tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45818224800312845442024-03-05T00:40:07.002-08:00Mondo HeatherDelving into the Fringe Side of Sound & VisionAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07563735654661798606noreply@blogger.comBlogger99125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581822480031284544.post-2316173207064212392015-08-08T21:12:00.001-07:002015-08-08T21:12:41.950-07:00The Carnival Closes & New Beginnings<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<img border="0" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigU6_x9vueRKCvzfUaeM4GMmbyAAToyW_qk-HDgkY093GPTSKlgkR6u1s20JF6LspnpuFD9DeikYlJB47AQQazawBABnOWKq18JWmSwIoOMJHfILiBn0E_azy18_ti5ltwigVbOVSTYvo_/s320/MHlogo.jpg" width="320" /></div>
When I started this blog a few years ago, the goal was to expound what I had been doing for assorted print magazines and webzines alike. Over time, that goal has remained steadfast, but in addition to that, it has helped bring some great connections in my life and hopefully converted the unconverted to film, literature and music worthy of love, attention and discourse.<br />
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That said, the time has been long nigh to take things to the next level and with that is an <a href="http://www.mondoheather.com/">official website</a> that is now officially live! <a href="http://www.mondoheather.com/">Mondo Heather</a> is now a big, bright website featuring some old <a href="http://www.mondoheather.com/#!PostNuclear-Expressionism-A-Stephen-Sayadian-Sampler/cd23/55b051aa0cf22effe2e36cef">chestnuts</a> from this blog, as well as some <a href="http://www.mondoheather.com/#!Punk-Rock-Wedding-Hells-Angels-Rock-Roll-Weirdness-Herman-Brood-Nina-Hagen-in-ChaCha/cd23/558219070cf23681a55e8bb1">brand new</a> <a href="http://www.mondoheather.com/#!Punk-Rock-Wedding-Hells-Angels-Rock-Roll-Weirdness-Herman-Brood-Nina-Hagen-in-ChaCha/cd23/558219070cf23681a55e8bb1">pieces</a> as well. If you have enjoyed this blog at all, then you will love the website even more.<br />
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This blog will remain up as a document of the past, but for the present and future, ride the mindway and go to <a href="http://www.mondoheather.com/">Mondo Heather</a>. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07563735654661798606noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581822480031284544.post-54195882898369425452015-06-08T16:10:00.000-07:002015-06-08T16:10:05.561-07:00Escaping the Dog & Pony Show on Fury Road<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It's intermission time and you are
primed and ready. Smuggled in snack food? Check. Overpriced soda the
size of an old school Buick's headlight obtained officially on
theater premises? Check. Your eager film-going tocks firmly in place
in your cush, stadium setting multiplex chair? Check. Mass exposure
to a barrage of advertisement and trailers that stink of crass
come-ons and hucksterism like a dead dog in the Texas heat? Sad in
its absoluteness.
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What I am listing here is the
lego-block-steps that many of us go through when we actually venture
out of our home/caves and crave something bigger than our monitors,
phones or TV's can provide. Steps one and two are touch and go hence
interchangeable, but the last two are inescapable. Advertisement is a
necessary beast for businesses, so if it is cloying or cheesy or
IQ-drowning, it is simply the nature of things. It is what it is.
Where the true scares begin is when the film trailers start rolling.
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Going to see George Miller's latest,
the incredible and powerful right down to its very core <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1392190/">MAD MAX: FURY ROAD</a>, I got a big faceful of the death throes of American mainstream
cinema. (MAD MAX is spared because it is essentially an Australian
film made by an Australian director, albeit with big American press,
money and distribution behind it.) The first two trailers were both
based on characters from Marvel Comics, with the first being ANTMAN
and the second being yet another version of THE FANTASTIC FOUR.
(Never mind the fact that the last two attempts at bringing the
latter comic to life have failed pretty tremendously.) There are
amazing films based on comics. In fact two of my favorite films ever,
THE WATCHMEN and GHOST WORLD, were both based on equal but
differently brilliant graphic novels. However, I feel like Hollywood
is really starting the tap the Marvel/DC archive bone dry with this
business. You can hear the execs practically ejaculating in their
well tailored slacks at the merchandising dollars alone. You too can
have an ANTMAN burrito from Taco Bell! (Note: I have no idea if that
tie-in will happen, but would it surprise you? Yeah, me neither.) </div>
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Even worse, both trailers looked basic
as basic could be. There might as well been flashing text cuing all
of us blank-faced living dead rubes on when to laugh, gasp or ooh and
ahh. At this point, they are banking on if they slap a comic book
hero emblem on a monkey trying to suck its own weiner, there will be
enough suckers to fork over their hard earned dough for the second
saddest breads and circuses bullshit fiesta ever. (The first being
reality TV, of course.)
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It didn't get any better with the next
trailer, another dog & pony paranormal show in the form of THE
GALLOWS. Bad lighting, hackneyed horror cliches, a cast that are
blander than the wardrobe selection on Dawson's Creek and the use of
a cover of “Smells Like Teen Spirit” that put me in the mindset
of hoping that Kurt Cobain will haunt everyone attached to this banal
looking horror film. In short, it does not look promising. In this
age of legitimately eerie “<a href="http://www.creepypasta.com/">creepypastas</a>” and indie horror
directors who are trying to add new chrome to a jet lagged wheel, THE
GALLOWS looks both dated and about as scary as NEW YEAR'S EVIL. (And
if you have seen that film, first of all I'm sorry and secondly, you
know exactly what I am talking about.) </div>
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Lastly, there was arguably the best of
the bunch, Guy Richie's remake/reboot/regurgitation of THE MAN FROM
U.N.C.L.E It looks well shot but incredibly arch. Plus Henry Cavill's
Napoleon Solo reads less Robert Vaughn and more like George Lazenby
in need of a tall glass of Metamucil. Realistically, it's probably
going through the motions as much as the other three, but is a little
more stylish. It is like the jaded stripper who cares enough to look
a little put together and nice, but is still going to bump and grind
with all the internal eroticism of a POW camp.
