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4DK on Podcast on Fire

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I'm proud to have been asked to co-host the latest episode of the Podcast on Fire Network's Taiwan Noir podcast. This one's not for the squeamish, as we're delving into a particularly ooky corner of Asian exploitation cinema with the odious snake murder porn of Calamity of Snakes. On the plus side, we're also discussing the recently reviewed The Witch With Flying Head, which is almost a little bit awesome. Lend them your ears, won't you?

Az-Za’ir Ul’Gharib, aka Strange Visitor (Egypt?, 1975)

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Love may have its pre-linguistic advantages, but, truly, nothing transcends the language barrier better than guilt and paranoia. Example: Az-Za’ir Ul’Gharib, which, in all its un-subtitled glory, could either be a very compact little psychological noir or the Middle East’s answer to Carnival of Souls.

The film begins with a murder, after which a troubled stranger arrives in a seaside community. A restless young girl who spends most of her time on the beach mending fishing nets takes an interest in the stranger and begins to follow his movements. The stranger begins to relive the events leading up to the murder in fevered flashbacks. There is an affair with a belly dancer, some seedy nightlife, and the victim, a slick underworld type who at one point is seen trying to foist a wad of cash on our protagonist. Eventually the stranger begins to hallucinate, seeing the belly dancer, the victim, and a mysterious constable suddenly appearing and disappearing on the street before him. He begins to sweat ever more profusely, but his shirt is already open as far as it will go (it is 1975). And then the knocks on the door begin.



All I know about Az-Za’ir Ul’Gharib is that it was directed by someone named Muhammad Kamel, who indeed imposes structure and pacing upon the finished product in a most directorly manner. The film overall has a crude elegance that kept me watching despite my intermittent confusion. Also providing a lifeline were the instrumental versions of Western easy listening hits like “A Taste of Honey” that dot the soundtrack -- which, albeit perhaps not suspenseful in the textbook sense, served, along with the claustrophobically minimal cast, to keep things feeling just that little bit off balance.

When Az-Za’ir Ul’Gharib reached its fittingly abrupt conclusion, I was left feeling that I had very little to say about it. Which is to say that I did not, under the present circumstances, necessarily feel that I could recommend it and certainly couldn’t condemn it. However, out of my abiding interest in promoting Middle Eastern pop film, I feel that I should at least make note of it. A translation could reveal it to be a much richer film than it appears on the surface, and, if not, could still leave open the possibility that it is a small triumph of moody minimalism.

Famous Monsters of Filmland goes on a Lucha rampage, and 4DK is there!

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Back when I was 9 years old and I begged my mom for a subscription to Famous Monsters of Filmland, I had no idea that my writing would one day appear in its pages. Nor would it occur to me some 20 odd years later, when my friend Ron and I toured the fabled Ackermansion.

Well, now comes FM's Halloween issue (issue #270, to be exact) with its masked wrestling theme, in which I have not one, but two articles. Not only that, but I join the learned company of Keith J. Rainville, "Mondo Lucha A Go-go" author Dan Madigan, and esteemed kaiju-phile August Ragone in sharing my thoughts and knowledge on the subject. In short, this issue may not contain everything you need to know about lucha cinema, but it will certainly give you a damn thorough introduction -- not to mention a suitable-for-framing cover painting by Terry Wolfinger.

Famous Monsters of Filmland #270 is currently available for pre-order and should be hitting the stands within the week. Even if I was not involved, I would recommend it to anyone with an interest in masked wrestling cinema. Then again, I am involved, so I also recommend it to anyone who doesn't want to hurt my delicate, luchadore-based feelings.

By the way: I got the subscription. Cool mom.

Friday's best pop song ever

666 (Beware the End is at Hand) (Nigeria, 2007)

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As someone who’s recently been forced to confront his own mortality, I’ve had to face some uncomfortable questions. “What will the end look like”, is one of those that both all and none of us want answered. Then again, I suppose, it depends on who’s doing the answering; as a devoutly secular person, I wondered what succor the Christian church might offer me on the topic. Of course, I turned to a Nigerian evangelical Christian exploitation movie to find out. And the answer – that we’re all uproariously fucked – did, I have to admit, offer a little bit of a warm and fuzzy feeling.

