Directed by: Andrew V. McLaglen
Written by: Don Brinkley Starring: Paladin – RICHARD BOONE Dr. Phyllis Thackery – JUNE LOCKHART Reverend Jeremiah Mulrooney – GRANT WITHERS Mr. Jonas – WHIT BISSELL (Episode Synopsis: After discovering a Typhoid Fever-stricken family stranded in the wildnerness, noble gunslinger Paladin must face down a fanatical religious leader) Being born in 1983, I woefully missed out on a ton of cool pop culture treasures. Among them were classic TV Westerns from the late 50s and early 60s. Instead, I was raised as a 90s kid and enjoyed that decade’s programs, including Lonesome Dove, the CBS television remake of The Magnificent Seven, and my personal favorite, The Adventures of Brisco County, Jr. Don’t get me wrong: they were all fine additions to the genre, and really, how can you go wrong with cult pop favorite Bruce Campbell sporting a ten-gallon hat and a country drawl to match that frontier-sized chin of his? Years later, however, I gained a newfound fascination towards classic Western of the so-called “Golden Age of Television.” This fascination was born during the 2020 Covid-19 shutdown, when I needed a new outlet to alleviate my quarantine-induced boredom. So I decided to brush up on a few vintage TV Westerns with the help of YouTube and IMDB. In my explorations I discovered several action-packed, highly-entertaining programs that further ignited my lifelong love for this genre of fiction. One such program is Have Gun - Will Travel, a half-hour Western adventure-thriller that originally aired on CBS from 1957 through 1963. Like probably many others of my generation, I first became familiar with the show from the great 1986 coming-of-age film Stand By Me. In it is a pivotal scene where its four young heroes enthusiastically sing Have Gun’s theme song while walking the train tracks during their journey (“Have gun, will travel reads the card of the man! A knight without armor in savage land!”). I became enthralled with the song and its origins. Later I would understand the kids’ passion for the show. Have Gun – Will Travel owes its success to its hero, a suave, sharply-dressed, yet tough and morally-upright mercenary named Paladin (Richard Boone, 1917-1981). Unlike your more typically rugged Old West gunfighters, Paladin was in a unique class all his own. For one, he had an impeccable fashion sense: his civilian wardrobe consisted of clean riverboat gambler-style suits complete with a top hat. And while on the job, he donned menacing yet stylish black suits complete with a matching black Stetson. As if he wasn’t slick enough, he came equipped with his own business cards that read, “Have Gun Will Travel – Wire Paladin, San Francisco.” The backs of the cards, along with his black gun holster, were symbolically adorned with a Knight Chess Piece. It was befitting that Paladin would choose the Knight Chess piece as his signature emblem, since he took a more chivalrous approach to conflict resolution compared to other TV gunslingers. While he would be armed with the customary pistols, Paladin’s most powerful weapons would be his intellect and strong personal code of honor. He primarily relied on his wits and logic to outsmart his enemies, before ultimately resorting to violence when necessary. Even more notable was his iron-clad moral fiber. Sure, Paladin’s strutted in flashy clothes. And ordinarily he charged hefty prices for his trouble-shooter services to anyone who could afford them. But beneath that superficiality, Paladin had a deep-rooted compunction for justice. He was an avenger, a warrior who fought for those who couldn’t fend for themselves. So driven Paladin was to aid victims of evil-doers that he often tackled crises that required his skills free of charge, just to see justice served. If that doesn’t describe what an Old West knight should resemble, what in hellfire could? There are plenty of episodes in Have Gun’s six year run where Paladin was forced to put his special gallantry to the test. One particular that stood out in my mind is “No Visitors,” the 12th episode of the show’s first season from 1957, directed by veteran genre master Andrew V. McLaglen. Our hero had faced his share of dangerous situations and battled villains of varying natures before. But in “No Visitors,” we see a furious, more desperate side in Paladin as he locks horns with an especially vicious and unorthodox enemy. In my eyes, it’s quite possibly the most gripping TV Western episodes ever unleashed. At the show’s beginning we see Paladin riding through a prairie when he comes upon a seemingly abandoned covered wagon. Inquisitively he investigates the wagon and encounters an armed woman threatening to blow his head off. To his shock, Paladin learns that the woman, Clara Benson, is mother to a crying baby afflicted with the dreaded typhoid fever inside the wagon. Benson explains they were both left to die in the wilderness by their wagon-master, a certain Reverend Jeremiah Mulrooney. Paladin’s Good Samaritan instincts naturally kick in as he rides off to fetch a doctor at the nearby town. He is met with paranoid hostility by both the townsfolk and the wagon-master himself, Mulrooney (Silent Film actor Grant Withers). The reverend boldly insists he was forced to abandon Benson and her baby in order to protect the rest of their wagon train from being stricken with typhoid. Mulrooney decrees it was the “Lord’s will” to sacrifice the mother and child as a means of preventing their alleged typhoid infection from becoming an epidemic. Therein lies the stunning beauty of “No Visitors”. Rather than a standard shoot-em-up Western, we’re slammed with a heart-wrenching societal dilemma, a grim slice of reality wrapped in an Old West situation. From their own POVs, both Paladin and Mulrooney feel they are doing the right thing. Paladin wants to save Benson and her baby from their horrible, lonely fate. Clearly, he has nothing personally vested in their situation, with no profitable gain to be made. But being the moralistic figure that he is, Paladin will not idly stand by and let innocents die in the wilderness. The Bible passage-sprouting Mulrooney, on the other hand, feels it is ultimately the best interest of his town to let the two typhoid-sufferers die, just to save everyone else. Despite his cruelty, Mulrooney also feels a responsibility to his flock, or so he seems. Their feud raises agonizing questions. Does Paladin have the right to endanger the surrounding populace by getting Clara and her child to safety? And what of Mulrooney, whose delusional John the Baptist-like ravings have stirred the local settlement’s fears with an alleged pestilence? Who is Mulrooney to make that brutal judgement call, to sentence Clara Benson and her babe to death? To Paladin, the “gospel according to Mulrooney” is nothing more than murder falsely represented as divine will. Adding a much-needed depth of humanity to the fray is Phyllis Thackery (June Lockhart of Lost in Space fame), the town’s only lady doctor who Paladin recruits to provide treatment for the mother and child. Dr. Thackery is Paladin’s strongest ally and second voice of reason in the entire episode. Amidst the growing fog of hysteric paranoia created by Mulrooney and his flock versus Paladin’s headstrong heroism is Thackery’s gentler, more humane approach to the crisis. Lockhart’s presence may remind Western audiences of a certain 1990’s Western drama called Dr. Quinn: Medicine Woman, also about a humane frontier doctor (played by Jane Seymour) who uses proper medical expertise during times of historically rugged uncertainty. As per the classic heroic television formula, Paladin manages to best the heavy odds against by defeating the torch-bearing Mulrooney and rescuing the Bensons in the process. After all, Paladin’s adventures continue for six more years in the airwaves. But TV conventions aside, “No Visitors” is an outstanding character-driven thriller thanks to some striking performances. Special guest star Grant Withers is fantastically vile as Mulrooney, whose forked tongue facade as a frontier prophet made you truly love to hate him. Nothing chaps my ass more than a religious fraud who uses the Bible as a shield for their hate, and Withers delivers that frontage wholesale. As for our series star, Richard Boone was always a tremendous actor, from his big screen film appearances to his most famous pop culture contribution with Have Gun – Will Travel. But in “No Visitors,” Boone is at his most powerful. He encaptulates goodness with unstoppable yet convincing bravery. I couldn’t help but be hypnotized by his driven defiance against the sanctimonious Mulrooney. When words prove insufficient, Paladin exhibits a thunderous prowess with a bullwhip which he wields Indiana Jones-style to disarm the trigger-happy Mulrooney. No wonder Washington DC-based crime novelist George Pelecanos once described Richard Boone as a “proto-badass;” I couldn’t convey a better description than that. For those curious to explore TV Westerns of yesteryear, there’s plenty of quality material to choose from. But for anyone interested in a show that’s two parts action and character, then I recommend you give Have Gun – Will Travel a serious whirl. Vintage heroism was never deeper and exciting than this.
