Thief (with precocious teen Charlotte Gainsbourg—see her flirt, see her try on new nylons, see her engage in a reform-school girl catfight!). This interview was conducted upon the first U.S. screenings of Alias Betty, so we also continue our discussion of that taut, Ruth Rendell-derived thriller.
572.) So many rarities have come out on DVD…and still there are some cult items that have remained on the shelf. One such fave is the well-loved British miniseries “Rock Follies” about three “little ladies” trying to make it singing “the rock music.” Our vintage episode offers some choice clips from the series, which drew viewers in with its tight acting, soap-opera-like plotline, a working-class milieu (in the first season, at least) and clever evocations of 1930s show-biz pictures (“the rock music” being the scripter’s idea of a modern equivalent for Ruby Keeler getting a break in “the show business”). The element that made the show such a sensation on PBS back in the late ’70s (when PBS was the thing to watch for fringe folk and culture-vultures) was the musical score, a collection of ultra hook-y pop-rock tunes and ballads by Roxy Music’s Andy Mackay. The show’s stars were rock belter Julie Covington, Charlotte Cornwell (real-life sis of John Le Carre), and obscure ’70s pop-culture reference Rula Lenska; the show’s supporting players included Nell Campbell, a pre “Pennies from Heaven” Bob Hoskins, and, in one particularly sterling later episode, Tim Curry as a British Springsteen/Lou Reed character named Stevie Streeter. Our copies of the show are typical pre-cable recordings that are compulsively watchable despite a few glitches—but until someone somewhere wises up and puts this series on disc, we’re proud to re-introduce our audience to “the Little Ladies” of song.
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The Show's Twelfth Year
573.) Jumping from country to country is a favorite pastime in the Funhouse; this week our “Consumer Guide” allows us to bounce around the European Union as we salute three fave auteurs. First up is a segment on a quartet of early Kieslowski films that were recently released on DVD; the films are profoundly touching moral tales that range in tone from mock-documentary to a severely grim study of a soul in crisis. Next up is a review of the DVD release of The Five Obstructions, the unclassifiable “challenge film” that finds our pesky Danish deity Lars Von Trier engaging his former teacher, Danish renaissance man Jorgen Leth, in a cinematic mind-game in which Leth has to remake his splendid 1967 short “The Perfect Human” in various strange ways. Included in this segment is the second part of my interview with Leth, as the melancholy Dane reflects on making films in the ’60s and his “diabolical” one-time student Von Trier. Closing out the show, we provide some Halloween content by discussing the work of Ken Russell, currently the subject of a retro at the American Museum of the Moving Image. We focus in on Russell’s classic ’70s work, including the uncut version of his positively brilliant and blasphemous anti-clerical masterwork The Devils.
574.) Actress Carol Lynley has nothing to hide – this we found out when we conducted a lengthy, highly informal and fun interview with her at the Chiller convention. In the first of two parts, we discuss her early career as a virginal blonde in Disney’s way-too-wholesome Light in the Forest and her subsequent turn to freshly-scrubbed “delinquent” status in Blue Denim. Ms. Lynley also tells us what it was like working with Judy Garland (very briefly) on the doomed Harlow biopic in which she starred (released at the same time as the one starring former Funhouse guest Carol Baker). The episode’s focus is on Teutonic taskmaster Otto Preminger, who gave Carol her transitional roles as (yet another) pregnant teen in The Cardinal and the young mom seeking her missing moppet in Bunny Lake is Missing (in which she is comforted, and then menaced, by another former Funhouse guest, Keir Dullea). We close the show with a discussion of her most famous role, the willowy singer forced (gasp) to turn to Red Buttons for solace in everyone’s favorite camp disaster epic The Poseidon Adventure.
575.) You hang around Hollywood long enough, you pick up some stories. In part two of our interview with actress Carol Lynley, we move ahead in her career to the 1970s, when she made quite a few appearances on one of our fave cult addictions, “Fantasy Island.” Ms. Lynley regales us with anecdotes about “the lava-lava girls” (you’ll find out), a hair-raising encounter with a pistol-packin’ Tattoo, and another Funhouse fave, Roddy McDowall (who appeared in one of the single-most mind-warping episodes of the series with Carol, as a Sky Masterson-looking incarnation of Old Scratch himself). We also discuss her starring role in the old-fashioned parlor mystery The Cat and the Canary directed by (yet another Funhouse fave) Radley Metzger. Carol’s feelings about her career are quite candid, and we can definitely say we had a blast discussing it with her. Any friend of Mr. Roarke's is a friend of ours....
576.) Foreign directors come in and out of fashion, but we in the Funhouse never cease lovin’ our favorites. This week’s vintage episode centers around three unreleased-in-the-U.S. movies from Aki Kaurismaki, one of Finland’s two leading directors (the other, by chance and genetic fortune, is his bro Mika). Kaurismaki’s movies come in two varieties and we’ve got ’both this evening: Take Care of Your Scarf, Tatiana, is one of his deadpan tales of backwoods hicks (Scandinavian hicks, that is) encountering life outside the sticks, while Drifting Clouds is a touching character study of a married couple trying to make ends meet. Along the way, they may turn to Kaurismaki characters’ usual pastimes – smoking, drinking, and listening to grungy rock’n’roll – but this time ingenuity (and, yes, a cute dog) is added into the mix. The final feature I Hired a Contract Killer retells a common theme for noirs – a man hiring a killer to murder himself, and then reconsidering – but adds a neat twist. Namely, a laid-off French office-worker (Funhouse icon Jean-Pierre Leaud) hiring his depressed killer in a run-down working-class section of England. All three movies haven’t played anywhere in the U.S. except at film festivals and in one-shot screenings at rep houses, so we’re proud to show scenes from them for the first time on U.S. television.
577.) Time to give thanks for great talent, and the excellent anecdotes that are inevitably attached to it. This episode is the third and just about final part of my “Deceased Artiste” tribute to the late, great Marlon Brando, focusing on his “last blast” early ’70s period and the uncommonly colorful character he grew into in the last quarter-century of his life. Yrs truly holds forth with several choice stories about the Big Man, followed by film clips and at least one great Marlon-controls-the-interview scene. We sum it all up with the most outlandish thing he ever committed to celluloid: his buck-toothed, white-faced, British-accented turn in the utterly unnecessary – but really essential, camp-wise – remake of The Island of Dr. Moreau. The sight of Marlon playing against el hombre mas pequeo del mundo, our own fave Nelson de la Rosa, couldn’t possibly be left out of any Funhouse tribute to one of the last century’s greatest actors.
578.) We are pro-gamine on the Funhouse, and so this week I’m proud to present a short interview I had recently with none other than the button-cutest actress working in movies today, Audrey Tautou. The chat occurred in conjunction with the opening of her latest film, A Very Long Engagement, directed by her Amélie auteur, Jean-Pierre Jeunet. I also spoke with Jeunet, who speaks fluent English, and so responds to questions in a matter-of-fact fashion. Despite his short answers, we have a sterling collection of clips from his past features (including a Yuletide-specific gem from the dark City of Lost Children and one of several orgasm-related montages he’s created) to illustrate his superb skill at creating sequential gags (think Rube Goldberg with a dark-humor bent, or a fantasy-universe version of Jacques Tati). Ms. Tautou is not as fluent in English, and thus responds in a careful, lengthy fashion. A short selection of clips from her work to date supplements our discussion of her career, and her latest Engagement.