Pastor Kenneth Okonkwo, the producer of 666 (Beware the End is at Hand), clearly intended it as a sincere work of evangelicism, yet still knew which side his bread was buttered on. Thus he takes us straight to Hell before subjecting us to the interminable shot-on-video sermonizing that will take up so much of 666’s running time. The battle for man’s soul, according to Okonkwo, will take place in the suburbs of Lagos, and there, for the most part, in a church basement. That, at least, appears to be where Hell is located in the film, which means you religious folks should take it very seriously when your preacher or wizard of whatever talks about what’s down below. It’s right down there!They can totally hear you!


Emeka Ani, who plays Satan in the film, takes a very Harinam Singh approach to expressing his malevolent authority, in that he simply parks himself on a throne for the entire movie and declaims at the camera with wild eyes while referring to himself in the third person a lot. His studio audience is a congregation of female minions who laugh in unison at his shtick in a manner that suggests the laughter bag being very quickly opened and closed again. Between heavily accented proclamations of the End TImes, he sends his emissaries to Earth to “win souls” for him. This mostly consists of lots of fully clothed gay sex, but also consists of one devotee forcing a hooker to lick an open lesion on his ankle, which results in her arriving in Hell and being thrown into a chicken wire covered fire pit.




But, wait. I’m getting ahead of myself. Before I give you the impression that any of these interesting things happened in any kind of close succession – creating, as it were, a sense of some kind of propulsive narrative drive -- I must point out that they in fact served as intermittent interruptions to the aforementioned sermonizing by Okonkwo’s Pastor Chucks, who walks the coffee stands, beer halls and marketplaces of the city, preaching the gospel to the seemingly deaf ears of the populace, who quite manifestly just want to enjoy their various beverages. Granted, there is some buoyant Afro pop that plays during these scenes, but, as it is always the same exact cue, it quickly comes to contribute to, more than alleviate, the monotony.

Thankfully, relief comes in the form of a horned demon child who is born to an Earthly woman, at which point 666 (Beware the End is at Hand) (I swore I was only going to write that full title once) really kicks into its own somnolent version of high gear. There’s actually a flash forward to eight years later! At this point, it is clear that this is a very bad kid, as evidenced by a long, unbroken shot of him playing somewhat normally, if a bit brattily, with a bunch of kids in an alley. At his worst, he sprouts a single, chalky horn and throws glowing energy orbs at people, but even in repose he must shock the gentry by openly drinking and smoking at public cafes. The only problem is that the kid who plays him, with his perfectly round head and little pot belly, is kind of adorable – and the fact that he employs that same barking laughter bag laugh while trying to sound like a menacing adult doesn’t help matters.

This is all of little consequence, however, as a holy man quickly comes along and destroys the little bastard.

Until 666 (Beware the End is at Hand) 2, that is.




Wait, did I not mention that 666 was, at least, a 2 parter -- its roughly hour long increments likely determined by that of the average VHS tape? Well, it is, and part 2 begins exactly where 1 left off, with the resurrected Devil Boy discovered crying by the roadside by the kindly Pastor Chucks, who takes him home. Devil Boy makes quick work of possessing the Pastor’s niece and hoodoos her into strangling him. From there he goes back to his usual devilry. In fact, of the two films, part 2 is the one that delivers most generously on the exploitation thrills, will all manner of low rent video effects being put to the task of realizing the Dark One’s fiendish magic. In the end, a confusing montage depicts the beginning of Satan’s reign on Earth with much wicked but strangely abrupt laughter drowning out the lamentations of the populace.

Yet, as the credits rolled over Kenneth Okonkwo’s smiling face, I had to wonder, was this really the end? IS THAT ALL YOU GOT, PASTOR OKONKWO? And perhaps that is the message of 666: (Beware the End is at Hand) (dammit, there I go again) – that, in life, there is not always going to be a 666 (Beware the End is at Hand) 3 to come along and set things right; that THE END is not always just sequel bait, but sometimes just that -- and, as such, a call to get straight with ourselves and our God.

Which is not to say that I’m not trolling the internet for the next installment, as horrible as it might be. And in this, too, is a metaphor for life.

Great moments in white people: Bollywood edition PART DO!

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Represent, white people!

Dil aur Deewaar

Upaasna Gora
(courtesy
Memsaabstory)

Hare Rama Hare Krishna

International Crook
(courtesy
Memsaabstory)

Hare Rama Hare Krishna

Friday's best pop song ever

Fighting Femmes, Fiends and Fanatics, the return!

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Fighting Femmes, Fiends and Fanatics, the web series produced by Steve Mayhem and co-hosted by yours truly, will soon be making a long overdue comeback, with new episodes to be posted beginning the week of Halloween. In the meantime, you can stop by our brand new FFFF Facebook page, give us a "like", and check out previous episodes.