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The divine yang to the awful yin was
Miller's latest addition to the Mad Max universe. FURY ROAD is
everything that those trailers are not. Truly invigorating, visually
stunning with some scenes echoing shades of the most vibrant
surrealists coupled with the metal-on-dust hyper realism of a
post-apocalyptic universe, characters who stand out, composition that
echoes masters like David Lean and Sergei Eisenstein and best of all,
an actual and beating heart. A film as good as MAD MAX: FURY ROAD
feels as fragrant and sweet as the best love letter. Not that the
film itself is that light and airy. Far from it but it is so
incredibly well made by a cast and crew who clearly cared enough to
treat us, the viewer, with actual respect and affection. The fact
that this film is cliche-less seals the whole envelope with a blood
and tear stained kiss. I will write more in-depth about this
extraordinary film at a later date, but needless to say, it has left
a huge imprint on me.</div>
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In a way, the creative success of this
film and its contrast to so much of the trite and bait and hack of
mainstream American cinema has tapped into something I have long
suspected. The era of big budget American directors crafting true
masterpieces is dead. There's a 1% exception, as there is for almost
everything in life, but in the bigger picture, forget it. The waves
upon waves of “reboots,” which is just another word for remake,
is proof of this. There are good remakes out there, but for every
John Carpenter's THE THING, we get Michael Bay's colostomy bag of
horseshit.</div>
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Don't get me wrong, nostalgia is a
dangerous and fetid emotion and Hollywood was and will forever be
about the bottom dollar. To quote Bobbi Flekman from THIS IS SPINAL
TAP, “Money talks and bullshit walks.” The only problem is that
the bullshit is the thing, again with some exceptions, bringing in
the money. The more bloated things get, the more apparent it is that
the true viable hope of American cinema is in the hands of two
specific types. Those who are currently in the belly of the beast,
slaving to get out from the inside and pull some beautifully
subversive cards from their deck and the true blue independent
artists out there. And I'm not talking “Miramax” indies either. I
am talking the men and woman who are working class artists writing,
editing, producing and directing out of a true need and want to do
something that is their own. There is always hope in this life and
with American cinema, it is resting firmly in these two divergent but
similarly-goaled twin hands. </div>
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Copyright 2015 Heather Drain </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07563735654661798606noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581822480031284544.post-4746069235174680002015-05-05T18:56:00.002-07:002015-05-05T18:56:34.877-07:00God, Murder & Palm Springs: Duke MItchell's Gone With the Pope<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIoJsixa_09_LAipO48Khqp0NWwEhoeCbjjMABbQMAdfaSkXYlsq3BKBdhafobghq_TUb3TJmmR4pgkSwOy75anrVUnlrYb031xdYh58Ca4v0USsUTscyIVPCqg75t7t_owq5Ww1nYzLlr/s1600/Gone_with_the_Pope_Cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIoJsixa_09_LAipO48Khqp0NWwEhoeCbjjMABbQMAdfaSkXYlsq3BKBdhafobghq_TUb3TJmmR4pgkSwOy75anrVUnlrYb031xdYh58Ca4v0USsUTscyIVPCqg75t7t_owq5Ww1nYzLlr/s1600/Gone_with_the_Pope_Cover.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
My first trip to the beautiful state of
California practically overflowed with film watching. Which is highly
fitting for about eighty different reasons<span style="font-style: normal;">.
Even better was that I got to watch some spectacular films but out of
the veritable Whitman's Sampler of good cinema, there was one film
among all the others that has continued to stay with me. In fact, it
is one of those that worms its way ever so neatly under your skin. I
couldn't stop thinking about it and in fact, still can't, which means
there was only one thing left to do. Write about it. </span>
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At the very core of
this Mesmer-worthy pull is the filmmaker/star/writer. A man of
somewhat slight physical build but yet contained a pure power that
only the most alpha and charismatic of males can have. On top of that
layer cake of qualities is the undiluted creative passion and fire
that only the truly brilliant, mad or a little bit of both possess.
The man in question is the inimitable Duke Mitchell and the film? His
last and unfinished until recently masterwork, <a href="http://grindhousereleasing.com/">GONE WITH THE POPE</a>.
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Going into the
film, the main thing I knew about <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Duke_Mitchell">Duke Mitchell</a> was that he was an
entertainer that had popped up as the pseudo-Dean Martin to Sammy
Petrillo's Jerry Lewis-esque schtick in the C-Film, BELA LUGOSI MEETS
THE BROOKLYN GORILLA. The only thing I knew about GWTP was that it
was going to be a strange mafioso type film. Both of these are the
golden winners of the understatements of the year award because boy
howdy, I got sucker punched and in the absolute best of ways. </div>
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In GWTP, Duke plays
Paul, a career criminal getting released from prison after being
locked up for several years. Most would want to lay low after being
trapped in the ultimate cement jungle, especially with a loyal, sweet
natured wealthy blonde waiting for them. But Paul's not really given
that choice when he is immediately pulled back into the underworld
and is coerced into pulling off seven hits in two different cities.
In a brilliant move that I will not spoil because I love you, let's
just say that Paul is not a dude you want to ever underestimate,
especially in a double-cross situation.
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Brilliant is a word
that one can attribute a lot to GWTP and the core of that is the
character of Paul. This man is one heartburst of a character and with
an absolute moral need to do right by his friends, who have also just
gotten released from the clink. We even see him give a pep talk to a
young, strung out long hair (played by Duke's son, Jeffrey Mitchell)
about staying off the junk. With the aid of his lady fair, he even
gets to take his boys out on a world wide boating trip, all to give
them experiences that they never had and would never get to have
without his help.</div>
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The big sweeping
shades of moral gray never quite leave and in fact, only grow
exponentially after the film's first act. One night of fun with the
boys leads them, all woman-starved from being in prison, to spending
the evening with a model-gorgeous black escort. It's bizarre because
some of the non-politically correct shit said her way would be
greeted with, at best, “what the fuck” and at worst, sheer
repulsion. The lady handles it with way more grace and smiles than it
deserves but yet, Paul ends up joking with her and being
affectionate. It's a brainmelt move because any other film would have
these characters as outright, cardboard cutout racist villains. But
Paul is clearly our hero of sorts and his attitude isn't totally
dyed-in-the-wool racist. It's a bit like having an older relative who
will say some heinously politically incorrect shit, but yet his best
friend is an African-American and more importantly, he is at least
NOT the kind of asshole to swing the “but one of my friends...”
old chestnut.