579.) Any excuse will be taken to turn the Funhouse into a musical wonderland, and so this week our “Consumer Guide” focuses exclusively on over-the-top musical entertainment. First off, we have a mini-review of an upcoming rep-house showing of the “forgotten” Jacques Demy-Catherine Deneuve musical. The holidays ain’t holidays without strange fairy tales, and Donkey Skin is exactly that: a princess loving her royal dad way too much, a fairy godmother, a ridiculous disguise, a Cinderella-style search for Ms. Right, and a tuneful, upbeat Michel Legrand score. Next up is a more mainstream musical feature, Kevin Spacey’s Bobby Darin biopic, Beyond the Sea. Yours truly speaks with two-time Oscar winner Spacey in a junket interview, and we show select clips from the film, which is two movies in one: an old-fashioned, gonzo musical (with the streets of the Bronx, the Copa, the Vegas strip, and an Italian villa all recreated in a German studio complex) and a serious drama about the jarring and profound transformations in Darin’s life. Speaking of said transformations, I felt the only way we could follow our chat with Spacey was to show his inspiration, and thus we roll out clips from The Darin Invasion, a 1971 Canadian TV special that features Bobby straddling show-biz worlds: he’s back in Vegas mode, but still clinging to his folk music side. We feature some clips that amplify Spacey’s presentation of Darin (including a song he leaves out of the movie, Darin's biggest latter-day hit,“If I Were a Carpenter,” and one he does a few times, “Simple Song of Freedom”), and show that Darin, the man proclaimed as the “second best nightclub entertainer ever,” shared several things in common with the “best ever” (even Kev says so), Sammy Davis, including a love of Broadway and a knack for giving his audience (say it with me now) “110%.”
580.) We love to share our latest strange and entertaining finds with Funhouse viewers, and so this show contains clips from three items that have been released on cost-cutter DVDs that would most likely escape the notice of ordinary beings. The first is the Mondo Cane ripoff Mondo Balordo which boasts English narration by Funhouse hero Boris Karloff. The film features the usual parade of atrocities and lightly kinky subjects (a “Mondo” specialty), including a talented little gent (27” high!) whose stage act consisted of lip synching to other artists’ records while dressed in a zoot suit (here, he favors us with his impression of Louis Prima). The second film is the mind-boggling surf musical The Fat Spy which cuts between musical numbers by a Beach Boys clone-band and a comic plot featuring insult comic “Fat Jack” E. Leonard (as twin brothers), Phyllis Diller, Brian Donlevy, and the always estimable Jayne Mansfield. The rock numbers are catchy, but it’s the solos by Fat Jack and Jayne that really stand out in this strange artifact. The third and final atrocity (oops, meant entry) is a glitzy 1985 TV special that has somehow shown up on DVD in a nearly anonymous package—it’s “The All-Star Party for Dutch Reagan,” a tribute to the former President hosted by Frank Sinatra (who sings “Have Yourself a Merry Little Xmas” and introduces cohost Monty Hall), that is performed in front of a veritable audience of (very aged or under-contract-to-the-network) stars. Highlights include Dean Martin’s bit of Sammy Cahn-written “special material,” Steve and Eydie doing Woody Guthrie (their Vegas-y patriotic medley includes “This Land is Your Land”), and Ben Vereen and Emmanuel Lewis, well…tap-dancing. The whole thing is a joy to behold until Charlton Heston comes out and delivers a conservative speech from On High, and then you remember why you may have taken a pass on all the fun that preceded when this thing aired back in ’85.
581.) Whatever else TV may offer up at Xmastime, we at the Funhouse feel that it just ain’t the holiday season without black-and-white comedy. Thus, this year we pay tribute to the ’30s comedian most overlooked these days (we’ll save Wheeler and Woolsey for another time, thank yez), the inimitable Mae West. Mae’s movie career is rather amazing, as she went from being a supporting player who stole an otherwise awful movie (Night After Night, 1932), to an all-out star in two brazenly original comedies that she scripted herself (She Done Him Wrong, the film that saved Paramount from bankruptcy, and I’m No Angel), to playing in a series of middling, Hays Code-dimmed vehicles that substituted heapin’ helpings of dull plot for her usual ribald one-liners and set-pieces. She went back to the stage in the ’40s, and only made two films afterward (we’re taking a pass on Myra Breckinridge, which we covered years back), so she has a smaller body of work (insert hip-shaking, eye-rolling pun here) than most other classic screen comics. Our tribute consists of the usual bio-historical background, clips from her three pre-Code gems, select moments from the “leaner” pics (notice Budd Boetticher’s bud, ex-Cary Grant roomie Randolph Scott, getting an inspection in one clip), and her final moment of Golden Age screen glory – her pairing with W.C. Fields in My Little Chickadee. We’ll also supply a glimpse of mega-camp Mae via a very high-energy scene with Keith Moon (Keith’s the energetic one) from her big-screen swan song, the very archly-strange Sextette, in which octogenarian Mae cavorts with some of our fave old-movie fans (Keith, Alice, Ringo) and some of her older compadres (George Raft, Walter Pidgeon), as well as everyone’s sidekick (Dom DeLuise).
582.) This week's vintage episode focuses on the driest comedian to ever take on Johnny Carson, “mouse in the Rat Pack” Joey Bishop. The episode starts off with an especially bouncy late ’50s TV duet from the Chairman of the Board and Dino (who serenade a bunch of sitting pretties), and then it’s on to the, um…more “accessible” members of the Pack, as Sammy and Peter Lawford hype their new movie Salt and Pepper on the late-night "Joey Bishop Show." Joey and his way-too-eager-to-please hench, the world's most unctuous Irishman (aka Regis Philbin) show off their new Nehru jackets, designed to match Sam’s own super-groovy threads (although Sammy’s comes complete with roach-clip), and then it’s on to the entertainment: an Anthony Newley medley from Sam (“The Joker,” no two ways about it, is the killer); a spontaneous B-day party for the Bish; a tap-dancing competition that involves Sam, Joey, Joey’s brother Moishe, and Sammy Davis Sr.; and the requisite mutual-admiration session that made the talk shows of our youth cigarette-smoke-laden gold.
583.) This week’s vintage episode is a blissful potpourri of clips gleaned from the Game Show Network. Included are items from the mid-’50s through the mid-‘60s, plus commentary from yrs. truly. Shows covered are "To Tell the Truth" (clips include appearances by the inspiration for Hitchcock's The Wrong Man, Dr. Seuss, and Alan Freed — plus some oddly attired cheesecake), "Password" (guests include Otto Preminger, Sammy Davis, Peter Lawford, and James Stewart), and the most bizarre creation of the Goodson-Todman mill, "I've Got a Secret" (guests with prefab things to conceal include Joan Crawford, Boris Karloff, Jonathan Winters, and Salvador Dali).
584.) Our 2005 tributes to the "Deceased Artistes" of 2004 start off with one of our faves, Sir Peter Ustinov. This episode includes part one of my interview with said grand gent, plus clips from his long and storied career. Sir Peter turned out to be a loquacious and inarguably brilliant old gent who would’ve preferred to discuss world politics, but was always willing to take a side visit to the world of comedy. Also included is a clip from his terrifyingly innovative -- and man, have you seen the imitations in the years since (there were three in one year alone back in the late ’80s!) -- Vice Versa, a gentle farce starring Roger (“Col. Blimp”) Livesey and a young Anthony Newley (one child who was scarily identical to his later adult self in everything but vocal range). The plot finds childish dad and uncommonly mature kid switching bodies for the duration of a strange “curse” – Freaky Friday was years down the pike. As a reminder of Sir Peter’s knack for accents (as noted, he spoke a minimum of five languages), we also have clips from "The Steve Allen Show" and his one-man stage show, as preserved for Canadian TV.