Fantomas vs. Scotland Yard (France, 1967)

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That a blue-headed super criminal piloting a rocket launched from the tower of a gothic castle is something that cannot be presented without tongue in cheek is an attitude not exclusive to the mid-1960s, although it is the most inevitable there. That said, we have to take what we can get. True, Fantomas vs. Scotland Yard, the final in French director Andre Hunebelle’s trilogy of mid-century Fantomas films, is also the silliest, yet it also represents a return of sorts to Fantomas’ roots. The film presents us with an “old dark house” scenario similar to that seen in the first sound treatment of the character, 1932’s Fantomas, which was itself based on Marcel Allain and Pierre Souvestre’s first Fantomas novel. As such, the perennial super villain manages to retain some of his menace despite all of the tomfoolery on display, as, like in that earlier film, he is an ominous, unseen presence for much of the story, terrorizing his victims from the shadows as more of an idea than an actual flesh and blood man.

This time out, Fantomas is subjecting some of the wealthiest men in the world to an exorbitant “life tax”, an amount that they must pay him annually for the simple privilege of not being murdered by him. One of these men, Lord Rashley (Jean-Roger Caussimon), knowing an excuse for a party when he sees it, invites all of his fellow extortionees to a soiree at his gloomy, fog enshrouded old Scottish castle. With an eye toward drawing Fantomas out, he also invites Fantomas’ nemesis, the reporter Fandor (series regular Jean Marais) and his photographer girlfriend Helene (Mylene Christophe, likewise). Also on the guest list is Comissaire Juve, the man who has made repeatedly failing to capture Fantomas his life’s work.



Juve, as in Hunebelle’s two previous Fantomas films, is portrayed by comic actor Louis de Funes, who again plays him as a pompous, self-regarding martinet who flies into hysterical pieces at the slightest pressure. Fantomas, working behind the scenes, makes the best of this high strung nature by rigging Juve’s guest room with a series of spook show contrivances, from hanging corpses to cheesy man-in-sheet ghosts. Each time, Juve reliably goes on a frantic tear through the castle’s corridors, loudly announcing to all the guests the horrors he has witnessed, only to have them all dutifully file into his room to see absolutely nothing. In between, the guests busy themselves with séances, games of cards and hushed speculation about Fantomas’ whereabouts and motives.

Meanwhile, a consortium of gangsters whom Fantomas has also subjected to the tax decide to seek an alliance with Lord Rashley and his group in order to present some kind of united front against Fantomas. Unfortunately for them, by the time they reach Rashley, he has, unknown to them, been murdered and replaced by Fantomas. During a climactic fox hunt, Fantomas tasks his black masked minions with abducting and imprisoning some of Rashley’s guests to show them that he means business (an end to which his men employ a dog in a fox costume). At the same time, Rashley’s assistant Berthier (Henri Serre), who is having an affair with Rashley’s wife, attempts to kill Rashley/Fantomas, tearing off his mask in the process. Fantomas kills Berthier and is witnessed by Helene doing so. Fantomas’ men chase her down and capture her, necessitating that Fandor – who has been lying pretty low up to this point – spring into action to rescue her. At this point, Fantomas vs. Scotland Yard sheds its genteel trappings and becomes more what we’ve come to expect from the previous films, spotlighting a runaway remote-controlled bed, an underground lair, and that manned rocket I mentioned launching from one of the castle’s towers.



As wearying as the 60s fever for camp may be, I have to admit that Fantomas vs. Scotland Yard is a very entertaining film: breezy, brisk, colorful, and, yes, even funny. It is also very well made, with high production values and excellent cinematography by Marcel Grignon (the equestrian scenes are especially well shot). It’s one of those films that give us the infrequent pleasure of seeing what is traditionally B movie material -- masked villains, haunted castles, cliffhanger thrills -- given A list treatment. And what character could be more deserving of such treatment than Fantomas, he of such purring decadence and regal sense of entitlement to all the world’s riches? As always, Hunebelle scores a coup with the casting of the suave Jean Marais as both Fantomas and Fandor, which is the only way to insure that these films’ protagonist could be remotely as cool as their villain.