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When news of renowned film star Chadwick Boseman’s sudden August 2020 passing reached my ears, I was sadly reminded of another young talented up-and-coming African-American actor taken from us way too soon: Steve James. Before dying from cancer at 41 (similar to Boseman), James had an impressive resume of memorable film and television work throughout the 1980s. He boasted a powerful physique supported by a fantastic larger-than-life charisma. And he would attempt to prove his versatility as an actor by occasionally branching away from action cinema. While he would not experience the same critical and commercial acclaim Boseman enjoyed, Steve James left behind a unique artistic legacy mostly appreciated these days by cult film aficionados (like yours truly). James was professionally active at a time when too many black actors were unfairly relegated to diminished capacities - as far as mainstream Hollywood was concerned - around the mid-‘70s up to the late 80s. The Blaxploitation genre was in popular demand, but mainly in urban American centers and drive-in theaters, and it had come and gone by the latter part of the 70s. When the 80s rolled around, black actors just weren’t offered too many great opportunities. They would either be routinely typecast as stereotypical “street-based” urban characters in B-budget pictures, or play second fiddle to a headlining Caucasian actor. Basically, if your name wasn’t Eddie Murphy, these were your career options. Steve James would fall into this same trap, and it would take several years (and several cheesy movies) until audiences would take genuine notice of his presence. Hence in this essay, I will pay homage to James’ most notable film works - including a rare few pictures in which he had top-billing - in hopes of reintroducing this criminally-underated action star to the current movie-going world The Exterminator (1980) James initially made his bones in the movie biz working as a stunt performer in notable urban-based Hollywood pictures such as The Wanderers, Sidney Lumet’s The Wiz, and the 1979 cult action classic The Warriors (where he was practically unrecognizable as one of the colorful, ball bat-wielding Baseball Furies). His acting debut came in the form of the 1980 vigilante trash masterpiece, The Exterminator, portraying “Michael”, the best friend and fellow Vietnam veteran to the titular hero (Robert Ginty). Michael finds himself targeted and attacked by a vicious street gang, creating the catalyst for the Exterminator’s blood-soaked, bullet-ridden quest for vengeance. Thus began his years-long job trend of portraying black sidekicks or lovable buddies to white protagonists. American Ninja (1985 to 1989) In 1985, James would launch his most famous acting work with the American Ninja franchise, produced by notorious campy film company Cannon Films. This franchise is an example of pure over-the-top 80s movie cheese: while stationed in the Philippines, Joe Armstrong (Michael Dudikoff), a white US Army special forces soldier with a checkered past, discovers a sinister world domination conspiracy spearheaded (literally and figuratively) by an evil ninja army. Enter James as Curtis Jackson, another soldier who at first antagonizes Armstrong and sees him as an unwanted outsider in their station, only to be bested in a friendly fisticuffs exhibition against our primary hero. What follows is your standard buddy movie formula dashed with martial arts, as Armstrong & Jackson become trusted friends and unite to become the toughest ninja-fighting team this side of Peckinpah’s Killer Elite. Honestly, I was never a huge fan of American Ninja. It’s not due to its incredibly cheesy plot or silly 80s heroics; I enjoy that fluff as much as the next guy. But my sole issue lies against its primary star, Michael Dudikoff. I won’t deny that Dudikoff had matinee idol good looks back in his day. Yet, he had the charisma of a doorknob. He was a blandly handsome, stiff piece of eye candy who failed to spark my interest. Dudikoff’s costar, Steve James, on the other hand, is American Ninja’s truest draw, or at least should have been. James lit up the screen with his powerful he-man frame (complete with his 80s-style warrior bandana wrapped around his forehead), gracefully-killer martial arts moves, and amazing natural machismo. No shuriken-throwing ninja was safe when big bad Curtis Jackson wrapped his huge mitts around their neck! There is a crazy action sequence in American Ninja 2 on a beach where Jackson single-handedly destroys katana sword-wielding ninjas armed with nothing but a wooden bow stick and his bare hands, clad only in red swim trunks! Not since the volleyball tournament in Top Gun has there been a more gratuitous display of buff shirtless macho beach action! In between the Ninja flicks, Steve James would have another collaboration with Michael Dudikoff (both were apparently pals in real life) in the survivalist revenge picture Avenging Force, followed by more minor sidekick work opposite action legend Chuck Norris in The Delta Force and Hero and the Terror. On the surface, Steve James as Jackson may have looked like nothing more than just a token black sidekick. But he was no mere martial arts Roger Murtaugh; with his larger-than-life performance, James was every bit the star of American Ninja as Dudikoff was, despite his co-starring billing. Riverbend (1989) As the 80s began to wind down, opportunity had knocked for Steve James as he got to headline his own films. The first was Riverbend, a B-budgeted racially-charged historical thriller from 1989 set in the volatile 1960s American South. Technically-speaking, Riverbend is a mediocre picture rife with issues. Ever wonder what Mississippi Burning would look like if Menahem Golan & Yoram Globus produced it? Riverbend would’ve been it. The obvious low budget, the inappropriately catchy 80s-flavored soundtrack, and the supporting cast’s cookie-cutter performances all hinder the film’s chances of being taken seriously. White villains that were so cartoonishly racist, they couldn’t stop using saying the “N”-word or “boy” at the end of damn near every sentence. You get the idea. This wasn’t a Spike Lee joint by any stretch. At the very least, Riverbend gave James a shot at playing the leading man himself. He contributed his strongest, most commanding performance yet as Major Samuel Quentin, the heroic Vietnam Veteran who leads the segregated African-American populace of Civil Rights-era Riverbend, GA against their racist white oppressors. Major Quentin recruits the town’s young black males and turns them into warriors in order to fight for their basic human rights. James as Major Quentin commands his ragtag army like a black Lee Marvin from The Dirty Dozen. He conveys quiet confidence and power that will rouse spirits from not just African-American audiences, but anyone against racial oppression. In essence, Riverbend tries to repackage a Civil Rights-era thriller with Rambo-style heroics. Ultimately, it’s fluff, but at least it provided proof that Steve James did have the right stuff for true movie stardom. Street Hunter (1990) James began the next decade with a B-budget action fest not unlike The Exterminator, except only this time, he gets to play the titular hero. In 1990’s Street Hunter, James is the aptly-named Logan Blade, a heavily-armed bounty hunter who prowls the Big Apple for criminals to catch while dressed in a long leather trench coat and a Western-style fedora hat. Blade’s mission: to capture or kill psychotic ex-commando turned gang leader Colonel Walsh (cult icon Reb Brown). Walsh intends to turn the already-mean streets of New York into his own private shooting gallery, and naturally, only Logan Blade has the stones to face him. What better way is there to really describe Street Hunter, other than perhaps, “crap-tacular”? Even the picture’s title implies that it ain’t high art. With a virtually non-extistent plot, direct-to-video film production, and cliché-ridden screenplay topped with average (at best) performances, Street Hunter is virtually just one big action sequence after another. It truly is a study in no-brainer entertainment. It should also be of note that Steve James himself had written the screenplay behind Street Hunter, proving his worth as a man of considerable multiple talents. As always, James capitalizes on his tough guy persona and commanding presence to help carry this otherwise turkey of a movie. He looked quite dapper in his long-brimmed fedora, yet was mean-as-a-snake with his deadly arsenal. Logan Blade is a 1990s’era New York answer to Django Freeman, a scourge against trigger-happy outlaws like Colonel Walsh. Nobody would EVER accuse Reb Brown of being the next Anthony Hopkins. But as fans should know, Brown is reputable for his muscle-headed hero roles, as well as his infamous high-pitched battle cries. In Street Hunter, Brown gets the rare stab at playing an evil character; in this case, a gun-totting, cackling weirdo. And yes, Brown gets to unleash his signature somewhat girly war-cry. By the way, the conclusion of inevitable mano-y-mano showdown between James and Brown is so absurd, so unbelievably over-the-top, your ability to suspend all cinematic disbelief will be put to the test. In Memorium Before his career had the chance to blossom, Steve James would sadly pass away at the age of 41 from pancreatic cancer. Decades after his death, I still contemplate what-if scenarios, and enduring creative possibilities left behind by James’ artistic legacy. Perhaps in a perfect alternate reality, Steve James would never have been afflicted with cancer, never died young, and finally made it to the big time as a major box office champion. What if, in that same alternate reality, a big screen adaptation of Marvel Comics’ Black Panther had come to fruition in the 90s? Who else could have executed such a regal, heroic performance as King T’Challa/Black Panther, than Steve James? It’s also my sincere belief that James would pave the way for other rising African-American movie stars and people of color actors to headline ambitious action pictures by themselves, without playing second banana to a white movie star. Wesley Snipes had burst on the scene with such classics as New Jack City, Passenger 57, and Drop Zone. Following his own Oscar-winning success with Glory, Denzel Washington began his own tough-guy resume with the urban thriller Ricochet. And most recently, Chadwick Boseman would rise to prominince within the comic book movie world. Steve James’ artistic legacy may have trigged these cinematic successes, and I recommend today’s movie-going generation to give him recognition he so rightfully deserves. A Retrospective Review By Cesare Augusto Directed by: John Flynn Written by: Paul Schrader Starring: Major Charles “Charley” Rane – WILLIAM DEVANE Sgt. Johnny Vohden – TOMMY LEE JONES Linda Forchet – LINDA HAYNES The Texan – JAMES BEST Automatic Slim – LUKE ASKEW (WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD) Anyone who’s lived through the early 1970s ought to be familiar with how volatile and violent that era was, both in reality, and on the big screen. Having been born in 1983, I can’t say that I can relate from experience. But from what I read in the history books, the beginning and middle of that decade were no picnics. The Vietnam War was on its last legs, yet the body counts continued to climb on both sides. American politics were dealt a heavy blow when the Nixon Administration was accused of dirty tricks after the botched 1972 break-in of the Democratic National Headquarters, leading to “Tricky Dick’s” resignation. And rising crime rates were spiraling out of control in major cities all over the world. In other words, the proverbial shit had hit the fan. Things had gotten so bad, it’s almost as if the negative zeitgeist of the times influenced filmmakers to make movies inspired by the madness all around them. Hence, revenge and vigilante movies became the hottest cinematic trend. “Dirty” Harry Callahan blew holes the size of fists into deranged killers. Paul Kersey (Charles Bronson) launched a one-man civilian crusade against the scum who brutalized his family in Death Wish. Even career criminals like “Gator” McCluskey (Burt Reynolds) and Jack Carter (Michael Caine) dispensed their own personal brands of twisted justice in White Lightning and Get Carter, respectively. Possibly motivated by the actual chaos themselves, mainstream movie audiences flocked in droves to see these action pieces. They couldn’t get enough of these he-man types who wielded the biggest, baddest weapons they could get their hands on, and subsequently laid waste on evil-doers in gratuitous Hollywood fashion. Shakespeare, they weren’t, but at the end of the day, these pictures were pure mindless unrealistic fun escapism, no more, no less. Then there’s Rolling Thunder, a gloriously new take on the revenge picture, a horse of a different, bloody color. The film was the dual creative brainchild of prolific screenwriter Paul Schrader and master genre director John Flynn. Just one year prior in 1976, Schrader released his arguably greatest product, the blood-soaked New York crime odyssey Taxi Driver, and the thriller genre (perhaps even film in general) would never be the same again. While Rolling might not boast the same cinematic legacy celebrated by Taxi, Rolling shares a great certain artistic distinction held by Taxi¸ and that’s the full, prolonged effort that both films make to fully explore its characters. One of Paul Schrader’s creative signature touches from his earlier 70s works was to dedicate great amounts of his screenplays’ running times in getting inside his protagonists’ heads and discovering what kind of internal short-fused powder kegs they have waiting to blow. In Taxi