585.) We close out our tribute to Deceased Artiste Sir Peter Ustinov with part two of my interview with the gent and several clips illustrating the breadth of his film work. We start out with a discussion of his finest film as a director, Billy Budd, and then swiftly turn to the character he was best known for in the latter part of his career, Belgian (not French, please no) super-sleuth and primpin’ dandy Hercule Poirot. My chat with the great man includes his discussion of the similarities between the legendary Max Ophuls and his confessed number one fan, Stanley Kubrick. In the process we talk about Ophuls’ never-realized project to follow Lola Montez and Ustinov’s wonderful English-language narration for Le Plaisir; this last is a particularly wonderful bit of business that finds Sir Peter impersonating Guy de Maupassant, speaking from beyond the grave. Some further reflections on Spartacus and Stanley K. lead to the finish, at which point I slid in the question that one is tempted to ask all older artists (that nasty little bit about “proudest achievement”). All in all, a Funhouse episode for the time capsule (to borrow Joe Franklin's fave phrase), one that I’d include in the top ten of the few hundred we’ve done during the past 11 years hangin’ around your TV dial.
586.) This week’s vintage episode is an overview of the work of pretty-boy-with-demented-mind auteur Francois Ozon. The episode culminates with my short chat with Ozon, on the occasion of the release of Eight Women -- right after he had finished production on The Swimming Pool, released a year after this show initially aired. Background is provided with a discussion of Ozon’s earlier films, with clips illustrating his mix of sensuality, humor, and downright creepiness. Then it’s on to the interview, which finds him reflecting on Eight Women, a gaudy tribute to the musicals and melodramas of the 1950s that features an ensemble of France’s most famous actresses. Moving away from the “tell me about your current film” press-junket Q&A, I also ask him to talk about a Funhouse hero, Rainer Werner Fassbinder.
587.) We never, ever grow tired of the work of our favorite Deceased Artistes, and so I take great pleasure in saying a final farewell to those who spun off this mortal coil in 2004, with special attention this time out going to those performers, artists, and entertainers who either were born or lived right here in the five boroughs. We start out part one of this two-parter with an editorial rant about what stank about last year (let us count the ways), then those Deceased Artistes who deserve “honorable mention,” and finally our tribute to four very dissimilar D.A.s. First off are two character comedians, Steve Allen regular Dayton Allen (who was born here way back in 1919 and is probably better known for his cartoon voices) and Soupy’s “nut in the door” (and voice of several memorable animal pals) Frank Nastasi. From those two certified crazy persons we turn to one of the most vibrant and disturbing novelists ever, Hubert Selby Jr., whose hardcore New Yawk accent is heard in a French TV documentary (he lived almost 40 years out in L.A. but the shirt he wears in the docu – “Rome, Paris, London, Bay Ridge” – sez it all). Finally we turn our attention to monologist and actor Spalding Gray -- my segue is a reading from Selby's amazing novel The Demon, which concludes with a character leaping off the Staten Island Ferry to a sad and watery death. We pay tribute to Gray's talent as a one-man show, but also are required to dig out clips from the skeleton in this closet, his porn career. It was revealed back in the 1990s that Gray appeared in a few triple-X porn features in active starring roles, and we happen to have one of the prime examples, The Farmer's Daughters (1973). The flick is a porn remake of The Defiant Ones (with three inmates instead of two) that finds SG having full-on sex (plus money shots—yikes) with several women in a brusque and generally unpleasant way (he's also bearded, characteristically scrawny, and doing a very bad Tommy Udo psycho-crook performance). Due to MNN’s timid nature, I will not be showing anything overly graphic, but you’ll get the idea.
588.) I’ve lost track of how many of our Funhouse interview subjects have died (7 at least), but each time it happens, I’m very proud to conjure up their spirits – and their fine, frenzied accomplishments – with a tribute episode. This week’s show contains my original interview with Russ Meyer and most of the original film clips used on first airing; I’ve updated my host segments, and also swapped out some clips, most prominently including a glimpse at his last released picture, the patchwork affair Pandora Peaks. It and another, as yet unreleased, tribute to his one-time girlfriend Melissa Mounds were intended as modern-day updates of his classic Mondo Topless (replete with shots of his trademark tilted-angle shots of radios and oil rigs), but the film clearly also is an attempt to put out some of the unmade magnum Meyer opus “The Breast of Russ Meyer.” I’m quite proud of the interview (a small clip can be seen, btw, at http://www.mediafunhouse.com/pages/clips.html), since I got the “Mega-Mammary Mogul” to focus on his least-discussed films. He dismissed several of them (including his second Fox film The Seven Minutes), but was willing to talk about his German-funded Fanny Hill (no clips are shown, as I’ve seen it, have it, and it’s not all that interesting….), his slave-plantation saga Blacksnake, and Tom Wolfe’s participation (or lack thereof) in one of my personal faves Cherry, Harry & Raquel! We were also very proud to have Russ consider our camera as his personal soapbox for a few final minutes, as he chose to pitch his “Bosomania” video series. A man obsessed, and certainly one of the most talented exploitation filmmakers (with gorgeous cinematography and stunningly original editing) of all time.
589.) With the nationwide release of the action movie Ong-Bak, some folks are saying that "Thailand is the next Hong Kong." Of course, Korea was in line to be the next Hong Kong for quite some time (and sorta was), and Japan has always been - well, a place that produces films that American producers either want to remake (from Rashomon on down to Ju-On) or steal shamelessly from (Kill Bill). In the meantime, Thai cinema has been growing by leaps and bounds, and so this week on the Funhouse I'm proud to present an interview with a talented Thai director done by our friend Art Black, all-'round Asian movie expert and writer for "Psychotronic" and "Asian Cult Cinema." The director in question is Pen-Ek Ratanaruang, whose quietly stylish film Last Life on the Universe was released on DVD this week, which is perfect, considering the film focuses in a Wong Kar-Wai-like fashion on the impossibility of relationships succeeding, and the releasing company in question has slapped the film onto vidstore shelves in time for Valentine's Day. Art cohosts the show, providing background on Ratanaruang (a name you won't hear me attempting to pronounce) and discussing his very lengthy interview -- chopped down to an MNN-friendly 28 minutes -- with this self-confessed "lonely" auteur. In the process we show scenes from not only Last Life and 6ixtynin9, his fast-moving, darkly humorous noir (currently being ruined, er, prepared for a remake by Hollywood types), but also the unreleased-in-the-U.S. Monrak Transistor, a strange, amorphous love story that starts with a gross-out sequence, has numerous attacks, rapes, and shootings, but features at least three great musical numbers. Ratanruang has made a living as a commercial director in between his four feature films, and he's definitely a filmmaker to watch.
590.) This week's Consumer Guide brings us back to three individuals whose work I've sung the praises of before on the show. First up is a review of the DVD release of Lenny Bruce Without Tears, the seminal first documentary on Lenny that, unlike most docus, presents its archival footage without many cuts. Its release leads us to a discussion of both the legendary, ground-breaking comic and filmmaker Fred Baker, who has had a very interesting and erratic career as a filmmaker and distributor. We jump genres and a few continents to talk about Kiyoshi Kurosawa's Doppelganger, a strange item - unreleased in the U.S. to date -- that moves from being an outright horror thriller to a Sierra Madre-like parable about greed. And from Kurosawa we move to one of his idols, our hero Jean-Luc Godard, for a review of the new Criterion release of Tout Va Bien, the most "commercial" of Uncle Jean's flagrantly Marxist films. Starring Yves Montand and Jane Fonda, the film finds "He" and "She" stumbling into a strike and lockdown in a factory, after which they run through their relationship problems and.anarchy hits the local megamart! We're proud to be the only review show that delves into the world of DVD extras, so we also explore the "bonus" film Letter to Jane, and interviews with Godard collaborator Jean-Pierre Gorin and JLG at his scruffiest discussing what makes a "political film."
591.) Repeat of episode 590 (technical troubles).