It’s inevitable that some ambitious young director will eventually give us a grittier version of Fantomas, complete with a deep, tragic backstory awash in CGI blood spatter – and that I will be prompted to then look misty eyed at all of Hunebelle’s reflexive goofiness. For, indeed, there’s a loss in the fact that we’ve replaced that era’s need to regard such Comic book creations from behind a cupped palm with a need to take them deadly serious. What really matters in the end is that, whatever their attitude, those involved have sincere affection for the material -- which, in Hunebelle and company’s case, is abundantly clear.

Friday's best pop song ever

El Achrar, aka The Bad Guys (Egypt, 1970)

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Like many of the most entertaining Egyptian pop films, Hossam El-Din Mostafa’s The Bad Guys takes time-tested genre elements recognizable to all classic film buffs and places them within a uniquely Arab context. In this case it’s a classic heist-gone-wrong/dishonor-among-thieves tale set against the desolation of the Western Desert and punctuated with encounters with bloody events from Egypt’s recent history.

The Bad Guys starts with a trio of smugglers arriving in Alemain, the site of a decisive battle between the allied and axis powers during World War II and home to a vast, Arlington-like Commonwealth Cemetery populated by the bodies of allied soldiers. Like any gang of smugglers worth their salt, this one includes among its number a twitchy loose cannon, Hatem (Adel Adham), who promptly stabs a third smuggler, Erfan, in the neck and pushes him from their car. The gang is transporting a fortune in U.S. dollars for a client named Mr. Ellie and Hatem pragmatically calculates that the fee for same will be much more handsomely divided with the subtraction of one smuggler from the equation.


It should also be noted that Hatem considers himself the fiancé and life’s love of Erfan’s daughter Zhara (Wolves Don’t Eat Meat’s Wahed Sharif – Arooooooooo!), a love connection that Erfan fatally disapproved of -- though its delusional nature is clearly revealed once we meet Zahra and see how freely she recoils from Hatem. In any case, once Hatem and his remaining partner Diaa (Ibrahim Kahn) deliver the cash to Mr. Ellie, it is determined by Ellie that it is counterfeit. This means that Erfan, after substituting the funny money, has made off with the real cash and hidden it somewhere, necessitating that Hatem retrace his steps.

Meanwhile, Khaled, a manly good Samaritan played by Rushdy Abaza (who we’ve previously seen in Bride of the Nile and Oh Islam!) comes upon the not-quite-dead Erfan and takes him to the hospital. Erfan asks that Khaled fetch Zhara and, once she is at his side, confesses to the two that he has hidden the loot in Rommel’s Cave, a manmade cave near Mersa Matruh where the infamous general planned his ill-fated attack at Alamein. Khaled and Zhara then pile into Khaled’s car, only to find a knife wielding Hatem in the back seat demanding that they take him to the treasure. Initially, Khaled leads him to the Commonwealth Cemetery and tries to lose him in its maze-like rows while he and Zhara escape. They are quickly recaptured, but not before a suspenseful chase that takes them through the winding catacombs dedicated to housing the battle’s Italian casualties.


Khaled next seeks to hire a guide to lead them to the cave. This guide, who’s face is at first hidden by his head wrap, is later revealed to be Diaa, who is quickly becoming as unhinged as Hatem. (Suffice it to say that there is a lot of creepy laughter in this movie.) The route that Diaa plans for them takes them off road and across a vast stretch of open desert, where the tense little quartet runs the constant risk of dehydration, automotive breakdown, unexploded mines, and simply killing one another.

That The Bad Guys– which is also known as Duel at Alamein and The Evil Ones– is an “A” list production is evidenced by its top heavy cast, starting with Rushdy Abaza. The son of an aristocratic family, Abaza struggled in Egyptian cinema for a decade -- even, thanks to his fluency in the language, taking a brief and unsuccessful sideline into Italian cinema – before being given star-making turns by director Ezz Eddine Zoulficar in 1958’s A Woman on the Road and, the following year, the gangster picture The Second Man. Abaza’s subsequent stardom was such that he did not escape the notice of Hollywood. He had a small part in The Ten Commandments and was considered by David Lean for the part in Lawrence of Arabia that ultimately went to Omar Sharif (the director was reportedly turned off by Abaza’s haughty attitude).


Adel Adham, who plays the perpetually cap and shade sporting Hatem, was no less of a star than Abaza, and made his name playing heavies, which accounts for the easy menace he exudes here. As for the smoldering Wahed Sharif, she gives a ferocious performance that is barely undermined by the fact that she spends much of the film clad only in a tiny slip, black bra and panties. As the tensions within the close confines of Khaled’s sweltering car mount, Zhara matches her male cohorts point for point in terms of burgeoning crazy eye, and is just as prone to outbursts of savage violence (at one point the subtitles have her screaming “I’m stressed out!”, which is a monument to understatement.)