Driver, Travis Bickle ( Robert De Niro in a performance that’s often duplicated, and never replicated) quietly seethes as he bears witness to the ugly grime of New York’s crime-ridden streets, before eventually gearing up for a personal crusade of gorily epic proportions. Schrader himself was quoted as saying he gained firsthand knowledge of the Big Apple’s urban jungle while driving a cab as research for this screenplay. It’s say to guess he witnessed more than his share of New York-bred chaos of its day, thus influencing his writing. In Rolling Thunder, the audience meets Major Charles Rane (William Devane), a broken warrior who embarks on an odyssey of vengeance against the criminals who utterly ruins his life. A United States Air Force Veteran and a former “guest” of the notorious “Hanoi Hilton,” Charley returns to a hero’s welcome at his home town of San Antonio, Texas, following years of brutal captivity and torture at the hands of the Vietcong. His fellow citizens shower him with cheers and lavish gifts like a brand-spanking new red Cadillac and $2,000 worth of silver dollars. His arrival is a damn sight better than other soldiers returning from the war. Accompanying him on his journey home is his friend and comrade-in-arms Sergeant Johnny Vohden (a strikingly-young and sobering Tommy Lee Jones). Both look sharp and powerful in their crisp Air Force officer suits and dark aviator shades. Despite the welcoming committee’s joyful fanfare and their tough military poses, both Charley and Johnny are curiously distant and almost oblivious to the reception before them. You don’t need a psychology degree to sense the obvious PTSD inherent deep within both men. Judging from their cold, detached demeanors, their almost trance-like states, and Charley’s harrowing flashbacks of his regular torture sessions by the VC, the idea of freedom clearly hasn’t registered in either of them. Both Charley and Johnny are still prisoners of war in their own minds. Rolling Thunder’s entire first act reserves itself in venturing into Charley’s attempts at re-assimilating back to his civilian life, and it does so brilliantly. Other movies typically would utilize their protagonist’s Vietnam War experiences as mere backdrops or rapid-fire edited snippets into their character exposition, before quickly escalating the film’s pace to accommodate its plot. Paul Schrader’s thrillers do nothing of the sort. He deliberately wrote Rolling Thunder as a slow-burn so that we closely observe Major Charles Rane’s attempts at getting his life back in order. Charley’s young son Mark slowly warms up to him, even if the boy barely recognizes his father. His wife morosely admits to falling for a new man, a friendly local cop named Cliff who also acts as a surrogate father to Mark. You’d think Charley would go completely batshit crazy at the idea of another man stealing his family away. On the contrary; Charley took the news of his wife’s engagement to Cliff rather well. All he really wants is to be a part of his son’s life again. Thing is, would his sanity be a factor in at least sharing joint custody? Quite likely, and Devane captures that quite effectively in his performance. He portrays Charley’s need for normalcy with quiet desperation that’s borders on dread and sheer rage resulting from his horrible wartime memories. Devane depicts his character’s post-traumatic stress like a caged animal, literally and figuratively. The way Charley isolates himself in his work shed/makeshift bedroom as he subjects himself to his torture flashbacks is an agonizing, yet necessary means of understanding Major Charley Rane the man, the character, and the hero – or anti-hero - of this dark tale. Adding a further human element is a lovely young lady named Linda Forchet, played by the beautiful, wonderful Linda Haynes. Ms. Forchet, a self-professed “military groupie,” explains to Charley that she’s eagerly awaited his return from captivity, even going as far as wearing his ID bracelet to honor his sacrifices. With his impending divorce, Charley could sure use the pleasant feminine distraction, and Lord knows he could use it. Haynes presence provides some much needed light into the film’s darkness, and it’s still only the first act! The chemistry between Devane and Haynes is a much needed “calm before the storm” before the film’s official plot kicks in. And when the plot kicks in, boy, it feels like a damn boot to the jaw! Charley receives the biggest shock of his already messed-up life when a quartet of criminal low-lives invade his home. They got their sights on Charley’s silver dollar POW fortune. Their ringleader is “the Texan” (James Best of The Dukes of Hazard fame), a fat sweaty, greasy good ol’ boy who will do whatever it takes to get his grubby fingers all over the silver dollars, including pounding the living shit out of Charley. I’ve seen my share of vicious movie bad guys from the 70s alone, and while the Texan appears to be your garden-variety greedy criminal, his right hand man, Automatic Slim (terrific vintage character actor Luke Askew), is in a league all his own. Slim has something else in mind other than just a shitload of silver coins. Apparently he too is a Vietnam vet who, in his own words, “was deep in the mud while you flyboys (like Charley) was flyin’ overhead.” This character revelation reveals one of the most unique and utterly devastating hero/villain dynamics that I’ve ever seen. We see one bitter war veteran taking his past frustrations and own PTSD on another vet. It’s safe to assume that Slim was an infantry soldier on the Vietnamese battleground. While he saw carnage up-close, he felt a perceived envy against an Air Force veteran like Charley, who Slim coldly berates as a “flyboy.” Upon witnessing this interchange, it became more than obvious to me that Automatic Slim wasn’t motivated by greed alone, but by a bare-toothed bitter jealousy induced by rivalry between American military branches. But wasn’t Slim aware of Charley’s POW captivity? It’s also apparent he was never tortured by the Cong! What follows is an exercise in savagery not seen in a mainstream film since the male sodomy scene from Deliverance. It’s a truly violent sequence that gives Rolling Thunder the “exploitation” label given by its most cynical critics, and I can’t say I blame them for thinking it. When they couldn’t make Charley talk by beating him, the Texan, Automatic Slim, and their two Mexican henchmen go to extremes by destroying his right hand into a garbage disposal. Rolling Thunder’s filmmakers shot footage of the destruction of Charley’s hand by filming a fake human hand, and a lamb shank, to simulate such a gruesome gnarling. According to movie lore, the film’s home invasion and torture scenes proved so violently graphic that during preview screenings, movie audience reactions ranged from faints to audience members even physically acting theater personnel in anger. Yes, folks, it was THAT graphically vivid and profound a scene for some audiences. Naturally, the film’s studio heads at Twentieth-Century Fox demanded a re-cut of the scene. Instead of showing Charley’s hand getting ground to ribbons, the filmmakers edited more flashbacks of his POW torture instead. Not that the change truly matters: the sheer look of agony on Charley’s face says it all. The depravity of the thugs’ actions begs the question: why the HELL didn’t Charley just give up where he hid the coins to his attackers? Due to two possible reasons: being a former POW, he’s endured worse torture (except, of course, the grinding of his hand) and plumb refuses to be intimidated by these slime-balls. And second: they were likely going to kill him anyway. As it turns out, the final reason rings true: Charley’s wife and son come into the scene and are gunned down before his very eyes before being shot himself. Needless to say, the home invasion scene is the catalyst that finally drives Charley over the edge. As he recuperates in hospital, Charley further isolates himself and disguises his feelings from everyone, including Linda and Cliff. Only his old war buddy Johnny understands Charley’s true inner feelings best (“You can’t just let this slide, Major. They don’t have any right to live…”). It’s during these hospital recovery scenes when we the audience are introduced to one of Cult Cinema’s deadliest and most unique improvised weapons ever brandished: Charley’s steel-covered prosthetic hook which replaced his severed right hand. It takes him a while to adjust to his new makeshift appendage. But when he does, he turns it into a highly effective melee weapon which he uses to hack and slash the flesh of his quarry. To me, the Rolling Thunder hook is synonymous with my passion for gritty, lower budgeted revenge thrillers. The weapon’s crude yet brutal simplicity reminds me of how damn cool Cult Cinema can be. In fact, there is a fantastic montage where Charley gears up his personal arsenal consisting of a sawed-off shotgun, a revolver pistol, and of course, his trusty hook, which he grinds for full sharpened ferocity. The film emphasizes the hook so strongly that it’s almost a character in of itself, and it’s just as badass as its wielder! Rolling Thunder’s second act inevitably focuses on Charley’s warpath against the grimy scum who ruined his life. However, again as opposed to more conventional thriller flicks that overdo its action sequences, the film still takes a deliberate slow pace on its characters. The film isn’t a 100% “roaring rampage of revenge” like other 70s thrillers like to declare; the filmmakers prefer to explore our protagonist’s inner machinations. Charley could always just hunt and blast his enemies away like so much Chuck Bronson. Not here, though. Instead, he stalks his prey, and torments his tormentors like Death itself, but with a jagged hook as his weapon of choice instead of a scythe. Backed with Paul Schrader’s signature darkly humorous dialogue, William Devane’s portrayal as Major Charles Rane is as cold, unforgiving and steely like his hook, and yet still vulnerably sympathetic. You feel for his initial need for normaly, and then righteous payback for the murder of his son. Devane’s performance is a solid home run, and it’s probably his greatest headlining act in his resume. Accompanying in Charley’s vendetta ride, both unwillingly and willingly, are poor little Miss Linda Forchet, and Johnny Vohden. We can all see the affection in Linda’s eyes for Charley, but would she really up for tagging along to his private war? Linda Haynes is absolutely terrific as Forchet, who initially is horrified at being forcefully involved in Charley’s private vengeance spree. Happily, she’s no cinematic damsel in distress, thanks to some very handy prowess with guns and her tough Texan spunkiness to boot. Haynes’ performance is powerfully nuanced and subtle as she successfully looks deep within William Devane’s inner self and finds what left of the Major’s heavily-scarred soul. From her engaging performance in this film, you’d think Hollywood would have came knocking and offered Linda Haynes more roles. Unfortunately it didn’t happen, and Linda Haynes only did a handful of pictures after Rolling Thunder before dropping out of the industry altogether. Haynes is still around, and it’s not too late for her to return to pictures should she consider it, because she was this film’s much needed moral-compass for our revenge odyssey, and she was nearly perfect. And what of Tommy Lee Jones as Johnny? The young actor was just getting his feet wet in the industry, with Rolling Thunder being only his second film credit. But even at his neophyte stage in his career, Jones was already exhibiting his quiet yet-menacing vibe that he would later be truly be famous for. Just like Devane’s Charley, Jones portrays his Vietnam Veteran character as a man who looks seemingly normal on the surface, yet deep down, there’s an raging beast waiting to be unleashed. It’s clear that both Charley and Johnny trust each other implicity, ever since their days serving together in the war and as POWs. Their relationship is beyond mere comrades-in-arms, but as brothers bound by horrible memories and the need to back each other up. It’s actually touching to witness how loyal Johnny is to Charley’s plight. The way Johnny does not hesitate to gear up for battle after hearing Charley’s attackers have been located has shades of Peckinpah written all over them. During the bloody climactic shootout in a Mexican whorehouse, the two veterans strike against Charley’s enemies like a two man Wild Bunch; the odds aren’t too stacked in the pair’s favor, but they will make damn sure the other guys will die deserving deaths first! My love for Rolling Thunder is as clear as day. It’s hard to describe why I have such enthusiasm for something that other filmgoers would probably accuse of being a run-of-the-mill exploitation flick, and I ordinarily don’t care for so-called explotation movies. Pictures that seemingly perversely glorify torture scenes and violence for violence’ sake are usually not my bag. But Rolling Thunder’s strong tangent-like emphases on its characters are what help sell this picture for me. You can’t go wrong with protagonists as sympathetic and complex, yet utterly badass as Major Charley Rane, Linda Forchet, and Johnny Vohden to elevate an otherwise typical revenge pic. The only factor prevening it from being a completely perfect film for me is the extremely brief focus on its villains’ motives. I would have KILLED to see a longer scene explaining Automatic Slim’s beef against fellow Vietnam vet Charley Rane, perhaps a deeper look at his own personal insecurities. Other than that, Rolling Thunder just may be the Gone With the Wind of revenge pictures. Oh, did I ever mention I lovingly named my Cinematic Movie Review Blog Rane’s Hook Retrospectives after Major Charley Rane’s deadly secret weapon? If you hadn’t made the connection yet, you weren’t paying attention! See the original movie trailer here! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oZLGWRI169k A Retrospective Review