592.) We return to the work of one of the most stylish and creative softcore directors of the 1960s and early '70s, Joe Sarno. Sarno's work is currently being restored and reissued on DVD by the folks at EI, and so I preface our Sarno trib with a clip from a new homage to Joe's work featuring our current fave video vixen, Misty Mundae. Then, I revisit the Swedish period in Sarno's work, in which this Italian-American boy from NYC journeyed to Bergman's homeland to make a series of evocative and properly angst-ridden softcore features. His biggest box-office success, Inga, was followed, naturally enough, by a sequel, colorfully titled The Seduction of Inga. The latter movie is distinguished by the presence of more physical pleasure and psychological torment in the life of our young heroine, and a theme song by Benny and Bjorn (those ABBA-dabba millionaires) that burns itself immediately into the memory of all who hear it. After a side trip to one of Sarno's lesser-known but more extreme softcore items, the exceptionally busy Bibi: Confessions of Sweet Sixteen (aka Girl Meets Girl on home-vid), we conclude with Swedish Wildcats, a movie that contains the sex-as-ritual/sex-as-theater theme I discussed with Joe when I interviewed him a few years back on the show.
593.) With our last tribute (for the time being) to the Big Man, Marlon Brando, we attempt to make up for the wholly pathetic little salute that appeared on the Oscars with scenes from three Brando rarities. The first item is a serious, more reflective moment from the Maysles Bros. sublime Meet Marlon Brando which I left out of our last presentation of clips from that film. I follow the young, witty, wiseass Marlon with an offer you can't refuse: clips from two latter-day Brando oddities you ain't seein' anyplace else. The first is the broad farce from Canada Free Money, which finds Marlon hamming it up big-time (and engaging in literal toilet-bowl humor at one point) as a corrupt prison warden whose lovely twin daughters marry Charlie Sheen and Thomas Haden Church. It's a dimwitted comedy that, strangely enough, Brando is all over, doing two-character scenes with Mira Sorvino, Donald Sutherland, and his old "grocery clerk," Martin Sheen. The main feature of the evening is The Brave, the only film to date directed by Johnny Depp--as yet unreleased in the U.S. A strange, bleak, and often hypnotic tale of a Mexican/American Indian/generic underclass ex-con (Depp) who sells himself to a strange coven of rich guys who like to see Mexicans/American Indians/generic underclass guys be tortured to death. The soundtrack is by Iggy Pop, the supporting cast includes Clarence Williams III and another guy who went upriver to kill Kurtz, Frederick Forrest, and the direction is an amalgam of many filmmakers Depp has either worked with or admired. Marlon puts in a blissfully strange guest-star appearance as the guy (in a wheelchair, with a harmonica) who pays you when you sell yourself to the strange coven of rich guys. If you think his lines are scripted, you surely didn't see his second Larry King appearance, where he basically said very similar things about the world being driven solely by violence. He may have sounded crazy each time he elaborated on this theory, but he wasn't exactly wrong..
594.) The Paschal season can only mean one thing in the Funhouse: it's time for a little Easter blasphemy. This time out, it's a small survey of "rapture thrillers," containing scenes from three of these extremely fervent, Body Snatchers-like, straight-to-vid items from the blissfully-named "Cloud Ten" production company. The first is the weakest of the three, but stars Judd Nelson, one of our all-time fave "video premiere" actors. Deceived presents Judd as a moderate soul who doesn't believe in Our Lord Jesus Christ, but he learns better when a raft of greedy folks holed up in a government observatory teach him what life could be like if he doesn't get wise and dig dat Holy Book. Revelation, the second feature of the evening, stars another straight-to-vid stalwart, Jeff Fahey, as -- get this -- a guy who doesn't believe in Xtianity, whose wife and daughter have been swept up in the Rapture. He's left on earth fighting the anti-Christ (cue a discrimination suit from Italian-Americans everywhere), depicted as a nattily attired "Mafioso Messiah" (Nick Mancuso) who taunts you in a cyber void when you don virtual reality goggles. The third and last of our features, Tribulation, is the most extreme and boasts the wackiest cast: Gary Busey is the non-believer this time, a tough-as-nails inner city police detective whose sister is played by Margot Kidder, and whose visionary brother-in-law is incarnated by that Canadian wildman, one-time prop-comic extraordinaire Howie Mandel. We close out the show with a small, but still potent, dose of our old friend Rob Evans and his Donut Repair Club. Kneel, my children...
595.) This week's vintage episode features my interview with Guy Maddin, the uniquely visionary, tongue-in-cheek filmmaker whose hothouse melodramas combine a silent-cinema sensibility with.well, the heart of a gloriously lurid 19th-century novelist. The interview occurred on the occasion of the NYC theatrical run of his film Dracula: Pages from a Virgin's Diary, and so we speak about vampires, capturing ballet on film, and working in dreamy b&w. Maddin discusses his influences, including master underground imagist and troublemaker Kenneth Anger and the master of all things indulgent, the monocled god Erich von Stroheim. The chat was taped prior to the release of his Saddest Music in the World and the bizarrely confessional Cowards Bend the Knee, but Guy discusses his proposed project to film famous "lost" films from the earliest years of cinema. We shall be watching with interest...
596.) Our Deceased Artiste episode this week pays tribute to a quintet of talents who dwelt in our fair city. First up is WNEW-AM morning man Gene Klavan, who entertained yrs truly many a dreaded morning on the way to school in the 1970s (Klavan is represented by a truly obscure mid-50s game show, that only the deities at Game Show Network could have possibly unleashed on us). Next we turn to two died-in-the-wool NYC actors, Jerry Orbach and Tony Randall, and then move on downtown to the East Village (or more properly, Forest Hills, Queens) for a salute to the man with the puddin'-bowl haircut and the quickest guitar-hand in punk, Johnny Ramone. We close out with some clips of one of the quintessential NY comedy stand-ups, Rodney Dangerfield (the one-liners are bracketed by his acting, awful-his last straight-to-vid feature, and sublime -- the nostalgic gem The Projectionist. Our town is a little poorer without 'em...
597.) The Consumer Guide department goes globe-hopping once more as we present two DVD reviews and an interview with an actor-director whose second feature is playing in area theaters at this very moment. First up, we revisit the work of Kiyoshi Kurosawa with a review of his brilliantly subdued tale of two working stiffs, a murder rap, some Japanese slackers in Che Guevara T-shirts, and a very poisonous but beautiful jellyfish, Bright Future. Next is a discussion of Fritz Lang’s “forgotten” silent epic Woman in the Moon, a romantic adventure that jumps several genres on its way to a very sandy lunar surface. The feature segment for the evening is a chat with Yvan Attal, the star and director of Happily Ever After. Mr. Attal counts Cassavetes and Woody Allen among his influences, and Happily is an episodic account of marital infidelity that also stars Attal’s real-life wife Charlotte Gainsbourg. I talk with him about his film, a certain guest star that appears in two scenes (none other than The Brave director-star Johnny Depp), and – did you think we could resist? -- his wife’s very colorful and influential dad Serge Gainsbourg.