All in all, The Bad Guys is a lean and mean little crime thriller, combining the stylish fatalism of 50s noir with the worried edges of 70s Hollywood’s more cynical capers. Cinematographer Aly Khairallah flaunts an accomplished arsenal of claustrophobic angles and off balance compositions in driving home the increasing dementia of the principals. Meanwhile, the specter of the war’s thousands of dead hanging over much of the picture grants it a haunted, almost supernatural veneer. The performances by the accomplished cast entirely live up this expertly established mood, even if they do merely trace varying shades of mania.


Yet, while being as compact and basic in its aims as its title suggests, The Bad Guys does take an unexpected twist in its final act. As expected, the four squabbling travelers finally run out of gas in the middle of the desert. When they all go crazily chasing off after a mirage, Zhara gets separated from the group and is captured by a gang lead by a fearsome bandit named Gasser. The rest collapse and are rescued by a Bedouin tribe. The tribe is later attacked by Gasser’s band and the Sheikh’s daughter, Salma, is abducted. Out of gratitude to the tribe, Khaled, Hatem and Diaa agree to put aside their differences and take part in an attack on Gasser’s camp. What follows is a straightforward and well staged action set piece that includes the very Bollywood detail of Khaled, Hatem and Diaa disguising themselves as musicians to breach the camp. Nonetheless, in its swashbuckling execution, it provides quite a contrast to the gritty spectacle of psychological endurance that has preceded it.

Whether the above was a flaw, a capitulation to audience expectations, or an attempt at signifying something larger I’m not sure. But it does seem salient that, once the money is retrieved and the gang once again faced with the prospect of divvying it up, the brotherly feeling born of their brief alliance quickly dissolves. These are Bad Guys, after all, the film seems to be saying, though just how bad seems more subject than one might think to the exigencies of circumstance.

Friday's best pop song ever

Zakhmee (India, 1975)

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Zakhmee proves a good example of how Bollywood’s strict moral code clangored against its mandate to provide its audience with thrills and glamor. The film’s protagonists, two sanctimonious paragons of virtue played by Sunil Dutt and Asha Parekh, are boring. To compensate, director Raja Thakur and all involved take pains to show us just how much fun those on the other side of the moral divide are having. And, hey, given that the formula damns all of them to meet with their richly deserved karmic comeuppance by the final curtain, what’s the harm in it?

In the film, Dutt plays Anand, who is framed for the murder of his crooked partner by uber baddie Tiger (Imtiaz). Because Tiger has threatened his family, Anand stays mum and is thrown in jail to await trial. His well meaning but hapless younger brothers Amar (Rakesh Roshan) and Pawan (Tariq) are nonetheless convinced of his innocence. Armed with more enthusiasm than intelligence or cogent planning, the two decide to pursue the judge in the case, Ganguly (Iftekhar). They first attempt this by unsuccessfully trying to woo the judge’s free spirited daughter Nisha (Reena Roy), who turns out to be a hot pants wearing, motorcycle riding young hellion. When an attempt to bribe the judge directly by shoving handfuls of cash at him ends in them having to throw themselves from a moving car, they decide to instead simply kidnap Nisha in return for Anand’s release. This plan backfires when Nisha, by all appearances, is delighted to be kidnapped, seeming to take a shine to both of her hapless captors, Amar in particular.


Zakhmee marks the young Tariq’s return to the screen after being introduced by his Uncle, director Nassir Hussain, in 1973’s phenomenally successful Yaadon Ki Baaraat. It’s easy to see why stardom never seemed to take to Tariq -- or perhaps him to it -- while at the same time recognizing in him a quirky, bug eyed appeal, one that is put to very good use in Zakhmee. He has a puppyish quality that makes the spectacle of him and Amar trying to pass themselves off as hardened kidnappers one that can’t help but bear comic fruit, especially when that pair is pitted against a gleefully volatile cat girl in the mold of Reena Roy’s Nisha. As a result, director Thakur is wise to devote much of the film’s screen time to this trio’s antics -- not the least because their forays into Nisha’s day glo nocturnal world offer some of the film’s most wildly colorful moments.