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Paul is not that
type and from all accounts, neither was Duke Mitchell. </div>
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<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
It's a move that
neither endorses nor condemns but better yet, is a slice of life.
Good people say messed up things and do messed up things. Anyone that
is willing to share this truth with you and not treat you like a
child weaned on John Wayne morality is a person that respects you.
Thank you, Duke Mitchell.
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The moral
complexity further continues with Paul's ultimate grand scheme:
kidnapping the Pope and holding him for ransom until every single
Catholic pays fifty cents. Out of love for their friend and leader,
they go along with it but once the egg is hatched, nobody banks on
the crew discovering spiritual enlightenment. All of this leads to
the film's absolute pivotal moment, one that is not riddled with
bullets or machismo laden violence or bravura, but instead one
emotional scene that rings more true than a gaggle of any “Oscar”
worthy melodramas. The criticism of the Catholic Church is one that
is still being echoed over thirty years later and yet, the Pope in
this film is also a good man. Not a corrupt figure doing the ole soft
shoe on molestation charges and wearing Gucci slippers, but a quiet
older man with a sense of serenity and light around him. Yet
everything that Paul rips his heart open about the church, right down
to the lack of black faces in the pews, rings true.
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<span style="font-style: normal;">The
rest of the film spirals into a strange climax that has to be seen to
be believed. Which is all part of the shocking beauty of GONE WITH
THE POPE. It is alternately well made and yet raw at its core, with a
fluidity and rhythm like no other. The closest filmmaker that had
that same fire spirit that Mitchell displays both acting and
directing wise with GWTP is John Cassavetes. Which may sound like an
odd comparison at first, especially since Cassavetes' films tended to
lack dialogue like “Why Me?” “Why not?” in the midst of a mob
hit, but these two men are cut from that same, we're gonna do it
anyhow cloth. The blending of the true-to-life lack of filter, zero
compromise and pure volatile heart are the hallmarks of artists like
this. That's why guys like Duke and Cassavetes will forever stand out
because their breed is as striking as they are endangered and
realistically, they have </span><i>always</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
been endangered. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5CDZe9GCSIQwpZh6o0hzgyOnJeX1RQ9SOcAI6elOctxltF9y0EYCa3VNSYHEuknL64ZYSF4LmqtOl2KBX4PWCcdhJijDpY3Esr-vUO8hrg2VFKWqq3hvYkI1alDbaFo5eQQ3EBUf7tQn2/s1600/GWTP-01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5CDZe9GCSIQwpZh6o0hzgyOnJeX1RQ9SOcAI6elOctxltF9y0EYCa3VNSYHEuknL64ZYSF4LmqtOl2KBX4PWCcdhJijDpY3Esr-vUO8hrg2VFKWqq3hvYkI1alDbaFo5eQQ3EBUf7tQn2/s1600/GWTP-01.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-style: normal;"> </span> </div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Duke Mitchell,
whose career as an entertainer remained solid enough to be deemed
“the King of Palm Springs” and have his own star in that famed
desert resort, that he didn't need to go into filmmaking. Looking at
his short but striking filmography, including the strong gut-punch of a debut with <a href="http://mondoheather.blogspot.com/2015/02/youre-either-in-or-in-way-duke.html">MASSACRE MAFIA STYLE</a> and GONE WITH THE POPE as the crown jewel, a cat
like Mitchell did this out of pure need and love. There was no way,
even in the more liberal climate of the 1970's, that his films ever
had a chance to be blockbusters. There is no justice but it also
means he did something right by making a film so wild, wooly and with
his thumbprint all over it.
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Bless both the
folks at <a href="http://grindhousereleasing.com/">Grindhouse Releasing</a> and Jeffrey Mitchell, for making sure
that Duke's final film not only was finished, but that it is seeing
a more than proper <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Gone-With-Pope-Blu-ray-Combo/dp/B00TA9VS6C">Blu Ray/DVD release</a>. (Complete with a bounty of extras, including interviews, deleted scenes and liner notes from uber-writer, filmmaker and Bizarro literature high guru, John Skipp.) Passing way too soon from this plane at the age
of 55, Duke Mitchell's cinematic legacy will continue to live on and
grow bigger than it was when he was still alive. If you want to see a
film layered with crime, love and religious conflict, then look no
further than Duke Mitchell's incendiary GONE WITH THE POPE. </div>
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Copyright 2015 Heather Drain </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07563735654661798606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581822480031284544.post-29168673033591931292015-04-22T16:10:00.001-07:002015-04-22T16:10:25.282-07:00Love Like Blood: Jorg Buttgereit's Nekromantik 2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ4mirREI_FKxpuE0yxKJfZGpjglnD_WDIULCCAJslHl1u6Y-c09MiMfmKEXlg2w7sYlh1vuEsxmOfvmjAeMo3Z0Y-ET6QDY_RfaxihYvKj0ziyPjXV1MVzEvFpIcdrG-BO-FoAZYFqsIq/s1600/mekromantik-2-poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ4mirREI_FKxpuE0yxKJfZGpjglnD_WDIULCCAJslHl1u6Y-c09MiMfmKEXlg2w7sYlh1vuEsxmOfvmjAeMo3Z0Y-ET6QDY_RfaxihYvKj0ziyPjXV1MVzEvFpIcdrG-BO-FoAZYFqsIq/s1600/mekromantik-2-poster.jpg" height="292" width="320" /></a></div>
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Every genre of film has its presets of
expectations. If it's a Western film, you expect dusty landscapes and
dirty cowboys. If it's a Horror film, you expect some amount of
screaming, blood and at least one false scare. If it's a love story,
then you expect romantic pathos and a boy and a girl to meet and fall
in forever, soulmate-esque love in spite of a few dramatic
interruptions. Etc etc. All of this is why I love it when a filmmaker
can take these little category boxes of film, wield a boxcutter to a
bunch of them and then with some duct tape, construct something
actually quite fresh and different. With this build up, you may not
expect that the film I am segueing to is <a href="http://www.joergbuttgereit.com/english/home/">Jorg Buttgereit</a>'s sequel to
his underground dark comedy/horror film, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Nekromantik-Blu-ray-Beatrice-M/dp/B00MNQO3DY">Nekromantik</a>, but segueing I
am! (Of course if you actually read the title to this article, then
you already knew where I was going with all of <i>this</i><span style="font-style: normal;">.