598.) Our vintage episode this week offers a quintet of special little-person performers whose names we might easily forget (well, not Nelson) but whose work lives on. Included are two brothers who blissfully hawked real estate on a late-night infomercial for a time (and sported some gorgeous custom-fit threads), a Mexican midget comic actor (seen in action in a beach farce), and our very own special fave, “el hombre mas pequeno del mundo,” Mr. Nelson de la Rosa. The feature presentation is the completely creepy horror flick Al Filo Del Terror, in which a deranged ventriloquist beats his dummies if they give a bad performance, and eventually winds up substituting his little daughter (in nightmare-enducing clown makeup) for one of his wooden stage-partners. Not to be viewed directly before going to sleep…
599.) One of our most interesting interviews – if only because of the strange range of topics discussed – was my chat with actress and filmmaker Marina de Van, featured in this week’s vintage episode. We spoke with Ms. de Van when she was in NYC promoting the first showings of her feature debut as a writer-director, Dans Ma Peau (In My Skin). The film, about a young woman with a compulsion to cut herself, is alternately, gruesome, sexy, and surreal – but, as she notes over and over again, it’s not intended as a study of girls who self-mutilate for reasons of depression or bad self-image (her character is just very…curious). We discuss the subject of cuttin’ oneself up, the split-screen technique, directing oneself while being naked onscreen (or merely bloody in bra and panties), and Ms. de Van’s rejection of the “trashy” roles that came to her after she played the dominatrix daughter in Francois Ozon’s Sitcom and the scary lesbian drifter in his See the Sea. I also introduce, but she sorta bats away, a mention of her fine scripting work for Ozon’s wonderful Under the Sand and Eight Women.
600.) To commemorate the fact that one of our favorite Funhouse filmmakers, Rainer Werner Fassbinder, would’ve been 60 at the end of this month (born May 31, 1945; died June 10, 1982), I’ve prepared a special episode that includes two of our regular departments, plus a discussion of Fassbinder the actor. First up are “Consumer Guide” reviews of two recent DVD releases of Fassbinder films: In a Year with 13 Moons is one of his most difficult and personal projects, a dark, unforgettable account of a transsexual’s final days; Martha is one of his finest films for German television, a wonderfully nasty story of a spinster librarian’s marriage to a gleefully sadistic gent. Based on a story by another Funhouse deity, Cornell Woolrich, the film is a little known Fassbinder work that offers great rewards for those with a black-comic sensibility. We next visit the “Deceased Artiste” department to pay tribute to the great Fassbinder star Brigitte Mira (Ali: Fear Eats the Soul), who died two months ago at the age of 94. My final tribute is to the multi-talented, wildly prolific filmmaker himself. What to do when confronted by a man who made 29 theatrical features, 8 TV movies, 2 mini-series (one of which is one of the most perfect films ever made, Berlin Alexanderplatz), 4 shorts, and a TV variety special (!), in addition to writing 20 plays and at least 3 unproduced screenplays, in a period of just 13 years? Why, salute him as an actor of course! (We’ve only got 28 minutes, folks!) A short survey of RWF’s acting career seems in order, to illustrate what kind of roles this very busy gentleman chose for himself – aside from the Hitchcockian cameos in his own pics – when taking a break from his own productions.
601.) There’s nothing, I repeat nothing, more fun than putting together a Funhouse episode filled with musical numbers. Tonight’s vintage outing is a fine example of that principle: an episode crammed with “K-pop,” Korean music videos illustrating the dramatic lengths to which Korean vid-directors will go to imprint a pop tune on the viewer’s frontal lobe. I gathered the videos from our beloved international channels from 2001-2002, and assembled them into little thematic groups. The wildly melodramatic storylines that illustrate the seemingly mawkish ballads are saluted, as well as the presence of (gasp) firearms and out-and-out violence (a definite no-no in the sanitized-for-your-teen’s-protection world of MTV). A montage of Korean tunes that sample and/or rework American pop hits of yesteryear is also included…and then come the pixies. Korean female vocalists and girl singing groups are a special delight, and so we close with an encounter with the wide-eyed girls of “Papaya” and the awesomely wonderful Park Ji Yoon.
602.) One of the most imitated contemporary cinematographers is featured in an interview on this week’s show. Christopher Doyle -- the crafter of exquisite imagery for Funhouse favorite Wong-Kar Wai and a man whose work on low-budget Asian features has spawned countless arthouse knockoffs, mainstream attempts at arthouse chic (yeah, you, Sofia Coppola), commercials, and even music videos -- is the gent in question and we’re presenting the more civilized portions of a rambunctious talk he had with our friend, Asian cinema specialist extraordinaire Art Black, a few months back. Art caught Doyle after a full day of promotion for the Thai film Last Life in the Universe — and after quite a few beers (as Doyle himself notes on the acknowledgments of his only, nearly plotless, directorial effort, “Beer is Life!”). The result was a fascinating talk with a very talented artist who wasn’t really into analyzing and dissecting his work…except when it sorta struck his fancy. Art’s talk covers his time with the great Wong Kar-Wai (the two have collaborated from Days of Being Wild to the current masterful pastiche of romance, science fiction, and heartsickness, 2046); his disdain for those who imitate his visual style; his desire to work exclusively with friends on projects he really has a passion for (his quartet of American big-budget projects, including Van Sant’s Psycho clone, are aberrations in his filmography); and his appearances as an actor in his friends’ films.
603.) Our vintage episode this week is a personal favorite: part one of my interview with master-comic Shelley Berman. Berman occupies an important place in the history of stand-up, as his angst-filled phone routines predated and influenced the work of Woody Allen and several other key “observational” and neurotic comedians (and, as he himself notes, Bob Newhart pretty much “borrowed” his entire phone-call approach—if not the neurotic themes). In this part of our chat, he discusses his early work as an actor, including his participation in The Compass, the Chicago improv troupe that eventually transformed into The Second City (Berman’s colleagues at the time of the group’s inception included Nichols and May and Funhouse favorite Barbara Harris). He also talks about his run of popular and award-winning comedy LPs (Inside Shelley Berman, Outside SB, The Edge of SB, New Sides, A Personal Appearance). During our discussion of his classic bits, Mr. Berman “quotes” the routines at various points – a terrific thing not only because the material is still razor-sharp, but because it’s very difficult to find any video of him performing these classic routines on the many variety shows he appeared on in the late ’50s and early ’60s. We close out part one with a mention of his TV work, including his memorable turn on a Twilight Zone (where Serling envisioned an entire world of Shelley Bermans!) and The Mary Tyler Moore Show. He also provides his feelings on voicemail (anti) and Kafka (very pro).
604.) We never stop loving pop-culture icons in the Funhouse, so we’re fine with doing our Deceased Artiste tributes some time after the subject has departed this mortal coil—and everyone has moved on to the next trendy topic. Thus my tribute to the “King of Late Night,” Johnny Carson, offers a range of clips and a discussion of his randier side, an aspect most of the softsoap tributes veered away from. The reason this side of his humor was left out of the tributes is obvious: the first ten years of his run on The Tonight Show is lost to posterity (and that’s the time he was a racy little devil), and any discussion of his propensity for smokin’, drinkin’, racist, and leerin’ big-boob jokes on the show would’ve clashed with the folksier image he cultivated as his hair turned to silver. In any case, he was the pre-eminent masterful late-night host, and as such deserves to have a full Deceased Artiste episode. We start out with a racy "lightning round" from the more “adult” Goodson-Todman show, Password, then move on to the hard-smoking 1965 youthful Johnny trading quips with the ever-caustic and delightful Henry Morgan. A short sidebar into Johnny’s primetime work, and we’re back to Tonight with clips from the 10th anniversary show from 1972 (watch former Rat Packer "The Bish" do the “Sammy Maudlin” mutual-admiration thing for real, Jack Benny smoke a big-ass stogie, and Funhouse deity Jerry Lewis get insulted by nice-guy Johnny).