By Cesare Augusto Directed by: Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger Starring: Sister Clodagh - DEBORAH KERR Mr. Dean – DAVID FARRAR Sister Ruth – KATHLEEN BYRON Sister Philippa – FLORA ROBSON Sister Honey – JENNY LAIRD Sister Briony – JUDITH FURSE The Young General - SABU Hypnotic. Mesmerizing. Spellbinding. These adjectives wouldn’t even begin to describe the vintage masterpiece that is Black Narcissus. And who would have thought that a drama about nuns could boast such descriptions? Directed by the visionary tag-team of Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, shot with Jack Cardiff’s majestic cinematography, and starring an international cast of brilliant classical actors, Black Narcissus is a beautiful and startling cinematic assault on the senses. If I had to use just one word to sum up this piece of psychological melodrama, it would be “haunting.” Screen legend Deborah Kerr (1921 – 2007) stars as Sister Clodagh, a young Anglican nun newly promoted to the status of Sister Superior. Clodagh is granted the heavy responsibility of setting up and overseeing a school and hospital high in the Himalayan mountains. It just so happens that the place where the nuns will set up shop was once a palatial harem owned by an Indian general. In a scene that somewhat reminds me of a ragtag special forces thriller, Clodagh handpicks a small team of nuns known for individual specialities and personality traits to aid in her responsibilities: Sister Briony for her medical skills; sweet Sister Blanche, so nicknamed “Sister Honey” for her love of children; gardening enthusiast Sister Philippa; and Sister Ruth, an easily distressed nun appointed for educational duties. Not since Sister Act have I seen a more mismatched gaggle of nuns! The nuns band together in the hopes of educating the local native Hindu population of the area using their spiritual word. Complications inevitably slam the Sisters like an angry monsoon. Their new location is a dilapidated former den of inequity in constant state of physical disarray. Treacherous weather of snow, ice, and hard winds threaten to topple them over the mountain ridges. The convent’s caretaker is a cantankerous old crone who constantly clashes with the nuns. And the local denizens of the populace hit the sisters with conflicts they were not prepared to contend with. One such denizen is a young dapper general (Sabu) who seeks to enlighten himself with the teachings of Christ and of Western culture, only to find himself falling for a beautiful if neurotic young native girl who frequents the convent. Each situation tests the strengths and sanity of Sister Clodagh and her nuns as they attempt to adapt in their new unsettling environment. But all of these obstacles are mere picnics compared to the presence of Mr. Dean (David Farrar). An agent of the former General who once owned the harem, Dean struts in like a muscular peacock with chest hair. He insists he can help the sisters with his strength, repair skills, and the rough physical terrain all around them. On the surface, Dean seems benevolent and helpful. But he’s also an irresistibly imposing force who catches the nuns’ attention, and he damn well knows it. Despite Dean’s corrupting influence, Clodagh does her best to execute her duties while desperately maintaining order among the local populace and fellow sisters. Her personal life is unearthed through flashbacks of her youth in Ireland, and how her dreams of winning her one true love are dashed by the fates, all of which led to her decision of becoming a nun, and ultimately the reason behind her authority ambitions. This is prime Deborah Kerr, the strong-willed but well-meaning and sensitive woman who employs a firm hand at control, yet retains a moral decency towards the people she was charged to look after. We come to identify what makes Sister Clodagh tick, and that’s her unwavering desire to see of her responsibilities and duties through to the end using a tough but tender approach. She proves it by resisting Mr. Dean’s Tarzan-like machismo and insisting that her nuns follow suit. Kerr would later utilize a similar approach in the classic 1961 Gothic ghost picture The Innocents, where her determined governess Miss Giddens will move heaven and hell to protect the eponymous young children from malevolent ghosts, with disastrous results. In strong behavorial contrast against the noble Clodagh is the increasingly-disturbed Sister Ruth, played with unhinged intensity by Kathleen Byron. The loose cannon among the nuns, Ruth seemed unwell way before they commenced their Himalayan mission; why Clodagh picked her in the first place is anyone’s guess. Eventually, the deteriorating conditions of their mountain base, the growing internal strife deep within the convent, and of course, the pompous Mr. Dean, all push Ruth further off the deep end. She becomes infatuated with Dean, which quickly mutates into obsession. It’s with this obsession that Ruth also develops an ugly rivalry against Clodagh. Their adversarial dynamic is one of the film’s greatest assets. It is not your standard contest of good versus evil, but of sanity against insanity within a hostile natural environment. Their conflict escalates a 100 fold when Ruth incorrectly accuses Clodagh of ruining her chances at winning Dean’s heart, which, of course, isn’t true since the Sister Superior despises the roguish agent. Nevertheless, Ruth will stop at nothing to get what she wants. How Kathleen Byron depicts Ruth’s mental plunge is supremely frightening. As the film progresses, Byron transforms her character from insecure neurotic to violent maniac. In a scene that I could best describe as beautifully nightmarish, the camera makes a close-up to Ruth’s face as she stalks Clodagh around the mountain in an attempt to silence the Sister Superior once and for all. The insane look in Ruth’s eyes is one of THE scariest scenes in any non-Horror film I’ve seen. Ever wonder what would chill me down to my core worse than Freddy Krueger or Jason Vorhees? Catch a glimpse into the face of Sister Ruth, and you’ll understand, I would be remiss in my responsibilities as an obscure film analyst to neglect mentioning the film’s effective cinematography work created by Mr. Jack Cardiff. It isn’t often that someone like Cardiff would be mentioned in other, more well-known filmmaker circles along the likes of, say, Spielberg, Hitchcock, or Kurosawa. Film aficionados should be familiar with Cardiff’s cinematographic contributions in classics like The African Queen and War and Peace; he would also go on to his own directorial duties such as the 1959 thriller Web of Desire and the 1968 mercenary adventure Dark of the Sun (a huge cinematic favorite of mine; see my previous review for DOTS on this blog). Cardiff’s magic is purely evident in this picture. He captures the emotions of each major character through the expert use of the close-up. Remember when I mentioned Sister Ruth’s crazy eyes? That was Cardiff’s amazing signature camera skills used to the hilt. Coupled with directors Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger’s gorgeous use of Technicolor to colorfully portray the remote Indian terrain, the filmmakers created a picture which resembles a painting crossed with a fever dream: a product of beauty with incredible dashes of madness. For all newcomers to the film who possibly would reject it as a “church drama,” a la Lillies of the Field or Boys Town, you’ll be pleasantly surprised to find that it isn’t. Despite its overlying Christian themes, Black Narcissus is nothing of the sort. While the film does show nuns who suffer crises of faith, it does not not promote a pro-religion stance either. Rather, we witness religious community members yearn for things they know they cannot obtain through the grace of God. While Sister Clodagh and a few of her fellow nuns are indeed faithful, they come to terms that miracles don’t always happen when it comes to achieving certain desires, like love, or physical survival. Yet, even if the characters don’t receive their personal miracles, such a great film in existence for us to watch is miraculous in of itself. See the original trailer here! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CZRzcLK1Ar0 A Retrospective Review
By Cesare Augusto Directed by: Bruce Malmuth Starring: Sgt. Deke DaSilva – SYLVESTER STALLONE Wulfgar – RUTGER HAUER Sgt Matthew Fox – BILLY DEE WILLIAMS Peter Hartman – NIGEL DAVENPORT Shakka Holland – PERSIS KHAMBATTA Irene – LINDSEY WAGNER Lt. Munafo – JOE SPINELL For some, Nighthawks may feel like a cinematic anomaly. This thriller from 1981 combines so many similar genres together, that it’s almost as if its filmmakers couldn’t decide what type of category their product belonged to. Part buddy-cop action flick, part vintage terrorism thriller a la Day of the Jackal, and part gritty detective procedural from the Philip D’Antoni catalogue (i.e. Bullitt, The French Connection and The Seven-Ups), Nighthawks looks like an overwhelming cluster-fuck of ideas. But before you get discombobulated, don’t. Because Nighthawks offers a roller coaster of a thriller so entertaining, it’ll help you forgive and forget any possible discombobulation, thanks to some great performances and copious amounts of pulse-pounding suspense. The film stars Sylvester Stallone as streetwise veteran New York street cop Deke DaSilva. Up-and-coming international superstar Rutger Hauer costars as Wulfgar, the world’s deadliest terrorist. Judging from its poster, where the faces of both leads are tightly super-imposed adjacent to each other with the barrel of a pistol in between them, Nighthawks promotes the classic cat-and-mouse style thriller, and boy, do Stallone and Hauer help contribute to that! But more on that later, I promise. Providing equally effective supporting performances are Billy Dee Williams (as Deke’s fearless partner Matt Fox), Persis Khambatta, Joe Spinell, Lindsey Wagner, and Nigel Davenport. The presence of such fine late 70s/early 80s-eras character actors helps give the film’s sense of gritty, old-school urban appeal, ultimately telling audiences, “Hey, this is how we filmed action movies in our day, with familiar faces you recognize but names you probably can’t remember off-hand.” Sly and Billy Dee’s characters are undercover members of the NYPD’s “Decoy Squad,” specializing in catching crooks in the act of committing robberies while in disguise (action fans are sure to chuckle at Stallone dressed in full drag while dispatching with a thug in typical violent Stallone style). Meanwhile in London, we see Wulfgar, all charming and chic in his neat beard, nonchalantly plants a bomb in a posh department store and subsequently blows the place to smithereens. Wulfgar arrogantly reports his latest attack to the press via payphone, adding the chilling warning of “there is no security.” These introductory scenes brilliantly intertwines the breakneck cop scenes with Wulfgar’s dirty work. DaSilva and Fox are the strong arms of New York’s law, with high arrest records and longevity with the Decoy Squad, while Wulfgar is a walking instrument of death who leaves trails of blood all over Europe. The individual reputations of the cops and their terrorist prey are slowly and expertly laid out before us, and we son become more than convinced of what these men are truly made of. With a new surgically-reconstructed face, Wulfgar discreetly penetrates the United States by way of the Big Apple. Dogging his trail is tenacious British counter-terrorism expert Hartman (Davenport), who correctly surmises that Wulfgar chose New York as his new hunting grounds due to the city’s major news media outlets. To strengthen efforts to capture or kill Wulfgar, Hartman creates a counter-terrorism task force called ATAC (Anti-Terrorist Action Command), with Deke and Fox as its newest recruits. Another great intertwining juxtaposition of scenes between the film’s heroes and its villain commences. Wulfgar navigates all over Manhattan with very little apparent effort. He slyly cases the UN building and Roosevelt Island Tram system. He even finds the time for a little female companionship while exploring the glitzy New York nightlife. Wulfgar appears be enjoy his work, a total polar opposite to what our cops are forced to endure. As part of their new criminal profiling “training,” Deke and Fox are to be “indoctrinated in counter-terrorist tactics and techniques.” Their new instructor, Hartman, insists that the most effective way to nail Wulfgar is to get inside his head. Hartman also demands his counter-terrorism trainees to open fire upon sighting their prey. The pragmatic Deke balks at the idea of accidentally causing civilian casualties if he misses. The training sequences mesh incredibly well with Wulfgar’s surveillance of new targets, giving us new clashing views in our combatants’ professional lives as well as their morals. While Wulfgar is having a grand old time, Deke and Fox are sweating out Hartman’s tedious counter-terrorism classes before hitting the streets. I couldn’t help but compare Nighthawks’ with another great vintage cop thriller, The French Connection. There, we observe how its chief criminal, crafty drug lord Chaunier, alias “Frog One”, effortlessly invades New York City for his newest dealings while being tailed by NYPD detectives “Popeye” Doyle and “Cloudy” Russo. Frog One is enjoying the finer things of life like dining at fine Manhattan restaurants, whereas Popeye and Cloudy, the two blue-collar cops, are suffering through their freezing their butts off during their winter stakeouts