In that case, never mind.) </span>
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<span style="font-style: normal;">Sequels
are generally a bit of a creative gamble. Is it a crude way to lure
in the rubes? Sure, if the minds behind it are bankrupt. A truly good
and worthy sequel is one that can use all of the right elements from
the first film and utilize that as a template to build a better
garden. With a brilliant and fun director like Buttgereit at the helm
once again, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Nekromantik-2-Blu-ray-Monika-M/dp/B00QL1AIFY">Nekromantik 2</a> is a fascinating film intertwined with one
of the strangest love stories ever told. </span>
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<span style="font-style: normal;">The
quote of “I just want to master life & death, ” courtesy of
Theodore R. Bundy, better known as Ted Bundy, one of the most
infamous serial killers from the past forty years, begins the first
frame, right before a flashback to Rob's (Daktari Lorenz) climactic
(literally and metaphorically) hari kiri scene from the first film.
Nekromantik 2 truly begins with a stylishly dressed and slightly
nervous looking young woman walking around a cemetery near a bombed
out looking building. The deeper she goes, the more lush the
vegetation grows, until she ends up in a more secluded section where
Rob is buried. In some perfect cosmic kismet, the first film's
death-obsessed protagonist ends up being dug up by a lovely lady with
similar post-living obsessions!</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBrqe39uqe2ywiiBTAZgMoilS1ZaGpnhgcONMjPYY5dpoMpsZIh5nRNkVgY62q1BC4ZOWof-2mZdgSceDyehWmgUkc5RdnVWwpqZb25ZIyU4iGjRE7wez_ixIKiNOWRpjj5IQFKRXIeDry/s1600/monikaloverob.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBrqe39uqe2ywiiBTAZgMoilS1ZaGpnhgcONMjPYY5dpoMpsZIh5nRNkVgY62q1BC4ZOWof-2mZdgSceDyehWmgUkc5RdnVWwpqZb25ZIyU4iGjRE7wez_ixIKiNOWRpjj5IQFKRXIeDry/s1600/monikaloverob.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-style: normal;">Digging
him up, she's able to move his corpse into her extremely colorful and
tidy apartment. The grotto-grunge of Rob's apartment from the first
film is replaced by clean, sunny walls and modern, neat-looking
furniture. Jars of assorted body parts/mementos from Rob's dayjob are
now an assortment of skull centric paintings and medical x-rays used
as art as décor. The red haired woman, Monika (Monika M.), lays his
body out and kisses him wetly with some tentativeness and a lot of
barely held back erotic charge, before she begins to undress him.
Meanwhile, we also meet Mark (Mark Reeder), a lanky looking young man
on his way to his dayjob of dubbing over rangy-looking porn. </span>
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<span style="font-style: normal;">The
dreamy edging into psychedelic camerawork that marked all of the love
scenes from the first Nekromantik starts to return as Monika attempts
to make love to Rob's blackened-by-rot form, but coitus interruptus
arises as she physically gets ill and cannot resume the lovemaking.
In short, Monika has the heart and drive for sexually loving the
dead, but not quite the stomach. There's something about Rob, though,
that makes her clean up his body, with her red lacquered nails
tenderly touching the imprint of his fatal gut wound and dress him in
fresh clothes. As Mark tries to plan a film date with an eternally
tardy friend of his, Monika poses with Rob for her Polaroid with a
self-timer, grinning like a new girl smitten with amour.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge3L5bQl9gPza-Suf7Wzh0hCjusZRR_tS9IJ5PyVspc87vw66av2YARFh_om9rw2hNKh7C1zN4BIh_z86msd9tJPz7o_TJixV7HccRZI-RazwwtVr_iIRNL10sj8vDtQappPd6lg9b8-0f/s1600/saycheesenekro2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge3L5bQl9gPza-Suf7Wzh0hCjusZRR_tS9IJ5PyVspc87vw66av2YARFh_om9rw2hNKh7C1zN4BIh_z86msd9tJPz7o_TJixV7HccRZI-RazwwtVr_iIRNL10sj8vDtQappPd6lg9b8-0f/s1600/saycheesenekro2.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-style: normal;">But
life's strange glory comes into play yet again, when Monika happens
to walk by the Sputnik Theater where Mark is waiting for his date.
Impatient, he chats her up and offers Monika the spare ticket. Going
to watch some bizarro world version of “My Dinner with Andre,”
entitled “Mon Dejeuner avec Vera” (aka “My Lunch with Vera”),
that consists of a highly chatty man and a less chatty woman,
completely naked and eating eggs, Monika and Mark quickly hit it off.
Soon, Monika will face the weirdest case of being “torn between two
lovers” ever, only to be outdone by one hilarious and volatile
resolution. </span>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">"Nekromantik
2" is a an intriguing and worthy sequel to its infamous and well made
progenitor. The fact that Buttgereit switched the focus from a
heart-sick and head-sick young man in the form of Rob, to the
love-sick and balanced-in-her-own-strange-way, Monika, is unexpected
and really smart. The eroto-death factor is still there, but with
Monika, her own flesh won't allow her to do what her heart wants to.
Even more intriguing is when she tries to dispose of Rob as she and
Mark start to get more serious, Monika grows emotional and keeps
Rob's head and genitals. (The latter comes into play with some great
twisted humor, as she puts it on a plate, wraps it in plastic and
places the severed member in her fridge like well-loved leftovers.