605.) A little saunter through the Consumer Guide department this week finds us back touring Europe again, reviewing three current DVD releases. The first is the latest by our favorite poet-provocateur, Uncle Jean’s Notre Musique. The film is an incisive meditation on Godard’s favorite topics: war and peace, fiction and non-fiction, cinema and reality, and that strange moment when the afterlife will be “occupied” (great phrase, that—so much better than “colonized”) by American military personnel. We next look at a drama about the porn industry that contains a scene so “dirty” by Time Warner’s stringent standards that we’d be thrown off the air if we showed it. I’ll content myself instead with a review, some clips, and excerpts from my vintage interview with the filmmaker of The Pornographer, Bertrand Bonnello, who verifies that the film’s star, New Wave icon Jean-Pierre Leaud, is the kind of a guy we’d love to interview and/or hang around. We close out with a look at the DVD release of Fellini’s Intervista, focusing on the fun bonus features included with this charming, elegaic late work by Il Maestro.
606.) When yours truly turns “another year older and deeper in debt,” it’s time to salute an Artiste whose work I’ve admired who hasn’t hit the great divide. This time out – after a short editorial reflection on the “branding” of American pop culture – it’s time to pay tribute to the great Martin Mull, a gent whose wry, deadpan, slightly surreal humor has been largely overlooked in discussions of the finer points of ’70s pop culture. The focus is on his best showcase, the Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman spinoff Fernwood 2-Night (and its later incarnation America 2-Night). Fernwood is right up there in the pantheon of talkshow satires (with SCTV’s “Sammy Maudlin” skits, The Larry Sanders Show, and yes, the currently-on-BBC-America “Alan Partridge” cycle), and is even more astonishing these days as a gorgeous example of the politically incorrect, and exceptionally funny, humor that flourished in the ’70s. Also included are clips of Mull at his best, onstage with his “Fabulous Furniture,” crooning hooky little numbers that mocked the “tragically hip” sensibility (while saluting: midgets, eggs, fetishes, noses, onanism, Jesus, and the “Cleveland blues”), and burned their way into the brain of your humble host during his childhood and teen years.
607.) Given that the topics that used to be associated with exploitation movies are now front and center in pop culture (from daytime talkshows to “Girls Gone Wild” vids to every corner of the Internet), there’s been very little recent-vintage exploitation that I’ve felt deserved discussion on the Funhouse. This week, however, we do a “consumer guide” salute to EI entertainment, a NJ company that has been producing new softcore titles that are worth a look, as well as making available some of yesterday’s finest sleaze. We start out with a review of a recent farce released by the company, a women’s prison comedy featuring Mary Woronov, Prison a Go Go. We then present some very cute women having lesbian sex — oh, but first, it’s time to watch some Harry Ritz. The Ritz Bros were featured in the Al Adamson kitchen-sink-too exploitation oddity Blazing Stewardesses which offers up old B-movie cowboy actors, Yvonne DeCarlo as a warbling cathouse madame, some shapely stewardesses who keep their clothes on (much to the dismay of every grindhouse patron who ever saw the picture), and the comic wonderment that was the Ritz Brothers (listen to Harry’s “don’t holler!” bit and tell me you don’t hear the influence on Jerry Lewis’s most mind-warpingly repetitious routines). We then move on to “sexy spoofs” produced by Seduction, an EI division, in which the company’s stable of comely lasses perform in Mad magazine-like satires that provide them ample opportunity to grope each other (in an R-rated kind of way, of course). The final segment focuses on more serious sexploitation from Seduction – it was a choice between exploring the lesbian sequences a bit more or returning to Harry Ritz, so I just guessed what some of the late-night viewers would want and…well, we’ll get back to Harry very soon.
608.) Part one of my lively interview with celebrated French filmmaker Bertrand Tavernier explores his latest film — lacking a U.S. distributor at the moment – Holy Lola, a tale of a French couple looking to adopt in Cambodia. Tavernier is best known for his well-received period pieces (A Sunday in the Country) and his very straightforwardly scripted cross-cultural pieces (Round Midnight), but in recent years he’s made a series of socially conscious pictures that fit into the great “humanist” tradition of French cinema, as well as demonstrate his versatility as a filmmaker. In this initial part of our chat, we tie Lola in to his last two films: Safe Conduct, a personalized chronicle of filmmaking in France during the German occupation that’s half character study/half thriller, and the vastly underrated It All Starts Today, a low-key drama (reminiscent of Loach and Leigh) about a kindergarten teacher in a small French town trying to “make a difference” in the lives of his students (the film, as Tavernier declared in one of the moments I had to exclude from the show, is “not Dead Poet’s Society!”).
609.) In the “consumer guide” department this week I review the new DVD release of Bresson’s masterful Au Hasard Balthazar. The film, like most of Bresson’s work, is as close to perfect—and as close to indescribable—as you can get. The supplements on the disc include a French TV program from 1966 in which the Master himself is interviewed, as well as a quartet of his fans, including our favorite, Uncle Jean. The featured segment of the evening is my interview with the young actresses who star in the current theatrical release My Summer of Love. Newcomer Natalie Press is a delight, as she offers up the north-country accent she perfected for the film in one anecdote, while the more seasoned Emily Blunt takes on the topic of adolescent obsession.
610.) A hardboiled private eye and a couple headed for a painful breakup – no, it’s not a celebration of Hollywood in the 1940s, it’s our latest “Consumer Guide.” This time out, we review the new DVD box set, “Maiku Hammer, Private Eye,” a trilogy of mid-’90s Japanese detective flicks that take major inspiration from the work of Seijun Suzuki and Robert Aldrich’s “nuclear noir” Kiss Me Deadly. The films star Mystery Train’s Masatoshi Nagase as an uncharacteristically young private dick whose office is located in a movie theater and whose list of clients includes some old babe who recently lost her dog (knight-errant Philip Marlowe would be disgusted). The films are stylish and fun, and include comic elements as well as some genuinely creepy moments. The main feature of the evening is a recent interview I had with Francois Ozon, upon the U.S. opening of his film 5x2. I previously described Ozon as a “pretty boy with a warped imagination,” but 5x2 is his most emotional work to date. This backwards tale of a couple, tracing their relationship from the divorce backwards to the courtship, has its precedents, but Ozon uses the structural “gimmick” to impart his philosophy about relationships – which doesn’t seem to be all too hopeful – and to play with viewers' expectations about movie love stories. I discussed with Monsieur Ozon his camera style, his use of consciously tacky pop music, his reputation as a “woman’s director,” and this unique but slightly mellower film’s relation to his past work.
611.) I’m always proud to draw attention to filmmakers whose work corresponds exactly with what I’ve been talkin’ about lo these many years, and in that spirit I present this week’s vintage episode, in which I pay tribute to the work of nostalgia maven Harry Hurwitz. He made a few straight-to-video titles and even toiled in the land of softcore, but it’s his “nostalgia trilogy” that makes him truly cult-worthy. In this show we deal with the two nostalgia pics that got the widest distribution: the straight-to-vid grab-bag that is That’s Adequate and The Projectionist. Adequate is a wildly uneven collection of skits involving a sub-Monogram studio that is wonderfully funny at times, and includes appearances by NYC stalwarts like Professor Irwin Corey, Brother Theodore, Tony Randall, Stiller and Meara, Joe Franklin, and James Coco. The Projectionist is Hurwitz’s best-known title, a colorful, silly, and oddly moving tribute to the Golden Age of the genre movie. Beloved kiddie host Chuck McCann plays a very bored projectionist who’s tormented by Nixonian theater owner Rodney Dangerfield and can only esape his dreary surroundings (which are actually a damned good record of what Times Square—and watching movies on late-night local TV—looked like in 1970) by becoming “Captain Flash,” an overweight superhero who really ain’t much of a fighter. The film surprises most because it utilizes several dozen sequences from films now owned by Turner—from Garfield and Bogart to Welles as C.F. Kane—and Hurwitz’s budget was clearly a fraction of what Dead Men Don’t Wear Plaid and Zelig were made for. I prize The Projectionist for its mingling of movie-buff references and a clunky but endearing “social relevance” – but the sight of Chuck and Rodney slugging it out in badly fitting tights and capes keeps it firmly grounded as a comedy.