And colorful moments there indeed are, such that a diaphonously gowned Helen doing a go-go dance to Steam’s “Na Na Hey Hey Kiss Him Goodbye” on the leering Tiger’s bed is reduced to a mere sidelight. At The Eagle, the nightclub where Roy’s Nisha hangs out, both she and the all girl band rock out frenziedly to a Bappi Lahiri composition called “Nothing is Impossible” which, despite being chaotic to the point of being nonmusical, is nonetheless infectious and debauchedly celebratory while affording Tariq the opportunity to reprise some of his wigged out flailing from Yaadon ki Baaraat. Then we have the expected lair showcase when the otherwise conventional masala plot sees the vengeful villains kidnap Anand’s entire family and imprison them within their decadent digs. Unfortunately for them, the fact that they have included Nisha in their captive roll call insures that they have sewn the seeds less of revenge than of their own resounding ass kicking.


And by the way, if this isn’t Reena Roy’s shining moment as an action heroine, I have a lot of catching up to do. One need only witness Nisha’s entrance during the climactic brawl, crashing her motorcycle through a picture window to then whomp every minion in her path while popping some mean wheelies, to wonder why it is Dutt, rather than her, that gets top billing. Furthermore, this same sequence incorporates a clothes ripping, Sapphic cat fight between Roy and Helen that’s kinky even by the furiously sublimating standards of old Bollywood. Clearly, Zakhmee should stand beside Nagin as an essential representation of this underappreciated starlet’s unique talents and appeal.

With the aforementioned colorful lairs, wild costuming (check out the mesh peek-a-boo windows on the shirts worn by Tiger’s minions), frenetic action, Helen as a classic moll turned angel of death, and tantalizing glimpses of a pop-driven psychedelic demimonde, Zakhmee is no game changer in the world of 1970s Indian action cinema, but it certainly provides almost everything you might want from it. Just don’t pay too much attention to those nice people who are its ostensible protagonists; it is within Reena Roy’s shiny go-go boots that this film’s trashy, pulp addled heart truly lies.

Friday's best pop song ever

Fighting Femmes, Fiends, and Fanatics Episode 12: Blue Demon contra Cerebros Infernales

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Here at long last is the promised new episode of Steve Mayhem's Fighting Femmes, Fiends, and Fanatics. This episode is hosted by some joker named Todd Stadtman and concerns an old favorite of mine, Blue Demon contra Cerebros Infernales (the inspiration for the name of a certain podcast that is also due to make a comeback in the coming weeks). Stay tuned for the end credits to hear a brief preview of the all new Fighting Femmes, Fiends, and Fanatics theme song, which was written and performed by yours truly with my old pal Dan Wool.


GAAAA!

Friday's best pop song ever

The Friends of 4DK: "Do You Hear the People Sing?" by Andrew Nahem

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My fellow Drive-In Mobster Andrew Nahem is a boss on Twitter and co-creator of the Webby Award winning site Elevator Moods. For this edition of The Friends of 4DK, Andrew dug extra deep to bring us a peculiar oddity from the forsaken sub-basement of arcane cinema. If I didn't know him so well, I'd think he made it up.

******
When Todd asked me to contribute a post to the Friends of 4DK Initiative, I was naturally appalled. First of all, I am not a bloggist. I may have written things here and there, but nothing discernibly blog-shaped (“oblog,” in the parlance I think—but again, I’m no expert). Furthermore, while I do enjoy the cult- or B- films, my knowledge of them falls far short of the 4DK standard. What could I possibly contribute to a learned discussion of Bollywood action films or rare Malaysian ghost stories that would elicit anything more than derisive laughter from this audience? What dark byway of cinema could I illuminate for these obscurantists and international cultists?

But at last I think I’ve unearthed a bizarre offering that could perhaps use some unpacking.

Les Misérables (USA, UK, 2012), dir. Tom Hooper.

This film opens with a grand sweeping shot of prisoners in a place called France, who for their crimes (stealing various baked goods, those just under the line for capital offenses) are punished by being forced to haul giant ships around on land. Why the French Navy in 1815 has no better use for its frigates is one of the mysteries this story never illuminates.

Right away the uncanny nature of this production becomes evident. Readers of this blog are obviously familiar with the concept of the movie musical. But unlike the familiar tropes of, say, a Bollywood epic, these characters lift their voice in song while standing in the muck of sewers, getting a pixie-cut, etc. yet they do not dance. The colors, in fact, remain steadfastly dark and heavy. Further investigation reveals that the filmmakers attempted the rarely-tried experiment of having the actors sing these numbers live, which arguably increases the quality—and certainly the quantity—of the acting.