Which is pretty fitting, now that I think of it!) </span>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Monika
is an unusually complex character, especially for being a woman. In
the cinematic landscape, whether we're talking mainstream pap or
underground DIY, women are more of than not, relegated to ether
bitch, sex/brain starved nymphet-nympho, frumpy friend or Holly
Sunshine: Pretty Girl Worthy of Love. So to see a female lead chase
her heart and desires that play far outside the boundaries of what is
“normal” (or legal for that matter), is pretty great. Especially
as her relationship with Mark starts to show more cracks, with him
unable to give her any sort of climax, Monika is forced to feed her
need. Granted, I'm not saying “Ladies, start digging up your
soulmate!” or anything, but there is an undercurrent of affection
and respect for this character that is refreshing. Monika M. is
likable as the lovely and chic girl with the strangest desires of
profound morbidity. There is an understatedness to her performance
that works quite well and helps keep the film anchored in an even
keel. </span></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/PdFEAampL6o" width="420"></iframe> </span>
</div>
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<span style="font-style: normal;">The
filmmaking quotient is even better here, with Nekromantik 2 featuring
more of budget with the former's 8mm format being replaced with a
more glossy looking 16mm print. That may sound like a sell-out to a
less-slackful underground film fan, but given that the plot is more
of a love story, a fact even mentioned by Buttgereit himself in the
intro to the lovely Cult Epics blu-ray release, it makes more sense
for it visually to look bright and crisp. The first film was more of
a tonally extreme film, so the 8mm format was perfect for it. The
camerawork and editing are even tighter, with some especially great
use of movement in the “hunt for Rob” cemetery sequence near the
beginning. One big link between the two films is the amazing
soundtrack, featuring more stellar work courtesy of Herman Kopp and
“John Boy Walton,” both returning from the first film. The fact
that such beautifully composed music is intertwined with a film about
necrophilia is all sorts of subversive sweetness. </span>
</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Speaking
of great music, one of my personal favorite scenes is the musical
number that seemingly pops out of nowhere with Monika singing
“Squelette Délicieux” like a post-modern Zarah Leander. The fact
that the title loosely translates to, “Delicious Skeleton,” makes
me love this scene all the more. Beatrice M.'s cameo (Betty from the
original Nekromantik) is also a hoot. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">It's
that combination of humor, heart and a willingness to explore
transgressive imagery and taboo topics that sear Nekromantik 2 into
the minds of any viewer worth his or her salt. There's still a bit of
the requisite gore and animal death, though neither are quite as
heightened as they were in the first. (A warning to the squeamish,
the animal footage involves Monika and her lady-gang of death-loving
friends watching footage of a dead seal getting dissected. It's
really gross but given that the animal was already dead and the video
in question looks clinical in nature, it is still a far cry from the
cruelty-tango of the Italian cannibal films of the 70's.) </span>
</div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">It is
inconceivable to think that out of the two Nekromantik films, this
was the one that was quickly seized by German authorities, just a
mere 12 days after its initial release. To the extent that they even
attempted, and mercifully failed, to find and destroy that actual
negative. The reasoning? It allegedly “glorified violence.” Never
mind that the first one had more violence or even worse, the numerous
Hollywood action films that were more inherently immoral in their
revery of death and maiming. Especially coming off the heels of the
80's, where people were consistently being used as pure blow-up
fodder for the beefy, gun wielding hero du jour. Case in point: Which
film has a higher body count? Nekromantik 2 or any of the Rambo
films? Exactly. </span>
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<br />
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Luckily
for us, Nekromantik 2 is still here and is out via another gorgeous
blu ray release from <a href="http://www.cultepics.com/">Cult Epics</a>. If there's a supplement you would
want, this film has it, from director commentary to a
behind-the-scenes-featurette to trailers and even a moment of silence
via a home video peek into Jorg and friends' road trip to Ed Gein's
gravesite. This whole release is a fitting tribute to a great film
and director. </span>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Nekromantik
2 is further proof that out of the unholy hordes of indie filmmakers
that emerged out of the 1980's, few are true auteurs like Buttgereit.
There was and is no director out in the cinematic landscape quite
like him. Even if 8,000 foolhards tried to imitate him, they would
fail because a real artist has their own unique fingerprint and that
is Jorg Buttgereit all the way. </span></div>
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<span style="font-style: normal;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/k2xN_mqjQDE" width="420"></iframe></span></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Copyright 2015 Heather Drain </span>
</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07563735654661798606noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581822480031284544.post-51260917195983948152015-04-02T20:13:00.000-07:002015-04-02T20:27:50.580-07:00The Library is Now Open: Brad Stevens' "The Hunt" & Art Decades Issue #2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA84JFMF4GXHD5rrmRzfLhWlZLw5H21ddop8piM1mIy8puCLyqKU7bNaiJS3CjUi4fUt_EInstUwgRmWeTA222c0MqhtDYjHxf-YfhE0YI2y5pxNbI4FQDzbfYuOjzgy-xkwdY8vuK_v5s/s1600/oldbooks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA84JFMF4GXHD5rrmRzfLhWlZLw5H21ddop8piM1mIy8puCLyqKU7bNaiJS3CjUi4fUt_EInstUwgRmWeTA222c0MqhtDYjHxf-YfhE0YI2y5pxNbI4FQDzbfYuOjzgy-xkwdY8vuK_v5s/s1600/oldbooks.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a></div>
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There were few sanctuaries as enticing
growing up as the library. Stuck in a small working class burg and
feeling like I was destined for pariah-kid-stasis, the library was an
oasis that held many secrets, wonders and, most importantly, methods
of escape. It still holds a bit of that power for me today,
especially when it comes to glancing around and scoping out the
variety of materials. Sleek tomes and colorful paper magazines lining
up in a pristine formation and awaiting your eyes and hands.
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The section that always pulls me first
is the new fiction. There's the usual mix of chick-lit,
science-fiction, historical dramas, something with a fantastical
dwarf on it and some tawdry knock off of “Fifty Shades of Grey.”