and eating cardboard-textured pizza slices. Director William Friedkin painstakingly captures the juxtaposition in his heroes and villains in their lives. Now, Nighthawks’ director Bruce Malmuth is nowhere near as legendary compared to Friedkin. But at least he manages to capture the same kind of flip-flopping technique of showing the villain’s casual approach to terrorism, opposite his cop pursuers’ tedium on the job. The cops’ surveillance bears fruit when they finally lay eyes on their suspect. DaSilva and Fox corner Wulfgar in a flashy Manhattan discotheque, and what follows is one of the best cinematic stare-downs ever filmed. With the pulsing disco back-beat of Keith Emerson’s cover of the 1960s pop tune “I’m a Man” blaring in the background, the camera cuts back and forth from Stallone and Hauer’s POVs. Wulfgar knows his cover is blown. The tension is further amplified by the club’s music and the strobing lights. It’s a fabulous foreboding sense of dread that leads to a frenetic foot chase deep within New York’s subway tunnels. The chase is fast and incredibly riveting that concludes with a violent and bloody aftermath. I won’t give away details, but let’s just say Wulfgar has officially incurred Deke’s wrath. The cat and mouse chase aspect only gets more intense from here. In a superbly claustrophobic scene, Wulfgar hijacks the Roosevelt Island Tram and holds a group of UN delegates hostage where he forces Deke to a face-to-face confrontation high above the East River. I love the way Wulfgar tries to justifies his actions much to Deke’s disbelief and disgust. Like many movie terrorists, Wulfgar believes himself a hero, a freedom fighter, a liberator of the oppressed. And Hauer relishes every word of his character’s cause. From Wulfgar to his legendary performance as sinister “replicant” Roy Batty in Blade Runner, down to his delightfully sadistic murderer in The Hitcher, Rutger Hauer (1944 – 2019) oozed charismatic evil, like it was nothing. Nighthawks was Hauer’s stepping stone to mainstream stardom, and it was an explosive one at that, literally and figuratively! And Stallone? Well, he’s strong and commanding as always, but with a considerable difference this time around. Nighthawks was Sly’s first big-screen lawman role, and, unlike his more macho cop characters, his Deke DaSilva is his most realistic, and vulnerable. Sporting eye glasses and long hair with matching beard, Sly could almost pass himself off as big brother to Al Pacino’s Frank Serpico. It’s easy to make the comparison, as both characters are tough, yet sensitive cops who wear their badges and hearts on their sleeves. As we movie buffs all know, Sylvester Stallone is the king of the underdog heroes. Rocky Balboa and John Rambo are the underdog archetypes, and to certain degrees, so is Deke DaSilva. You know Deke always gets the job done, and he’s refreshingly human when he does. Nighthawks is a first-rate thriller that does beg the question, “Could acts of terrorism happen in the United States?” Released at least 20 years before the tragedies of 9/11, the movie gives a vivid look of what living under the grip of terror-based fear in the US may look like. Lesser movies may depict terrorists as cartoonish, faceless foreign drones who blindly and violently pursue a cause with any means necessary. This plot formula was prominently used in mindless popcorn flicks churned out by the Cannon Group, like Invasion USA or The Delta Force. But Nighthawks provides a grittier, more procedural look at the dirty work of a professional terrorist, and the law enforcement efforts to take the criminal menace down. Make no mistake: while the film may resembles a counter-terrorism training course, but it’s a damn suspenseful training course worth taking! See the original trailer here! https://youtu.be/cnvbtAoucPU A Retrospective Review
By Cesare Augusto Directed by: Lino Brocka Starring: Insiang: HILDA KORONEL Tonya: MONA LISA Dado: RUEL VERNAL Bedot: REZ CORTEZ Thank Heaven for the Criterion Collection and its streaming service, the Critieron Channel. For they are the gateway to some of the most unique, quirky, and magnificent films ever created, that you’ve probably never seen. Criterion’s gloriously vast assortment of films come from different eras and all kinds of countries. They include great classics like Chaplin’s The Gold Rush and Nicholas Ray’s In a Lonely Place, abstract “New Wave” Arthouse films like Fellini’s 8 ½ and Louise Malle’s Elevator to the Gallows (a personal significant favorite of mine in this category), and outrageous cult oddities like Herschell Gordon Lewis’ Horror splatter-fest Blood Feast. The Criterion Channel is more than worth the $10.99 monthly subscription cost, that is if you’re an obsessed connoisseur of cinema who wouldn’t mind the expense, like me! The Criterion Channel is also home to a special select series of international cinema dubbed “The World Cinema Project.” Established by none other than Martin Scorsese, the World Cinema Project dedicates itself to the preservation, restoration, and re-distribution of both classic and newer films from countries worldwide. Cinephiles disinterested in run-of-the-mill Hollywood popcorn flicks will be intrigued by the Project’s selection of films rich with high intensity and melodrama, many of which are fueled by their countries’ political or social turmoils. Among the ones I’ve had the great pleasure of viewing include the depressing Senegalese-French drama Black Girl, the taut Turkish crime thriller Law of the Border, and from my ancestral land the Philippines, Insiang. Prior to Insiang, the only Filipino-made pictures I saw were mostly 1960s to 70s low-budget exploitation schlock-fests which meet the criteria of the trashy yet energetically fun “Grindhouse” mold. Cheaply made Horror and Action flicks like The Big Bird Cage, The Blood Drinkers, and The Muthers were all filmed in the Philippines and made use of the country’s tropical jungle locales just so attractive, scantily-dressed women can run around topless while wielding machine guns and killing their evil, sex-starved male captors. Sure, these pictures are utter garbage with very little genuine artistic merit to speak of. But if you’re an unabashed fan of Grindhouse movies, lack of such merit makes very little difference as long as they entertained you from a “so-bad-it’s good” rationale! (For more on these, check out the insane 2010 documentary Machete Maidens Unleashed immediately) Then there’s Lino Brocka, the internationally-renowned Filipino director and master storyteller. Scorsese himself is an avid admirer of Brocka, crediting the Filipino filmmaker’s “key role in remaking the cinema of his country.” Brocka’s approach was to show the Philippines’ darker, seamier sides, often using the poverty-stricken streets of the country’s capital Manila during the notorious Marcos Regime as a backdrop to the hard-edged dramas he specialized in. Two of his most prolific pictures, Manila in the Claws of Night and Insiang, brutally depict the harsh lives of poor, downtrodden Filipinos who often teeter on the edges of sanity and insanity, civilized and criminal, life and death. Brocka’s films may not paint the most flattering pictures of the Philippines, but they certainly make for brutally realistic cinema. Insiang also holds the distinction of being the very first Filipino feature film to be presented at the 1978 Cannes Film Festival, a highly impressive feat indeed. Vintage Filipina actress Hilda Koronel portrays the titular character, a young Manila woman trapped in her own private hell. Insiang lives deep within the shanty town of the run-down Tondo district, where she shares a cramped house with her estranged father’s relatives, and her bitter and overbearing mother Tonya (classic Filipina cinema legend Mona Lisa). Tonya barely tolerates or feels even the slightest smidge of love for her only daughter. Instead, she bludgeons Insiang with barrages of insults, humiliation, and physical abuse. Tonya’s cruelty stems from her husband’s abandonment of their family to run off with another woman, prompting Tonya to take her frustrations out on everything with a pulse. When Tonya evicts her husband’s relatives from her house, she viciously vents her life’s failings on her daughter. Insiang’s troubles don’t end there. Both mother and daughter barely make enough money to afford rice and even decent clothes. Her boyfriend Bedot (Rez Cortez) is an irresponsible deadbeat who never takes their relationship beyond just making out in darkened movie theaters. And because of her mother’s infamous volatile nature, Insiang and her family have become the butt of negative gossip among the shanty town’s denizens. Yet all these unpleasantness pale terribly in comparison to that of Dado (Ruel Vernal), the neighborhood’s biggest scumbag who also happens to be Tonya’s latest squeeze. If you were to Google Image the word “Sleaze”, you’re sure to find the swaggering Dado smiling repulsively back at you. The man is a liar, degenerate, and a bully who moves in with Tonya after she chucked her in-laws out. The awkwardness behind the entire setup is magnified when we learn how much younger Dado is compared to Tonya (trust me: their relationship is quite gross and unsettling). Soon enough, Dado sets his disgusting sights on Insiang, eyeing the young girl with less-than-honorable intentions. He seeks to lay claim on both mother and daughter of the household he moves into. Late one night, he sneaks up on the unsuspecting Insiang, and rapes her. You would think Tonya would subsequently kick this perverted piece of trash to the curb, but no. She actually takes Dado’s side and accuses of Insiang of instigating the whole incident and seducing her rapist. What kind of a mother would victim-blame her own daughter, as if Insiang herself would willingly facilitate her own sexual assault? The jealous kind, as Tonya would wrongly suspect Insiang of stealing Dado away from her wrinkled, envious clutches. While pondering these profoundly disturbing notions, I couldn’t resist comparing Insiang to another grim urban drama, 2009’s Precious directed by Lee Daniels. Both films dramatically depict the plights of two young women caught in troubled households who find themselves victimized by sexually-violent men and monstrously-abusive mothers. Both films would also deeply explore its female protagonists as they struggle with the post-traumatic shock of their assaults. Still, they are contrast as their stories progress. Precious projects more optimism, as its hero defeats her demons with the help of positive people in her life and coming out a winner. Insiang, on other hand, is rife with bleakness and despair. Insiang spirals in depression and hopelessness from not only her rape at Dado’s hands, but betrayals from both her mother and a cowardly boyfriend like Bedot, who unceremoniously dumps her after a night of shared passion. Now left with no other options, Insiang embarks on a stormy campaign of revenge against her tormentors, with each act of vengeance more impactful and bloodier than before. If that sounds dark, bear in mind that this is not a Hollywood movie, but a Filipino one, set in very true times of social turmoil. Insiang was my springboard to films from my native land for two things: the stark grimness of human tragedy which director Lino Brocka excelled in, and the crushing realistic view of poverty and the poor in the Philippines. What Brocka created was more than mere melodrama; he took one character’s immense tragedy and made it soul-shattering not for Insiang herself, but for the audience. We can’t help but shed tears along with poor Insiang, and thusly shamelessly (at first) begin hoping that her revenge schemes succeed. Hilda Koronel is dynamite in the drama department as she steadily switches from helpless victim to perpetrator of her own personal justice. Her costars also deserve some major acting kudos. The venom that Mona Lisa spews against her cinematic daughter is nothing short of toxic, which I mean in a flattering way. She tackles the Tonya role with such unforgettable, cold-blooded ferocity that while Tonya wouldn’t win any awards for being Mother-of-the-Year, Lisa herself deserves a bunch thanks to her truly great powerhouse acting. Another lasting impact created by Insiang was Brocka’s depiction of his country’s poverty. The way he captured the dirt poor conditions of the Tondo district streets was shocking in my eyes. For those unaware of my personal past, I was born in the Philippines, within the Quezon City area of Manila to be exact. As a baby, I left the country with my parents with zero memory of my time spent there. So it wouldn’t be until I saw Brocka’s work that I caught a glimpse of my countrymen’s way of life from this vantage point. We observe Insiang walking aimlessly through the shanty town’s litter-filled streets, past neighborhood kids who appear otherwise happily skipping rope almost adjacent to young Filipino men drunkenly drinking beer outside local bodegas. This reality may appear horrible to some, but it’s nonetheless reality for those who lived it and accepted it as their way of life. It’s this reviewer’s theory that was Brocka’s intention, to introduce film-goers beyond Philippine shores of how rough life is in this world, and to presumably show audiences in places like America of just how good their lives truly are, despite any hardships they perceive to have. If that was indeed Brocka’s intention, he succeeded, at least in my eyes. Insiang is a soul-crushing wake-up call of a film, and it packs one hell of a powerful bitch slap. See the original trailer here! https://youtu.be/9ssGbkBNPUg A Retrospective Review