612.) The Funhouse takes pride in presenting clips from a European anthology film that, three long years after its film-festival run, still hasn’t found a U.S. distributor. Ten Minutes Older: The Cello features 12-minute segments (so much for the ten-minute concept) about the themes of time, memory, and their happy companion, aging, from eight great Euro and British directors. On this episode we present the Bertolucci segment, which has the tightest construction of anything BB has made in the past three decades, and represents one of the Ten Minutes Older concept’s strong suits: returning to the simplicity of silent cinema. We also delve into the closing segment by Uncle Jean, which is a characteristically Godardian journey through image and sound, poetically tossing off ideas that other filmmakers would make entire movies out of.
613.) Since we turn a few hours older each time we fall into the arms of Morpheus, we thought it would be no trouble at all to turn “ten minutes older” once more with some of our fave directors. Our visit to the “consumer guide” department brings us to Ten Minutes Older: The Trumpet, the second of two anthology films made in 2002, both of which have gone undistributed in the U.S. The film includes contributions by Spanish director Victor Erice and Chinese auteur Chen Kaige, as well as the five souls we’ll be excerpting tonight. Werner Herzog’s contribution gets the lions’ share of our time, as his documentary short about a primitive tribe in Brazil that was wiped out because of its exposure to Western ways (including the concept of time) is the film’s most perfect entry, and an excellent example of Herzog’s current documentary style. As ever, his narration matches the images in terms of importance: his pronunciation of every syllable in every English word he speaks is a joy to listen to. The other excerpted filmmakers are Spike Lee (on the stolen 2000 election—surely a glitch in time), Aki Kaurismaki (an impulsive elopement), Jim Jarmusch (passing time on a movie set), and a most impressively trippy segment from Wim Wenders (whose Road Movies was one of the prime movers behind this project). Wenders’ episode is a “good Samaritan” allegory that contains imaginatively psychedelic images and sounds; the Samaritan is played (for you cult TV fans) by “Joan of Arcadia” herself, Amber Tamblyn.
614.) When the weather is hot, there’s nothing like a cool breeze of surrealism to set the mind at ease. Tonight’s “consumer guide” round-up starts out with a mini-editorial on the many NYC institutions that have closed their doors this summer--accompanied by a recent find (scored at one of the many departed emporia), a scene from the 1972 musical version of Alice in Wonderland featuring Peter Sellers and Dudley Moore. Then it’s on to a segment honoring the world’s premiere little green guy, Gumby, whose 50th anniversary in “da biz” is being celebrated out at the Museum of the Moving Image in Astoria. Animator Art Clokey had a unique view of the universe that made the earliest Gumby shorts look and feel different from other kids’ entertainment; the later adventures openly reflected Clokey’s growing interest in Zen (name one other kiddie show that had characters who embodied Alan Watts’ concepts of the fluid and the solid), as well as what other, earthier critics might call a “head-trip” view of the material world. Clips from Clokey’s art films are a wonderful segueway to my featured review of the new “Avant-Garde” box set released by Kino. Included are clips from the immortal works of genius troublemakers like Man Ray, Marcel Duchamp, Hans Richter (see what the Nazis deemed “decadent art”), a young, wise-ass Orson Welles, and the highly influential Slavko Vorkapich (who made countless "we're in the money" montages for Hollywood pictures, co-directed the very darkly humorous "The Life and Death of 9413, a Hollywood Extra" -- and was Art Clokey's film teacher!). These films will remove you from this humdrum existence and take you to a place where thoughts go in every possible direction, and the air is fresh and weird.
615.) From the heart of NYC to the wilds of Alaska, our “consumer guide” adventure this week centers around two colorful and unique German gentlemen. The first is Klaus Nomi, whose praises are sung in the new DVD release, The Nomi Song. I focus on the DVD supplements in this review, featuring a portion of a “East Village Slide Show” that didn’t make it into the film but should produce some fond memories for those who remember the prehistoric days when chainstores had no place on the bohemian landscape. The film itself is an entertaining look back at the most singular personality to emerge from the “new wave” music scene; the final sequences prove that even the most open-minded hipsters close their minds for real when confronted by a thought-to-be-contagious virus (Nomi died of AIDS in 1983). The feature presentation on this show is a short chat I had with Werner Herzog, in conjunction with the opening of his new film Grizzly Man. Herzog’s reputation as a visionary filmmaker was secured some thirty years ago, but he has continued to venture to the farthest corners of the globe to create a series of highly personal documentaries in which he chronicles the lives of remote groups (be they deaf, mute, and blind, or just tribesmen who dress very bizarrely) and fearless individuals, many of whom are possessed of a very fine madness indeed (the central figure in Grizzly being the latest in a long line of his compelling madmen). Herzog was in quite a jovial mood when I encountered him, although a single mention of a given sequence in one of his films can turn him into the intensely sincere, uncommonly dedicated individual I expected him to be.
616.) This week's very entertaining vintage episode, if I do say so m’self, features the second and final part of my chat with comedy legend Shelley Berman. In the first part we discussed Mr. Berman’s work with the pioneering Compass troupe (which became the Second City) and his monologues, which inspired many a later "egghead" comedian, especially a young Woody Allen. At the point we left the conversation, we were discussing Mr. Berman’s TV work—this time we start out with a bit on his “Twilight Zone” episode (written especially for him by Rod S.), and then proceed straight into (his “show business term”) the kvetching. Loosened up by a martini, Mr. Berman does shtick about driving, NYC, and even public access (yr host just let ’im roll). Included are scenes from his seminal supporting role in The Best Man and his current stint as Larry David’s sorta doddering dad on “Curb Your Enthusiasm.” Mr. Berman may appear to be ribbing yrs truly at some length, but he was incredibly nice when the camera went off (the man is a college prof these days when not out on the road and, it is, after all, an act the guy’s doin’).
617.) It’s that special time of year again, when Jerry Lewis’s telethon reintroduces us to the world of show-biz glitz, Borscht Belt humor, and the joy of being berated into giving money. We can’t let a chance go by to celebrate the mixed-bag contribution our man Jer has given to the arena of show-biz, and so this year we proudly present yet another Labor Day celebration of the man who would be a Nobel Prize winner. This time out, I start off with a scene from a recent indie movie that features an old gent, played by the late Alan King, speaking (for no particular reason) about the Jer's comic contributions. Then it’s on to a thematic segment in which I offer a posthumous rebuttal to Jer’s forthcoming tome Dean and Me (a Love Story) with gathered anecdotes and footage of the great Dino himself, commenting on his decade-long partnership with le roi du crazy (remember, kids, four years in is only 1950, just as The Colgate Comedy Hour is about to start). The final segment is a typical Jerry mixed blessing: footage from the ‘60s series “Hollywood Backstage” episode centered around “Jerry Lewis and his electronic toys.” See Jerry’s home audio-editing set-up, hear his musings on mono vs. stereo sound for record players, and watch him futz around with a “Chamblerin” (an organ that plays tape loops). As you watch, imagine what Spike Jones, Ernie Kovacs, or Frank Zappa would’ve done with an instrument like that – and then marvel at Jerry just smackin’ at the keys. If he doesn’t get one by other methods, I’ll get him that Nobel Prize myself.