(Go ahead and feel free to channel your inner Kurtz here and go
“...the horror....the horror.”) One of those tomes could very
well be <a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Hunt-Brad-Stevens/dp/1499149247/ref=tmm_pap_title_0">“The Hunt”</a> by Brad Stevens. Brad first entered my
stratosphere with his excellent work in the film writing world,
including articles for my old periodical stomping grounds at Video
Watchdog and his <a href="http://www.bfi.org.uk/news-opinion/sight-sound-magazine/comment/bradlands">Bradlands</a> column over at the British Film
Institute's (BFI) website. “The Hunt” is his first fictive book
and stands out as a unique debut. “The Hunt” centers around Mara
Gorki, a writer whose work is massively successful overseas but is
restricted in her homeland, which is a dystopian United Kingdom where
women are treated like second to seventy first class citizens in
every conceivable way.
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The hostile atmosphere includes the
legally imposed dress code of no pants or shorts for women over the
age of 18, including corporal punishment via caning if broken to the
rabid verbal abuse from various men of the cloth. However, the capper
being the titular “Hunt” itself. Basically, a handful of very
wealthy “gentlemen” pay for the privilege to hunt for women in an
abandoned section of the city that has been quartered off by the
government. As opposed to that old chestnut, “The Most Dangerous
Game,” instead of hunting to kill, these men like their kicks on
the sexual-sadistic side and track down these women, who are all
drafted in by the government. There are rules, included intentional
murder being one of the few actual taboos, but in a near future where
women are basically regarded as mentally stunted vessels for the
anger and damaged id impulse of key men who have been rewarded for
their misogyny as opposed to being educated against it, things get on
the vile side fairly quickly. It's a lesson that Mara learns
intimately when she ends up being recruited.
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Now from that description and those
similar to it that you can read elsewhere online, you might be
getting images of some ghastly Eli Roth film meets “A Handmaid's
Tale.” The latter is somewhat close to the mark but you can
mercifully kill the former. While Steven's does not pull any punches
when it comes to the specifics of torture, his language neither
lingers or delights in it. His prose in general is very clean, neatly
written and yet has a quiet warmth and pulse to it that makes it all
the more compelling. It's an unusual mix to see that kind of writing
when it comes to such extreme material. The common tendency is to
glory in the guts and agony and have the prose practically wiggle
with every shriek, moan, leer and scream. But that is not the
literary voice here and it is Stevens' restraint coupled with his
clear love of his female characters, especially Mara and her partner,
cineaste and film writer, Yuki Morishita. (A relationship the two
naturally have to keep secret, since homosexuality is also
forbidden.)
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Speaking of, his handling of Yuki and
Mara's relationship is quite sweet and feels authentic. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Hunt-Brad-Stevens/dp/1499149247/ref=tmm_pap_title_0">“The Hunt”</a>
also features some extreme snarking on E.L. James fan fiction gone
awry, “Fifty Shades of Grey.” As a whole it's a disturbing and
smart read with solid characters, a bit of conspiracy theory and a
peek into a future that doesn't feel too unreal whenever you see
another news story about women all over the world having acid thrown
into their faces, murdered for being a victim of rape or being robbed
of the choice to be in control of their own body.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGCfTa98Z4_vavgqVCO7g6G9vv-Z8Yj-b74mmSvYj0TbIK83Cvomatpg8STYRaIMpSDB3ZUqg85kGGb6id6OtVejkL50gEi8NLw81U9oeFADUPbg5yNFRc7odW3TJ9rOGbWfI6CN1Ri8hj/s1600/art+decades+%232.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGCfTa98Z4_vavgqVCO7g6G9vv-Z8Yj-b74mmSvYj0TbIK83Cvomatpg8STYRaIMpSDB3ZUqg85kGGb6id6OtVejkL50gEi8NLw81U9oeFADUPbg5yNFRc7odW3TJ9rOGbWfI6CN1Ri8hj/s1600/art+decades+%232.jpg" height="320" width="247" /></a></div>
<br />
Now that you have a book picked
out, you gotta have a magazine to go with it. With its striking cover
and lush formatting, the second issue of the brand new periodical,
<a href="http://www.artdecades.com/">Art Decades</a>, is a fine choice. After its strong debut issue, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Art-Decades-Volume-Jeremy-Richey/dp/1505641985">Issue 2</a>
continues in the fine tradition of loving art, unearthing past
artists and celebrating the ones that are currently creating. The
starting gate lets you know that the contents are gonna be good, with
the following Joe Strummer quote taking the helm: “The way you get
a better world is, you don't put up with a substandard any thing.”
It's a bold move from such a young mag but bold is good and it sure
as hell is better than boring.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The first main article is an excellent
piece by Tara Hanks entitled “Pauline Boty: Pop Artist &
Woman.” It's such a strong piece, offering fascinating and needed
insight into one of the most under-looked pop artists that emerged
out of the 50's and 60's. <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pauline_Boty">Boty</a> was hampered by her gender, since
while the art world is still fairly male dominated now, it is still
miles ahead from the uber-macho atmosphere back when she was alive
and working. Dying at the young age of 28 did not help much either.