By Cesare Augusto Directed by: Walter Hill Starring: Prentice “Print” Ritter – ROBERT DUVALL Tom Harte – THOMAS HADEN CHURCH Nola Johns – GRETA SCACCHI “Number 3”/Sun Fu – GWENDOLINE YEO Hec Gilpin – SCOTT COOPER “Number 4”/Ye Fung – OLIVIA CHENG Ed “Big Ears” Bywater – CHRIS MULKEY Captain Billy Fender – JAMES RUSSO Apart from the likes of Sam Peckinpah, John Woo, and even Shane Black, there’s no other filmmaker as adept at creating classic macho male camaraderie than Walter Hill. A genre director whose specialties include cop thrillers and westerns, Hill is also renowned for his strong contribution to the “Buddy film”, the sub-genre with the time-honored convention of characters bonding and standing loyal to each other when trouble arises. However, unlike other movies where cute friendships are forged almost immediately, Hill’s characters start out as anything but buddies. They borderline hate each other first. In the Depression-era crime story Hard Times, bare-knuckle brawler Charles Bronson barely trusts shifty conman James Coburn, who sneakily appoints himself as Bronson’s “manager.” The Warriors may stick like glue as Coney Island’s baddest street gang, yet two of its toughest members size each other up to vie for their leadership. Nick Nolte’s boozy cop has no choice but to rely on the assistance of Eddie Murphy’s slick convict to nail a vicious pair of killers in 48 Hrs. And in a similar scenario, steely Soviet detective Arnold Schwarzenegger begrudgingly tolerates wise-ass Chicago flatfoot Jim Belushi as they pursue an evil Russian drug lord in Red Heat. Notice a pattern yet? Walter Hill first builds scathing antagonism between his heroes before even a glimmer of trust develops before they eventually work together to meet their goals, often under showers of smoking-hot lead. Hill also extended his Buddy film formula to two of his Westerns, The Long Riders and Broken Trail, albeit with a different approach: the heroes aren’t strangers-turned burgeoning friends, but strained family members whose relationships deepen while embarking on cross-country journeys. The Long Riders is based on the real-life notorious 1800s outlaws the James-Younger Gang, made up of disorganized and highly dysfunctional brothers who hit banks and trains across America. The film itself contains the novelty of having real-life actor siblings cast as the gang, like the Carradines, the Keaches, the Quaids, and a mess of others. While a visually-stunning and action-packed picture, The Long Riders is a standard noisy Western shoot-em-up that glorifies the outlaw brothers as folk heroes despite their sibling rivalries. It’s a movie that’s sure to thrill the genre’s fans, but offers others very little room to breathe in between shootouts and bouts of mayhem. Broken Trail takes a subtler, more unique spin on Walter Hill’s Buddy Western. The film, which was originally released as a made-for-TV miniseries in AMC, is split into two tales: one about a massive horse drive undertaken by veteran cowboy Print Ritter (Robert Duvall) and his estranged buckaroo nephew, Tom Harte (Thomas Haden Church). The other focuses on the plight of five innocent young Chinese women about to be sold to doomed lives of slavery and prostitution. Theirs is a grim but true throwback to a dark period of American history, as thousands of real female Chinese immigrants were forced into this horrific way of life in the Old West. The five Chinese women’s story soon intertwines with Print and Tom’s horse drive excursion. The two parties, while initially wary and distrusting of each other, learn to depend and ultimately trust one another as their bonds dramatically changes their lives. Robert Duvall is certainly no stranger to the Western. He seems at home portraying rugged, rawboned cowpokes who’ve seen plenty of action and mayhem over the years, and live to tell about them at ripe years of age. In Trail, Duvall’s Print Ritter doesn’t fit the bill of a stereotypical grumpy Old West codger. Print is wise, observant, hardworking, and unafraid to use his Winchester rifle to protect those he deeply cares about. He reunites with his estranged nephew Tom Harte (Thomas Haden Church) as Print bears good and bad news. The bad news is Tom’s mother (Print’s sister), who Tom has not seen in years, has died and left Print the executor to her will (consisting of her land and a small fortune), leaving Tom with nothing. The younger cowboy glumly surmises that since he left home to work as a professional buckaroo, Tom was written out of his mother’s will. The good news is that with the fortune he inherited from his deceased sister, Print decides to buy 500 mustangs and drive them from Oregon to Wyoming where the horses will be sold to the British army. Print asks Tom to join on the drive and, after being coaxed out of branding cattle for the rest of his life, Tom agrees. Having mostly played contemporary comedic or dramatic performances (especially with his Oscar-nominated turn in the critically-acclaimed 2004 independent comedy Sideways), Trail marks Church’s only second authentic Western foray. Fans should also remember his small but memorable turn as Billy Clanton, member of the notorious Cowboys gang in the classic 1993 hit Tombstone. Despite his limited experience in the genre, Church makes a very convincing weather-beaten buckaroo, and hardened gunslinger. Though we learn very little of Tom’s past, his laconic manner and lethal proficiency with six-shooters tell us of the man’s varied experiences surviving in the American frontier, all of which Church delivers superbly well. During their horse drive, Print and Tom encounter numerous folks of differing backgrounds and intentions. They meet and recruit Hec Gilpin (Scott Cooper), a noble fiddler from back East to join their ranks. Later, they come across Captain Billy Fender (James Russo), a drunk, uncouth fella dragging a carriage carrying the five Chinese women. Print, Tom, and Hec sense something is very off-kilter about this Captain Fender, and correctly so. They discover Fender’s job of selling the five women as sex slaves to mining camps. Tom kills Fender, and our horse drivers reluctantly become the ladies’ protectors, their knights in rawhide leather, if you will, from further dangers on their trail. As their journey presses eastward, we learn more about the personal lives of our motley crew of travelers. Print, Tom, and Hec gather by the campfire the way old-time cowboys would and discuss the mysteries of life, including about the fairer sex. Print, being the oldest, longingly examines the frailties of the male psyche. He is more than aware of the crushing feeling of loneliness, and that only the touch of that right woman can cure it. It is with these quieter scenes that give Duvall some of his finest performances. The poignancy of his reaching out to Church’s Tom leads to both characters to shed their rougher exteriors and creates pure male bonding, thankfully without falling into the trap of cheesy, over-sentimental sappiness. Western fans might also recognize the relationship of Print and Tom as comparable to that from another pair of fictional frontier drivers, Thomas Dunson and Matt Garth, played respectively by John Wayne and Montgomery Clift in the Howard Hawks’ Red River. Both groups are made up of cowboys of different age ranges and personal beliefs that butt heads over their drives should be done. And yet, Print and Tom, like Dunson and Matt, are determined to fulfilling the jobs at hand, and devoted to watching each other’s backs like true men should. If Walter Hill and Broken Trail’s screenwriter Alan Geoffrion made this as an intentional reference to the Hawks film, remains to be clarified, but I wouldn’t be the slightest bit surprised if its true. But the film’s hardest-hitting dramatic punches come from the five young Chinese ladies. Because of the language barrier, the women are unable to tell their names, so Print nicknames them accordingly by numbers, from “Number 1” to “Number 5.” Understandably, the women are at first terrified of the horse drivers. They know very little of the American culture and fear for their futures in such a dangerous land. Yet as the trip continues, the five ladies slowly develop a rapport with their cowboy rescuers, especially with Print as they affectionately refer him as “Honkle Pren.” This rapport alone takes the old Walter Hill “Buddy Film” to deeper lengths than previously seen in the director’s vast list of directorial efforts, and it works incredibly, touchingly well. The leader of the ladies, Sun Fu, or “Number 3” (Gwendoline Yeo), even builds an attraction to Tom, to which the hardened buckaroo mutually obliges. The growing spark between Sun Fu and Tom is undeniably strong, despite their culture clashes. Despite the cowboys’ best efforts to protect them, problems still befall on the Chinese women, as Ye Fung (“Number 4”, played by Olivia Cheng) suffers from insurmountable trauma from being previously sexually-assaulted. Cheng’s performance teeters between hopelessness and despair, giving the film its saddest, most tragic performance. Adding another deep dimension to the film’s cast of characters is Nola Johns (Greta Scacchi), the aging prostitute who seeks refuge with the horse drivers. Nola had a bad run of luck with some truly awful men, including one vicious desperado named Ed “Big Ears” Bywater (Chris Mulkey, a regular in Walter Hill’s acting repertoire). Big Ears is hired by sleazy lady bordello proprietor “Big Rump” Kate to retreive the five Chinese women she intended to purchase from Captain Billy Fender. Intially Big Ears is uninterested in the job, only to sign on when Nola, the object of his past disgusting desires, flees with Print’s party. Nola and Print would soon carry on a romance of their own, lighting the fuse of a deadly rivalry between the veteran cowboy and dastardly killer Big Ears. In classic Walter Hill Western tradition, the heroic horse drivers head to their guns-blazing showdown against Big Ears and his crew of killers to further protect their adopted family from a bullet-ridden death. Broken Trail was AMC’s first original film, and what a great one to make it as the network’s debut. It received four Emmy Awards: for Outstanding Miniseries; Outstanding Casting for a Miniseries, Movie, or a Special; Outstanding Lead Actor in a Miniseries or Movie (for Duvall), and Outstanding Supporting Actor in a Miniseries or a Movie (for Church). All four wins were well-deserved, especially for the two acting leads. Unfortunately the five Chinese actresses did not receive any acting nominations, but they damn well should have. Their combined acting talents effectively conveyed strength and courage at the face of certain danger, invoking that right amount of audience empathy to their dreaded plight. The film’s highest selling point is its fantastic, heart-warming character development, coupled with some thrilling frontier action sequences. Broken Trail takes Walter Hill’s vintage Buddy Film formula to deeper, more profound lengths, and it may just be his best film by a country mile. See the original trailer here! https://youtu.be/prJVjnlZRRQ A Retrospective Review
By Cesare Augusto Directed by: Bruce Lee Starring: Tang Lung – BRUCE LEE Miss Chen – NORA MIAO Colt – CHUCK NORRIS The Boss – JON T. BENN Ah Quen – TI CHIN “Empty your mind. Be formless, shapeless, like water. Put water into a cup, becomes the cup put water into a teapot, becomes the teapot water can flow or creep or dip or crash. Be like water, my friend…” Bruce Lee, the Chinese-American god of martial arts and pop culture who’s transcended generations of fans for more than 50 years, was heavily renowned not only for his incredible fighting prowess, but also for his countless pearls of inspirational wisdom. The “Little Dragon” (as Lee is so affectionately referred to the world over) sprouted as many axioms of positivity, courage, and self-motivation as he did with his deadly flurry of devastating one-inch-punches. Fans also ought to know Lee’s heavy list of accolades and accomplishments: his tournament victories; how he analyzed and transformed traditional Kung Fu into the hybrid martial arts philosophy he called Jeet Kune Do; his meteoric rise to fame in American television; and finally his unparalleled successes in the Hong Kong and Hollywood big screens before his sudden death at age 32 in 1972. Put simply, Bruce Lee was the proverbial game changer, in many respects of the term. As do many Asian-Americans, I have more than my share of respect and admiration to Bruce Lee. The man was a multi-faceted hero of my childhood, and who I continue to hero-worship to this day. With his unexpected passing, he left behind a mere snapshot of his legacy. We may never know what Lee could have brought to the table further. The varied film lover in me, however, could actually envision Bruce Lee actually breaking free mold of the martial arts flick. The man oozed charisma, had a humorously sharp wit, and a lady-killing smile, which tells me that Lee could have stood a chance at being an actor and not just an action star. Could the Little Dragon have been adept at, perhaps, Romantic Comedies? Science Fiction? Westerns? He nearly won the role of “Kwai Chang Caine” in the 1970s Western drama Kung Fu, if only the incredibly racially-biased Hollywood studio system hadn’t rejected him and given it to Caucasian actor David Carradine instead. In any case, I know, deep in my heart, that had Bruce Lee not pass away so prematurely, there were many other media-based endeavors that he could have had the potential in excelling in. Such as directing pictures himself? In his short but exemplary film career, Lee did have one directorial credit: the top-of-the-heap 1972 urban thriller The Way of the Dragon (released as Return of the Dragon in the US a year later, just to cash in on the success of Lee’s final movie, Enter the Dragon.) The film is highly regarded for Lee’s sole directorial debut, along with his signature