618.) The golden age of American International Pictures may be long gone, but thecompany’s spirit and method (hit on a concept/assign cast/develop ad campaign/write script) does live on in the work done by a few independent video companies cranking out “DVD premiere” features. The bulk of today’s low-budget genre pics are close to unwatchable, but one small studio over in the hinterlands of New Jersey has been producing entertaining and enticing (albeit cable-safe) product for the past few years. Thus this week we present part one of an interview I did with the head of EI Independent studios, Michael Raso. This talk differs from our past discussions with exploitation filmmakers in that Raso is still “in the game” and so offers up-to-date reflections on, essentially, how far a film can go and still qualify for heavy rotation on Cinemax and Showtime. Topics covered include the three no-nos of softcore filmmaking, how the actresses are directed on-set (and how, on certain special occasions, they may perform beyond the call of duty), and the methods of marketing pictures that star cult faves whom the average multiplex moviegoer has never heard of. We focus on EI’s biggest cult heroine, the natural-looking gal-next-door called “Misty Mundae” (currently now also making films under her real name, Erin Brown), and the way in which she went from being a featured torture victim in no-budget, ultra-violent fetish thrillers to becoming a fan sensation.
619.) Vintage episode time, as we re-present part one of my interview with Jane Birkin. Ms. Birkin was in NYC for her first stateside concert appearance, a performance of Serge Gainsbourg songs with a Middle Eastern combo called “Arabesque.” Ms. Birkin speaks about the origin of the project and her role as Gainsbourg’s “muse” (during and after their marriage). The most interesting part of the conversation consists of her discussion of the nuances of Gainsbourg’s lyric-writing, including impromptu translations of lines and verses from the alternately silly and deadly serious songs he wrote for her first six solo LPs.
620.) The consumer guide department is open once again, with reviews of three current DVD releases. The first segment is a review of the release on disc of Yvan Attal’s divorce dramedy (remember that phrase, kids?) Happily Ever After. In this segment I offer up a previously unseen bit of my April interview with Monsieur Attal, and two new clips from the picture, which stars Attal and his wife Charlotte Gainsbourg (daughter of Serge and Funhouse fave Jane Birkin). Next up is a discussion of Guy Maddin’s “autobiography in a shattered mirror,” the peep-show wonder called Cowards Bend the Knee. Yours truly reflects on the film’s well-crafted silent-movie imagery, its bizarre humor, and the most Freudian scene in recent memory – the Maddin stand-in character’s discovery, while standing at a urinal, that Dad is better endowed than he. We close out with a review of the Criterion edition of Mike Leigh’s miraculously sarcastic Naked. As usual, we focus on the DVD extras, but I couldn’t let an opportunity go by to savor once more David Thewlis’ wonderfully articulate recitations of the reasons why the world, mankind, and even the Deity, suck so incredibly much.
621.) Vintage episode time, as we revisit the second and final part of my interview with model-actress-singer-cultural phenom Jane Birkin. In this part of the chat we continue our discussion of musical renaissance man Serge Gainsbourg’s lesser-known roles as husband and father. From there we move on to Ms. Birkin’s reflections on working with Jean-Luc Godard on the sometimes impenetrable but truly amusing Keep Up Your Right. She also offers opinions and background on her psychedelic cult pic, Wonderwall, and Gainsbourg’s first directorial effort, the blissfully sleazy Je T’Aime, Moi Non Plus (a Gallic version of American redneck exploitation, with a Tennessee Williams-inflected screenplay, star Joe D’Allesandro dubbed in French, and Jane B. as a grown-up tomboy who wants Joe to forget his jailhouse modes of lovemaking).
622.) The Funhouse tackles the fastest-growing genre on DVD shelves today – by reviewing items that represent the upside of the phenomenon. The matter at hand is the flourishing “TV on DVD” biz, the brilliant notion of getting suckers to pay anywhere from 30-60 bucks for a bunch of programs they would’ve formerly had to have made the effort to actually catch on-air, and/or store quite conveniently on a 2-dollar tape. It’s all about those “boxes on the mantle,” and so the Funhouse turns away from the obvious and devotes this week’s “consumer guide” show to reviews of three rarities that have shown up in the absolute deluge of TV/DVD titles. First is one we covered a while back when it was making the mail-order rounds, The Hilarious House of Frightenstein, the endearingly cheap 1971 Canadian kiddie series. The show featured comic actor Billy Van in a variety of roles, and our hero Vincent Price showing up a few times per episode to recite “frightfully” amusing verse. Next up is The David Steinberg Show, yet another Canadian item, this one a 1976 comedy-variety series that completely flew by the U.S. The show’s main selling point is the fact that four of its regulars went on to become cast members on the brilliant SCTV, but the funniest elements are definitely Steinberg’s incredibly honed opening monologues and his memorable “Booga Booga” (him doctor) sketches. (Plus a guest roster that includes everyone from Ethel Merman to Rip Taylor.) We close out with the biggest “find” of the last year: two British comedy series that included the future Monty Python crew. Idle, Palin, and Jones (with help from Gilliam—unseen on the discs) are the stars of Do Not Adjust Your Set, a hip 1967 children’s show that had a most uncommon house band: the incomparable Bonzo Dog Band, led by future Python collaborator (and head Rutle) Neil Innes and lunatic god Viv Stanshall. At Last the 1948 Show is another ’67 Brit comedy series that happened to feature the other two Pythons, Cleese and Chapman, as well as the brilliant and much missed Marty Feldman. 1948 is the funnier show hands down, but Set gives us our only prolonged look at the Bonzos’ unique madness, and for that entire shelves of insipid TV/DVD should be pushed aside.
623.) Vintage episode time, with a tribute to roly-poly funnyman Buddy Hackett. We show clips from his appearances on 1960s game shows, read excerpts from his startling (in more ways than one) poetry, and then devote our time to his chef d'oeuvre, the Canadian coming-of-age freak-out called Hey Babe! The film is a strange little item, a story of a young orphan girl (Yasmine Bleeth) who meets an aging alcoholic vaudevillian (Bud) who convinces her she could make it in show biz. Awash in creepily pedophilic moments (wait'll you see Buddy leer at little Yas on an empty bus), the flick also contains some wonderfully dated bits of glam-punk (think Fabulous Stains) and disco tidbits, as well as pick-up shots of Manhattan (including a vintage view of Times Square) which are alternated with the streets of some Canadian burg.
624.) Every time someone talks about TV being so bold in the 21st century, I think back to the much-maligned (and thoroughly confused) 1970s, and remember when network television actually broke boundaries by throwing previously held notions of taste straight out the window. A good example of this idea was The Dean Martin Show, a variety series that exulted in being slick but haphazard, with the charming presence of Dino carrying the day no matter how dismal the sketch, how weary the song, and how perfunctory the guest-star patter. Dean’s show became outdated by the early ’70s and so the producers hit on the notion of doing TV-friendly “roasts” of celebrities, a la the Friars. The results were pre-packaged hours of insult comedy, that ran the gamut from the totally innocuous (I mean how much can you really insult Jimmy Stewart, anyway?) to the ludicrous (“Man of the Hour” honorees included Evel Knievel, Mr. T, Gabe Kaplan, Ralph Nader, Dan Haggerty, and…George Washington?). Tonight, we’ll take a look back at the Dean Martin roasts, for what is surely the first of several visits into the video archive. The focus, since it’s the most striking element in the shows, is on the insanely racist jokes that were slung at African-American “Men of the Hour,” as well as the standard bits (yes, we’ve got Red Buttons, no, there’ll be no Foster Brooks). We present an overview of the roasts through some of the oldest, saddest, and snottiest, jokes you’ve ever heard. We work our way toward an amazing timepiece, the roast of our favorite all-around entertainer, Sammy Davis Jr., but in the process, you’ll see a number of deceased artistes, who kicked off since we originally shot the host segments, including Frank Gorshin (only present when there’s no Rich Little), Eddie Albert, and roast perennial Nipsey Russell. It was very a different time, and a very, very different form of entertainment – but it’s a hell of a lot more endearing than the present-day procession of stand-ups that makes up the current Comedy Central TV roasts.
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