One of these bread-snatchers, Jean Valjean (Hugh Jackman) has attracted the notice of the chief ship-wrangler, the policeman Javert (Russell Crowe), for being insufficiently downcast during the song “Look Down.” Valjean, a narcissist who never grasps the enormity of his crime, once released, thinks nothing of breaking parole to go on a mountain tour of regional convents.

Eight years pass, and rather than emigrating to America like any sensible ex-convict fugitive, the self-involved Valjean has installed himself as a very public factory owner—and mayor of the town, where he can hardly take two steps without tripping over his old nemesis, Javert, who has not as yet recognized him. Distracted one day by one of these coincidental appearances, he allows the beautiful Fantine (Anne Hathaway) to be fired for filing a sexual-harassment claim against his factory foreman. In this society, such whistle-blowers are forced to sell their hair and teeth and are apparently infected with a kind of terminal brain fever.


One night Valjean, out for one of his daily run-ins with Javert, discovers that one of the ships he had dragged into town as a convict so long ago has finally been turned to some use—as a brothel. It is there that he and Javert find Fantine plying the old trade, but as is their wont, they hold differing views on what to do about it.

By this time the long-suffering Javert has begun to twig that “Monsieur le maire” is none other than Valjean, whom he had nicknamed “24601” back in the day. They meet up over Fantine’s corpse for a much-needed sword-fight and a song. Valjean pledges to turn himself in after three days, but characteristically decides to blow off this promise in favor of his new interest: Fantine’s young child, Cosette, whom he has decided to claim as his own and raise in hiding in a bucolic atmosphere of secrecy.

Nine years later and this France is in an uproar. A fickle group, the citizenry had previously had a king, and this had displeased them. But once they’d disposed of him, they found they wanted another. Now it’s 1833 and they are heartily sick of the whole business again. In addition, Paris is being menaced by the appearance of a giant stone elephant in the middle of the city. Unfortunately these young hotheads can think of nothing to do about all this besides throwing their furniture out of the windows and making a huge mound of broken pianos and chaises longues in order to disrupt the regular flow of traffic, thus involving the put-upon Javert, who is dispatched to set things right once again.


This naturally attracts Valjean, who—though he has no dog in this fight—can never resist toying with his old enemy. This time he drags Cosette, now a young woman, along for the fun. She, in the person of Amanda Seyfried, happens to be a symbol of love and strength and light, so she cannot but enslave the heart of one of the rebel alliance. This all leads to a series of deadly duet/confrontations between the two adversaries. Valjean cleverly manipulates the youngsters into allowing him to deal with Javert whom they've managed to capture and stage in a macabre tableau with a noose around his neck. Spiriting him into an alleyway, Valjean delivers the coup de grâce: he lets him go, thus posing a logical conundrum—not unlike those used by Captain Kirk to confound various futuristic computers in Star Trek—which Javert’s noble police mind cannot reconcile (“And does he know/That granting me my life today/This man has killed me even so?”).


A few months pass and Valjean, inexplicably aged, decides to hit the convent trail one last time, ostensibly to avoid Cosette’s wedding to the former revolutionary, an event that he’d taken as a personal inconvenience, like the theft of a favorite bauble. Nonetheless—in tribute, perhaps, to the investigative tenacity of old Javert—they smoke him out in in his God-lair, weepily singing about how he wishes Cosette were there to watch him die instead of frittering away her time on a foolish wedding. As usual he gets his own way, but not before Fantine—in one of this film’s rare supernatural effects—appears to him as some sort of demon or phantom. Cosette pleads with him to hold on to life, but Fantine grips him with the icy Hand of Death and drags him off.

We never find out what happens to France.

 
All in all, a peculiar work. The baffling approach to the music—making the tunes as unmemorable as possible in order to shift attention to the facial expressions—the strange symbols abounding in the mise-en-scène (the elephant, a mysterious eye which seems to watch the characters wherever they go, etc.), the unfamiliar societal customs which nevertheless at times appear to follow a kind of dream-logic, all these elements show Les Misérables to be the work of a singular artistic vision and a worthy object of cult affection.

Friday's best pop song ever

Country of Beauties, aka Island Warriors (Taiwan, 1981)

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Communities of women -- be they alien inhabitants of all female planets, members of utopian cults, or amazons -- are a fixture of B movies, and such movies always follow the same rules. I think this is because they are all written by men who are terrified of women.