frenetic Kung Fu maneuvers, and as the dynamic first onscreen appearance of fellow martial arts action god Chuck Norris. But before I proceed with my analysis on Way, here is a brief history of the 20th century martial arts movie craze. Once upon a time, in China, came “Wuxia,” the film genre depicting martial arts warriors in more historical and fantastical period pieces. Notable examples of Wuxia include such cult classics as Come Drink With Me, Last Hurrah for Chivalry, and Golden Swallow, and were produced by famous Hong Kong-based studios like The Shaw Brothers or Golden Harvest. A vast majority of these movies put major stock on colorful Chinese history or mythology, and the high-flying heroics of ancient heroes and villains of their classic culture. When the late 1960s transitioned into the 1970s, Bruce Lee had since burst into the scene. Lee first became a television household name as masked vigilante Kato in his phenomenal TV series The Green Hornet. As Lee’s fame grew, so did the appeal of martial arts in America. Even though the Hornet would last just one season, Lee’s popularity would only climb among mainstream Western audiences. Since the Wuxia pictures were mainly released within the Asian market, they unfortunately were allowed little exposure for Western audiences to see, save for drive-in theaters. But Lee’s later pictures to come would eschew the over-the-top fantasy of Wuxia, focusing instead for grittier, more modern, and more violent takes on the martial arts film genre. After The Green Hornet’s cancellation and losing the Kung Fu role no thanks to gutless Hollywood execs, Lee opted to leave the US for stronger opportunities in Hong Kong. And from there, did Lee deliver the goods when it came to grittier, more modern, and more violent martial arts flicks! From 1971 to 1972, he made two feature films, The Big Boss (released internationally as Fists of Fury) and Fists of Fury (or The Chinese Connection overseas). Both are remarkable and action-packed statements to Lee’s martial arts talents and larger-than-life cinematic presence. Yet, they were directed by other filmmakers, and he wanted to strut more than just his on-screen stuff. So Lee struck a deal with legendary Golden Harvest founder Raymond Chow for a chance at writing, producing, directing, and starring in his film, entitled The Way of the Dragon. Story-wise, Way is quite simple: it tells the tale of Tang Lung (Lee), a stranger in a strange land who uses deadly fighting skills to protect a friend’s restaurant business in Rome from vicious criminals. Tang Lung is a naïve and seemingly innocent young man from Hong Kong venturing outside his original environment for the first time. Lee had portrayed a character not unlike Tang Lung before, as a Kung Fu-fighting country bumpkin in The Big Boss. And like in Boss, Lee’s Tang Lung would keep his fierce talents at bay until the occasion called for their use. Until then, Lee displays more acting kicks than literal ones first when he meets Miss Chen (the lovely Nora Miao). Chen explains that her uncle’s restaurant is under siege by a local crime boss (Jon T. Benn), who wants his dirty fingers around the business. Tang Lung assures Chen that he will do everything he can to help protect her restaurant. She is hesitant to believe him. Tang Lung appears goofy, unaware, and clearly out of his league. Her restaurant employs feel the same way. How will this clueless-looking stranger be of any help to their situation? Naturally, that all changes soon when the crime boss’ goons arrives to stir trouble at the restaurant. Tang Lung goes from playing the seemingly-innocent fella from Hong Kong, to highly-experienced Kung Fu master, as he unleashes a barrage of lightning-fast roundhouse kicks upon the cocky invaders, much to the restaurant employees’, and the audience’s astounding surprise. This was undeniable proof of Lee’s potential dynamic as an actor and a movie star. His transition from ordinary Joe to near-invincible warrior was initially smooth before turning lethal within a fraction of a second. And speaking of fractions and seconds, many of Lee’s Kung Fu skills (or as the film’s comic relief, Ah Quen, humorously yet enthusiastically calls it, “Chinese boxing!”) were so blindingly speedy, they were shot in slow motion as to not disorient audiences, at least not badly. Lee’s speed and power, combined by his charisma, made him nothing short of hypnotic. There is even a night training scene where, Lee, naked from the waist up and illuminated with light, flexes his sculpted upper body muscles and boasting a near-perfect physique. The man had a freakishly great build, with absolutely ZERO flab. I can recall many years ago, during a viewing of Way of the Dragon, when an old college buddy of mine declared: “I am OFFICIALLY FAT!” Who else within during this era of film where one star had that ability to simulataneously charm and thrill audiences all at the same time, than Bruce Lee? Despite the film’s amazing action aesthetics, Lee’s first and only attempt at directing was still at novice level, and it showed. Way suffers from a low budget, unremarkable script, hammy acting, and, painfully-obvious post-sync dubbing. In other words, you can still see the actors’ mouths still moving even as their voice stops; it was a technical snafu evident in many English-dubbed foreign films, not just in Asian martial arts pictures. No matter, because we the audience would be too caught up with the exciting fight scenes, all of which choreographed by Lee himself. Besides, nobody expects Sir Laurence Olivier-level acting in these movies anyway! Lee took heavy concentration on each fight scene, from minor to major. Two of these scenes in particular were so beautifully shot that they should go down as among the greatest fight sequences ever caught on camera. First would be the back alley weapons combat, where Tang Lung, armed with two spinning nunchucks, would dispatch the evil gang members one by one. Nunchucks were a weapons specialty of Lee’s, and the way he twirled them from back to front was spell-binding right before their handles would crack some poor sucker’s head. The second significant fight scene would pit Tang Lung against the film’s other major martial artist, Chuck Norris, in one of only two villainous roles in his entire acting resume. Norris plays Colt, a drastic last resort who, as the crime boss’ effeminate right-hand-man Ho decrees, is “America’s best.” Judging by his laconic , stone cold demeanor, Colt is a martial arts mercenary who means business. Colt is such a badass that a sampled dark guitar portion of the Once Upon a Time in the West soundtrack is used as his theme song! The film’s final showdown between Colt and Tang Lung takes place, fittingly, in the Roman Coliseum, the ultimate battleground for warriors ancient and modern alike. Their duel is one for the ages, as both men perform in a deadly combat ballet. The fight swings in favor between the two fighters as they seemingly are equally-matched, with Lee coming close to defeat in several instances. But when he switches to his rapid Jeet Kune Do shuffle, Lee quickly and powerfully switches the momentum back to his favor. Conversely, Norris is in true brutal form and almost like a martial arts grim reaper. Unlike his later, more heroically one-dimensional roles, Norris made a strikingly memorable villain and should have considered portraying evil more often down the line. The almost 10-minute showdown is an examination of two action icons shaking the earth with their fists and kicks of doom. And the martial arts movie would never, ever be the same again. Yes, this film has its flaws. But Way of the Dragon is proof in my mind that Lee had what it takes to not only effectively prove his worth as an action star, but as a filmmaker in his own right. We will never know how well he could have done as a director. But clearly, Brucee Lee had an eye for storytelling, and how he could have utilized that eye is left to our imaginations. I’m reminded of another inspirational quote by the Little Dragon, which went like this: “Absorb what is useful. Discard what is not. Add what is uniquely your own…” In terms of his directorial debut, Bruce Lee certainly lived up to this quote’s message, wouldn’t you also say? See the original trailer here! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ttOZyaEwmQM A Retrospective Review
By Cesare Augusto Directed by: Giulio Petroni Starring: Ryan – LEE VAN CLEEF Bill Meceita – JOHN PHILIP LAW Walcott – LUIGI PISTILLI Burt Cavanaugh – ANTHONY DAWSON When Brit rocker Pete Townshend released his third solo album sans The Who in 1982, he christened it All the Best Cowboys Have Chinese Eyes. A highly peculiar-sounding title, for sure, not to mention somewhat racist. To his credit, Townshend did try to explain the suggestive-sounding title in an interview with Rolling Stone Magazine, citing it as a reference to the “average American hero – somebody like a Clint Eastwood or a John Wayne. Someone with eyes like slits.” Since this is not a music analysis, I’ll refrain from making any other further commentary upon the album for now. But offensive innuendo aside, Townshend did make an interesting observation. All the best cowboys did, figuratively speaking, have Chinese eyes… at least in the movies! The Western heroes of yesterday like Clint and the Duke were known for their frequent squinting, caused by either dimming the sun from their vision, or steely intimidating desperadoes before the gun duel. And how can I forget stone-faced legend Charles Bronson, whose squinty glare helped made him the stuff of cinematic Old West legend, too? But among all caucasian movie gunslingers out there, there was no other actor with a more menacing pair of “slitted eyes” than the late great Lee Van Cleef (1925–1989). A veteran tough guy actor since the early 1950s, Van Cleef made his cowboy bones appearing in small parts in classic American western films such as High Noon, How the West Was Won, and The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, and TV guest appearances on programs like The Rifleman, Wagon Train, and Wanted, Dead or Alive. But it wouldn’t be until 1965, when Van Cleef would help slam the cowboy genre on its ten gallon hat-wearing head when he went to Italy to costar in Sergio Leone’s Spaghetti Western thriller For a Few Dollars More, alongside fellow Hollywood Yank Eastwood. From there, Van Cleef would solidify his brand-new movie star career appearing in eleven Spaghetti Westerns, many of which are designated as among the greatest of the genre, along with some no-so-great cult classics. His Italian fame would mostly be attributed to his gravelly voice, cold-as-ice demeanor (even when playing heroes), and that sinister-looking squint. While commenting on his own career, Van Cleef himself said it best: “Being born with a pair of beady eyes was the best thing that ever happened to me…” This film review focuses not on Lee Van Cleef’s more famous Italo-West features like For a Few Dollars More or The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly, but one of his lesser-known, yet stylish and explosive pictures. After all, my blog dedicates itself to analyzing underrated and obscure cult cinema, not popular flicks that everybody and their Aunt Tilly talks about to near mutilation. The movie is 1967’s Death Rides a Horse, directed by Giulio Petroni, and costarring tall and strapping American actor John Philip Law. The movie’s plot is sadly overdone and rudimentary, with young gunslinger Bill Meceita (Law) seeking revenge on the murderous outlaws who murder his family when he was just a boy. Dogging Bill’s trail is Ryan (Van Cleef), an aging gunfighter with his own special reasons to destroy the murderers. Despite its generic-sounding premise, Death Rides a Horse provides a colorful trigger-fast shoot-em-up guaranteed to shake Spaghetti Western fans to their core. Death begins on the proverbial dark and stormy night, as a gang of masked gunmen invades an innocent family’s ranch house and proceeds to shoot the father dead, and rape the mother and eldest daughter before gunning them down, too. Describing the scene as unpleasant would be a huge understatement, especially as the family’s youngest son witnesses their murders right before his eyes, right before being whisked away to safety by another masked stranger. Fast forward 15 years later, as young Bill Meceita trains himself in deadly sharpshooting skills and a trauma-induced photographic memory to avenge his family’s brutal demise. Meanwhile, ex-con Ryan is leaving prison after serving a 15-year stretch. Ryan retrieves his belongings from the prison warden, including his pistol and gun-belt containing 27 fresh cartridges. Ryan’s memory is razor-sharp as he coolly remembers his gun’s exact hiding place inside the warden’s office, along with how much ammunition was left in the gun belt’s cartridge loops. Bill and Ryan would soon meet and engage in a cagey battle of wits to see who will lay claim to the bloodthirsty cutthroats responsible for ruining the two men’s lives. Despite their initial adversity, Ryan would take a bit of a liking to Bill, and vice versa, as a begrudging respect forms between both veteran and rookie gunslingers. There was an interesting recurring character dynamic occurring in this movie and some of Van Cleef’s other Spaghetti Westerns, as his character acted as a kind of mentor to a younger, rougher-around-the-edges pupil. For a Few Dollars More saw Van Cleef’s world-weary Civil War colonel providing mentorship assistance to Eastwood’s wily bounty killer. In Day of Anger, an edgier Van Cleef portrayed a sort of Old West Obi-Wan Kenobi as he trains inexperienced greenhorn Giuliano Gemma in frontier combat. In Death, the early hostility between Van Cleef’s Ryan and Law’s Bill is highly