On top of that, knowing that several of her works are still missing
in action, makes pieces like this one so important. A good article is
a fun way to kill some time but a great article is one that plants a
seed.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTgBB-KzO80fLX3cdZo2ryB-F2dsvAjsSlQSzduTnbtv55vfuIkkmt9XFKJ6KhZ097hS8NOScf-F2SZ87OFRQGgKfaYOcFpps2d8hMM7eQ6qQawfFCKRhDI5ksc-vN-7WIh4px_YV3u3hi/s1600/darlingpaulineboty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTgBB-KzO80fLX3cdZo2ryB-F2dsvAjsSlQSzduTnbtv55vfuIkkmt9XFKJ6KhZ097hS8NOScf-F2SZ87OFRQGgKfaYOcFpps2d8hMM7eQ6qQawfFCKRhDI5ksc-vN-7WIh4px_YV3u3hi/s1600/darlingpaulineboty.jpg" height="268" width="320" /></a></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
After that, there's the gorgeous photo
layout, “My Time's Up,” based om The Raveonettes song of the same
name. With photographer <a href="http://www.whitleybrandenburg.com/">Whitly Brandenburg</a> serving as the melancholy
model backed by the twin muses of the aforementioned song and Jean
Rollin's film “The Iron Rose,” it is one of the most standout
visuals of the entire issue. Photographers Jeremy and Kelley Richey
make great and dreamy use of the cemetery locale, as well as
Brandenburg herself, whose presence has all the childlike beauty of a
doll but with the air of one who has seen and felt something far
older than her physical age.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLBht4BzBLWkiGq87IcS9hUUI8cyHhWZB4ZCxVvq7nDG5Oc7KyElmov4DZoR2ql0dfqv4X5JgfZMVq0q-_KEI0ZpVfsc-tFZCS_UmT50xgPOp3OyF6MUxSPSfjKqvXTwky5dANBokeuelh/s1600/raveonettes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLBht4BzBLWkiGq87IcS9hUUI8cyHhWZB4ZCxVvq7nDG5Oc7KyElmov4DZoR2ql0dfqv4X5JgfZMVq0q-_KEI0ZpVfsc-tFZCS_UmT50xgPOp3OyF6MUxSPSfjKqvXTwky5dANBokeuelh/s1600/raveonettes.jpg" height="177" width="320" /></a></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Speaking of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Raveonettes">The Raveonettes</a>, if you're
a fan of the Danish indie rock band, then you are going to l-o-v-e
this issue, since the “Time's Up” spread is followed up with an
in depth interview with the band, a small article from Kelley about
being a fan, a piece covering their entire discography and yet
another photo spread inspired by one on their songs. The latter is
based on the song, “Boys Who Rape Should All Be Destroyed.” (Love
the title and feels fitting after reading “The Hunt!”) The layout
itself is very nicely photographed but lacks the gritty gut punch
that one would expect, especially with having influences like Abel
Ferrara and “Lipstick” director Lamont Johnson noted at the
beginning. But just the mere fact that a layout exists entitled “Boys
Who Rape Should All be Destroyed” exists and is in this issue is
commendable in and of itself.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3SlzpuChjszjrBy6TwBO9IbhKktzlSERaazd80rN7aQv5xOJO44yRrHWUnkzGkj6yHtTSPXEJwwoY5LwZ-_DMiMvvBza9_A-aukmluygULHsAyKfGBt8-rG2ww6lMu0vSqYOPtD4m8Nj2/s1600/Lou_Reed-The_Bells-Frontal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3SlzpuChjszjrBy6TwBO9IbhKktzlSERaazd80rN7aQv5xOJO44yRrHWUnkzGkj6yHtTSPXEJwwoY5LwZ-_DMiMvvBza9_A-aukmluygULHsAyKfGBt8-rG2ww6lMu0vSqYOPtD4m8Nj2/s1600/Lou_Reed-The_Bells-Frontal.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
There's also a second part of Erich
Kuersten's piece, “Lou Reed in the Seventies.” (The first part is
in the debut of Art Decades, naturally.) It's a fun piece to read
with a Gonzo lilt, even though I have some personal disagreements.
(Giving “Metal Machine Music” one star is bad enough, but Reed's
masterpiece, “The Bells” only meriting two? Two?!) On the film
side of things, there is a brief but super-fun interview with the
great Mary Woronov conducted by Dave Stewart. Ms. Woronov alone is a
legend, but the fact that she name checks one of the most underrated
Warhol's Factory associates, writer Ronald Tavel, makes it even more
of a must read than it already was.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHshFg4yytI5fZobbfupxhm8gqvD_qBlHhSm0S0fef56FsmRhPtdNmTNOQratthGYV-SssJ6UNHeBAkMweTDE2Pj-pHi-q6Cjh9WktyTY-qmXHUipinC8pijcwcs1DEZBVMI0J1OD6Z_YQ/s1600/vlcsnap-00007.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHshFg4yytI5fZobbfupxhm8gqvD_qBlHhSm0S0fef56FsmRhPtdNmTNOQratthGYV-SssJ6UNHeBAkMweTDE2Pj-pHi-q6Cjh9WktyTY-qmXHUipinC8pijcwcs1DEZBVMI0J1OD6Z_YQ/s1600/vlcsnap-00007.png" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
An equally sweet treat is Kent
Adamson's “Cannon Man,” which is his appetizer of a piece about
his time with working for the legendary Menahem Golan, the man, whom
along with his cousin, Yoram Globus, took over Cannon Films in 1979.