For one, these communities must always be populated exclusively by beautiful 20 somethings, with the exception of one older woman who is either a comic relief character or a wizened old sage. Secondly, these communities are always presented at first as a titillating prospect to the male viewer (Saaaaay!), until we realize that they are, in fact, a terrible idea, an abomination even. Because, you see, if left solely to their own company, women will ultimately turn against their men folk -- and if that happens in a Taiwanese film made during the 1980s like Country of Beauties, the English dubbed version of a film more commonly known as Island Warriors, that enmity will extend as far as them gorily chopping a dude’s nuts off.


Country of Beauties begins with a solicitous narrator informing us about this one time when a cruel Chinese ruler banished his queen to a remote island. Cut forward a few years and we see that that island is now teaming with a population of those aforementioned beautiful 20 something women -- because this is apparently what happens when you abandon a lone woman in a remote spot; she takes seed. These ladies worship Queen Nadanwa (Thrilling Sword’s Elsa Yeung) as a goddess, even enshrining her in the form of a giant statue, and spend their days either sparring with one another on the beach or doing calisthenics that seem primarily designed for maximum panty exposure, all to the strains of extremely silly sounding 80s pop music. The uniform is either dominatrix style leather wear or diaphanous white peplums worn with head bands a la Olivia Newton John in Xanadu.

Nadanwa never misses an opportunity to pump her subjects full of misandry, and is constantly warning them of the depredations of men. And, sure enough, it is not long before an assortment of those very creatures are stirring up discord on the island with their troublesome penises. The first of these is a gang of smelly pirates, who drop by the island for a frantic rape-a-thon before being driven off by the amazons. Then there is a trio of treasure hunters lead by pretty Zhang Pei-Hua. Joining him are two goofy footmen who include Pa Gwoh, who portrayed exactly the same character in Wolf Devil Woman and is dubbed by the same hysterically effeminate sounding guy. Because pretty boy claims to be able to build a canon that will replace the amazon’s current faulty model, he and his friends are afforded kinder treatment than the captured pirates, who get summarily snipped, and are instead outfitted with chastity belts.


The next unwelcome Y chromosome carrier on the island is Lu (Don Wong Tao), an inhabitant of the nearby Men’s Island, which is exactly what the name implies (I imagine their tourism slogan is something like: “Men’s Island, the island for men”.) The men of Men’s Island are a peaceful lot who only want the women of women’s island to live with them in harmony as nature intended. The message that Lu brings, in particular, is a request on their part that the women please stop casting the male babies born on the island into the sea. By the way, a scene depicting this very activity is set to Ennio Morricone’s “Jill’s Theme” from Once Upon a Time in the West, which -- well, talk about setting yourself up for unflattering comparisons. It’s a beautiful piece that can’t help but add extra poignancy to an already well directed scene, although the oversell can’t help but make that feel somewhat unearned.

Country of Beauties was directed by Ulysses Au-Yeung Jun, who got his start as an actor in Taiwanese popular films during the 60s and went on to become a prolific director throughout the 70s and 80s. It’s a good looking film, with nice sets, a nice use of color and, despite some lighting issues in some of the outdoor scenes, a good use of location and the widescreen frame. The cavernous, luridly lit set of the Queen’s throne room brings to mind something from a 1960s Shaw Brothers’ production. The fights are impressive more in terms of scale than execution, with some pretty spectacular scenes involving dozens of wildly back-flipping amazons taking on the male hordes. As laughable as its take on the battle of the sexes may be, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it as a classic piece of exploitation cinema, bristling with pop energy.


Back in the plot, the film’s drama kicks up a notch when the women imprison Lu, only to have him freed by the Queen’s sister, Chung Ah (Fong Fong-Fong, also of Thrilling Sword), who we learn has been conducting a Romeo and Juliette style relationship with him. Chung Ah assures the doomed nature of that affair when, fleeing Nadanwa’s guards, she attempts to hide Lu within the palace, making certain that a tragic confrontation with her sister is inevitable. The foundations of this society of women prove to be pretty shaky and, when the pirates attack again, it falls to the chivalrous inhabitants of Men’s Island to turn the tide of the battle in the ladies’ favor.

Along the way, Country of Beauties ticks off a few more of the classic community of women tropes: We chortle at the prospect of hapless male captives being “forced” to breed with spectacularly beautiful women, some bath time Sapphic shenanigans transpire, etc. In the end of it all, harmony is restored to Nadanwa’s little island. Men are good, she realizes, if hairy and noisome, except for pirates, who suck and are rapey. Still, it’s always best to keep the canons stoked.
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