evident, as both men compete to satisfy their own personal retributions first. Eventually, the two would recognize the other’s need for justice, and reluctantly agree to join forces and defeat their common enemy. Their relationship, like Van Cleef’s aforementioned previous efforts, adds to the film’s strength. After taking a closer look into these three movies, I couldn’t help but remind myself of some of Sean Connery’s late-1980s era films where he, like Van Cleef, would lay out wonderful veteran character mentorship relationships with younger movie stars, including Christopher Lambert in Highlander, Kevin Costner in The Untouchables, and Harrison Ford in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. Like Connery, Van Cleef’s chemistries with his young western charges were warm and fatherly up to the climactic, gun-blazing showdowns. Adding a much-needed dimension to the film’s otherwise standard premise is its cast of villains. The gang of outlaws thankfully aren’t book ends where they all think and look alike. On the contrary; the film’s evildoers consist of fellas with different intentions and personal pursuits that they seek to fulfill years after the heinous act they committed that fateful stormy night. One killer, played by noted British actor Anthony Dawson, would run a run-down, grungy saloon/casino. Another former outlaw, portrayed with sweaty grime by Spaghetti Western favorite Luigi Pistilli, has big political aspirations, only to have them derailed by Bill’s vendetta run. While yet another outlaw has a secret I wouldn’t dare spoil for you here. But it packs one helluva punch near the movie’s climax, just so you’re aware! Due to its heavier emphases on gun-play and macho posturing, Death Rides a Horse lacks the artistic depth of Van Cleef’s two previous works within Leone’s Dollars Trilogy. Not that it was Lee’s fault, of course; a bland plot and a conventional script add to the movie’s weaknesses. Also, John Philip Law, while an otherwise fine movie star, was no Eastwood. His Ken Doll-esque good looks and exaggeratedly-deep baritone voice all felt badly out of place in a gritty revenge Western. While Law’s matinee idol handsomeness was certainly more fitting for fantasy pictures like Barberella and The Golden Voyage of Sinbad, it did him very little good in this picture. It comes to very little surprise to me that this would be John Philip Law’s only foray into the Spaghetti Western. That said, Death is a wonderfully grimy and entertaining piece of the Italian cinematic west. Lee Van Cleef strikes this one out of the park with his badass, commanding performance. And I cannot conclude this review without referencing the film’s darkly yet rousing score, composed by the ever-brilliant Ennio Morricone. It’s ominous medley and memorable, almost warlike chanting chorus helps to earn Death its deserving place in Spaghetti Western history. It’s no wonder film fanatic Quentin Tarantino would recycle the main theme to Death Rides a Horse to surge the tension within the upcoming climactic sword battle in his ode to the exploitation flilck, Kill Bill, Vol. 1! See the original trailer here! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tMNBMTLYeGs A Retrospective Review By Cesare Augusto Directed by: John Farrow Starring: Dan Milner – ROBERT MITCHUM Lenore Brent – JANE RUSSELL Nick Ferraro – RAYMOND BURR Mark Cardigan – VINCENT PRICE Thompson – CHARLES MCGRAW Martin Krafft – JOHN MYLONG Lusk – TIM HOLT Myron Winton - JIM BACKUS If you’re like me, a youngish millennial born smack-dab in the early to mid 1980s, chances are, your youth was spent immersed in 1990s pop culture. Don’t ask me how, but I still retain vividly childhood memories from that decade. Vividly fond memories of plopping down in front of the TV on Saturday mornings, chugging gallons of Hershey’s Quik-flavored milk, and endlessly watching popular comic book-based cartoons of its day like SWAT Kats, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Batman: The Animated Series, and countless others. It’s funny how memorable past tidbits from my kid days would return from the deep recesses of my mind and eventually shape my adult pop culture passions. For instance, in 1992 there was a series of food-based TV ads designed to whet America’s appetite for beef. Some of you might be old enough to remember them, too. They were part of the “Beef: It’s What’s For Dinner” advertising campaign, created by the Beef Council and presented many unique ways to cook red meat. Not only did this ad campaign make TV watchers hungry (provided, of course, they weren’t vegetarians), it also roused our spirits by using the catchy American Classical tune “Hoedown” by Aaron Copeland as its trademark theme, and the richly deep voice of actor Robert Mitchum (1917-1997) for narration. These TV ads would be forever embedded in my mind as a marvelously-memorable marketing gimmick from my youth, and thereby commence a lifelong personal affinity for Robert Mitchum, my all-time favorite actor. Mitchum was the epitome of classic thespian versatility. He dipped his toe into a wide variety of roles, from conflicted but capable Old West lawmen in El Dorado, hunky sensitive romantic types in Holiday Affair, charming yet monstrous predators in Night of the Hunter and Cape Fear (for which he is arguably most famous for, at least among mainstream audiences), and even occasional goofy comedy acts like the ludicrously-premised early 90s sitcom A Family For Joe. Mitch would prove himself adept with commercial voiceovers as he did with “Beef: It’s What’s For Dinner.” But to us cinephiles, Robert Mitchum will always be a major icon of the Film Noir genre. With his dark broodiness, acidic cynicism, sleepy yet piercing eyes, and that trademark gruff voice, Mitch was born to play hard-boiled Noir types, movie star handsomeness be damned. Whether they be private eye, police officer, or aimless drifter, Mitch played them all to near perfection, and with little apparent effort. Many (if not all) Film Noir enthusiasts would quickly acknowledge his great performance in Out of the Past as the honorable yet doomed P.I. Jeff Markham, who accepts a seemingly routine wandering wife case which slowly-but surely descends into a maelstrom of violence and death. Mitch, wrapped in a beat-up trench coat and matching fedora, embodied the tortured Noir hero archetype and would continue to do in many other Noir pictures in the 40s and 50s. Film noir would fade in popularity by the 60s but return in the early 70s via a gritty throwback movement known as neo-noir. Mitchum himself made several great contributions to the Neo-noir movement with such epic crime pictures as The Friends of Eddie Coyle, and The Yakuza, both hearkening to his ill-fated heroic parts decades before. Let’s flash back to 1951. There is one Robert Mitchum noir that, compared to his other films of that genre, stood out to me rather radically in terms of casting types, unusual film backdrop, and a wild and uneven plot. The film is His Kind of Woman, costarring a slew of fellow Noir stars like Jane Russell, Charles McGraw, and Raymond Burr. A few actors not known for Film Noir being their forte also appear in significant parts, including horror legend Vincent Price, Hollywood cowboy Tim Holt, and future TV comedy star Jim Backus. His Kind of Woman´was an RKO production supervised under the watchful eye of Howard Hughes, an indication in itself of potential troubles. Hollywood lore has it that the film was beset with problems such as constant re-shoots, director changes, and battles between Mitch the star and Hughes the producer. Fortunately, the film’s internal turmoil does little to diminish its zany premise and unique entertainment value. Celebrated TCM personality Eddie Muller described His Kind of Woman best as a “parody” of the Film Noir genre, and I reckon he’s right. Mitchum plays down-on-his-luck professional gambler Dan Milner. Compared to his other hard-boiled roles, Mitchum’s Milner is a more laid-back, freewheeling type. He’d rather spend his waking hours at the poker table and win small fortunes rather than solving crimes or voluntarily getting in trouble. Naturally, trouble finds Milner first when he forgoes paying off a debt he owes to a gangster, and promptly gets the hell beaten out of him as penalty. He finds a way out of his misadventures when he’s offered a mysterious job: to leave the country for about a year, in which he will be paid 50 large ones. The job will take him to a remote tropical vacation resort deep in Baja California called Morro’s Lodge, where he is to await further instructions. With nothing left to lose (except perhaps his physical well-being), Milner accepts the job. No sooner than he climbs aboard the plane when he meets lovely singer Lenore Brent, portrayed with vintage elegance by Jane Russell. Lenore has unusual reasons of her own to travel to the resort. Before long, their peculiar personalities intrigue each other, and a spark inevitably lights between them. One of the film’s biggest drawbacks happens once Milner and Lenore arrive at the lodge. From here the story becomes a disparate disarray of clashing subplots, due largely to the wide cast of characters that also converge at the resort. These distractions seemingly come out of nowhere and inadvertently sidetrack us from the true premise behind the film. There’s well-meaning but conceited actor/hunting enthusiast Mark Cardigan (Vincent Price doing his best Errol Flynn impression), suffering from a rocky marriage; depressed newlywed Jennie Stone, who worries about her gambling-addicted husband; and Myron Winton (Jim Backus), a wealthy vacationer who pesters Milner with gin rummy challenges. Even lovely Lenore has backstory baggage of her own. Upon my first viewing, I couldn’t help but wonder if I had somehow unconsciously began watching two different movies. Was this a Film Noir thriller I popped into my DVD player, or a 1930s Screwball Comedy satirizing Noir? Was Cary Grant and Katherine Hepburn supposed to be cast here, but the producers mistakenly got Mitch and Russell instead? Thankfully, the story does return to its general premise before it spirals completely out of control. We are introduced to the shadier members of the cast. While investigating his strange island excursion, Milner meets sunglasses-sporting writer Martin Krafft (John Mylong) and tight-lipped mystery man Thompson (McGraw). Both men exhibit the chilling vibe of unknown villainy. Later, an ostensibly drunk airplane pilot named Lusk (Holt) flies to the resort and encounters Milner. But Lusk snaps out of his intoxicated facade and reveals himself to be an undercover federal agent. He then unveils a bigger bombshell: Milner is the patsy of a elaborate scheme involving vicious deported crime boss Nick Ferraro (Burr), who seeks to physically usurp Milner’s identity and return back to the States. What follows is a turn of events that must be seen to be believed. Milner gets wise to his unwilling participation to the conspiracy and embarks on a risky crusade to bring Ferraro to justice. But what begins as a crusade turns into near slapstick, as Milner is captured by his enemies, and Cardigan launches a rescue attempt. Cardigan, apparently bored from playing fictional swashbuckling types on the big screen, gleefully jumps at the chance of playing a real hero and comically sprouts Shakespearean passages as he gears up for actual war. Here again rears the uneven nature of His Kind of Woman. While Milner desperately fights for his life against Ferraro on the gangster’s boat, Cardigan engages in gimmicky combat with the crime boss’ army of henchmen. Film Noir thriller once again ping-pongs into farce, and back again, much to the possible frustration of its viewers. Was this flip-flopping of cinematic perspectives an intentional use of juxtaposition by the filmmakers, perhaps? If so, it was disorienting, and frankly, badly done. Frustrating convoluted setbacks aside, His Kind of Woman still entertains once you’re reserved to accepting the unbalanced switches of perspective. The climatic boat battle, choppy and chaotic as it looks, is actually quite an exciting and action-packed sequence, as long as you suspend all disbelief. The film’s performances also pack incredible punches, with Burr chewing the scenery delightfully as the brutal crime boss going through some truly crazy lengths just to head back stateside. Vincent Price is a hoot, not by depicting Gothic-stye evil as usual, but comically quoting Hamlet when facing evil off-camera, and memorably breaking typecast while doing so! Of course, a Film Noir piece (even in a near-satire as this), isn’t complete without steamy romantic chemistry between its two leads. Before you can say “Bogart an’ Bacall,” Mitchum and Russell execute that classic chemistry expected of this film realm. Flirting, teasing, acting coy; you name the lovey-dovey activity, Mitch and Russell sparked it. The two stars ignite their passions on the Baja beach with the obligatory kiss under the dark moonlight. The passionate lovers’ kiss is the emotional payoff all Noir fans wait for, along with the violent impact of the film’s climax. Sure, His Kind of Woman doesn’t come close to the signficant legendary status of The Maltese Falcon or Out of the Past. But if anything, it’s pure vintage entertainment for veteran Film Noir fans and newcomers alike. See the original trailer here! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=smdt0wGkrfg |
About Yours Truly
Unearthing great forgotten and criminally underrated pop culture mediums is my specialty! Whether the topic be about cinema, television, music, or other fun bits of obscure minutiae, I love analyzing and unleashing these lost treasures to the unwitting public! Archives
October 2020
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