It was their reign that produced an amazingly wide breadth of films
ranging from Barbet Schroeder's “Barfly” and the way underrated
“Last American Virgin” to many a vehicle for action stars like
Chuck Norris and Charles Bronson. Adamson's writing pops and leaves
you wanting to read more and more about his time with this truly
unique character who left an undeniable imprint on film.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYlAJu38z4LSjJkBIwkZXGp86nYjD1PHrrEdxiJsjx7nCUfrWnBEhIXjRTTRLseU5XysR9ILbSS7mtg6HmoGQFnbmVp4hZ4Q9tKaxSoW90730lXh9PyPjrIPCZXiBWqceW6UfRa_7P3lJR/s1600/menahem.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYlAJu38z4LSjJkBIwkZXGp86nYjD1PHrrEdxiJsjx7nCUfrWnBEhIXjRTTRLseU5XysR9ILbSS7mtg6HmoGQFnbmVp4hZ4Q9tKaxSoW90730lXh9PyPjrIPCZXiBWqceW6UfRa_7P3lJR/s1600/menahem.jpg" height="200" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
Back on the musical tip, there's also
filmmaker/writer <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm3248639/">Salem Kapsaski</a>'s revealing and creatively stimulating
interview with underground Italian musician <a href="http://eafmcart.blogspot.com/">Daniele Santagiuliana</a>, as
well as <a href="http://wonderlandsteve.blogspot.com/">Steve Langton</a>'s terrific and memorable piece about seeing Joy
Division live. (A pleasure so few ever will get to experience.) This
issue also features more stunning imagery, some good poetry and even
more great pieces by such talents as <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Marcelline-Block/e/B002WWLQI4/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_2">Marcelline Block</a>, <a href="http://silverferox.blogspot.com/">Silver Ferox</a>
and more.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Art Decades<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Art-Decades-Volume-Jeremy-Richey/dp/1505641985"> Issue #2</a> is a more than a
solid follow up to its rock star debut and has planted seeds, some
definable and others more mysterious, that will surely take some
vivid and colorful bloom in the very near future.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
This concludes our brief but hopefully
enriching and teensy bit chewy trip to the library. Make sure to keep
your slip and return the materials on time.<br />
<br />
Copyright 2015 Heather Drain </div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07563735654661798606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581822480031284544.post-27766345392589882462015-03-16T20:36:00.000-07:002015-03-16T20:36:15.742-07:00A Tale of Food, Love, Desire and Man-Chickens: Bob Chinn's Hot & Saucy Pizza Girls <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcSYufMO5x5o-LW3Fh7ZUgUTf13Ff25q_oVETPu9Kg5X5bggH0XobFv0jTJB_pGsJcmdBwFv0-8TOT8_L7TJoMvZq5mfy4WppeceQb6CTQgUFAnlazrk6s9xSY6D_Zn5FmrwjnozUawRjp/s1600/pizzgirlposter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcSYufMO5x5o-LW3Fh7ZUgUTf13Ff25q_oVETPu9Kg5X5bggH0XobFv0jTJB_pGsJcmdBwFv0-8TOT8_L7TJoMvZq5mfy4WppeceQb6CTQgUFAnlazrk6s9xSY6D_Zn5FmrwjnozUawRjp/s1600/pizzgirlposter.jpg" height="320" width="211" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />Picking the perfect title for your
film or any creative work for that matter, can be incredibly tricky.
A bland title will nearly guarantee your potential audience to take a
pass. A misleading title, much like reaching for what you think is a
hush puppy but instead is a cold, gross battered ball of corn, will
only lead to disgust and highly irritate. (Seriously, why would
someone do that? Cruelty has many, many forms, dear reader.) But a
perfect title will pique your interest and give you a hint of what
you are to expect from the work in question. Case in point, Bob
Chinn's breezy 1979 film, “<a href="http://vinegarsyndrome.com/shop/hot-saucy-pizza-girls-dvd/">Hot & Saucy Pizza Girls</a>.” There
are, in fact, girls that are hot, saucy and work in a pizza joint in
this film. But the “Pizza Girls” is more than just a food-sex pun
of a film. Sort of. Anyways, let's begin!</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYnZuUCOQ5GP_lnaBKI1NXAmgqzpUjGCRXyWJhEg5JxFNd1hrETPFxCI6nT732vhaI2gvwgmz0y6pkiOXZBPcRtuXF6gRijUlCA5pdDHVLP80V5eQJWEOJvg48pFrJuLaLheMKcYEooPWU/s1600/vlcsnap-00001.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYnZuUCOQ5GP_lnaBKI1NXAmgqzpUjGCRXyWJhEg5JxFNd1hrETPFxCI6nT732vhaI2gvwgmz0y6pkiOXZBPcRtuXF6gRijUlCA5pdDHVLP80V5eQJWEOJvg48pFrJuLaLheMKcYEooPWU/s1600/vlcsnap-00001.png" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
The movie starts with a classic lit-up
sign, promoting “Country Girl Pizza. We Deliver.” Cut to inside
the rustic looking pizzeria where the restaurant's owner, John (John
“The King” Holmes) is interviewing a potential new delivery girl,
Ann Chovy (Desiree Cousteau.) The naive Southern Belle ends up wooing
her new boss over with some physical charms and she gets to join the
gang of ultra-lovely and highly sassy delivery girls, including Gino
(Candida Royalle), Shakey (Laurien Dominique) and Celeste (Christine
de Shaffer). If the film had been made a bit later and in a different
region, we would also undoubtedly have Totino, Red Baron and Tony.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiiPjvx6QRtQvfppVSc0hFeLsVmxR5BiIax7tViT6hE8kuUVEFRtAgDSuDNlfjvXZIKRoQLCraxWYlpw8TF3pVD83ryv2AXFZGHy3j4Tw7rAvJ2aCrHLU_TS14VhCJqRs5dJct8BK7PW1n/s1600/vlcsnap-00016.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiiPjvx6QRtQvfppVSc0hFeLsVmxR5BiIax7tViT6hE8kuUVEFRtAgDSuDNlfjvXZIKRoQLCraxWYlpw8TF3pVD83ryv2AXFZGHy3j4Tw7rAvJ2aCrHLU_TS14VhCJqRs5dJct8BK7PW1n/s1600/vlcsnap-00016.png" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The girls start to make their
deliveries for the day, with the customers ranging from one intensely
enthusiastic hayseed (the always reliable Richard Pacheco) to a bored
and lonely housewife (Vicky Lindsay). Meanwhile, a slight and shifty
man in black is blatantly trying to keep tabs on the pizza girls'
comings and goings. Turns out this gentleman, aptly named Inspector
Blackie (John Seeman), is a detective determined to bust Country Girl
Pizza for being a front for prostitution. While we're on the topic,
the phrase,“pizza brothel”, might be one of the best to have
emerged out of the valley of language in a long time. Say it out
loud. Let it roll off the tip of your tongue. Now think about the
connotations. Nice, isn't it?
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Anyways, further intrigue emerges as
the cowpoke from earlier is buddies with a group of fried chicken
enthusiasts led by Henry (Paul Thomas), who also has used the
ebullient services of the pizza girls. Turns out, they don't cotton
too well to the world of pizza encroaching on their great true love
of fried chicken. Never has a hatred of pizza fueled such diabolical
tomfoolery. The intrigue gets even weirder when the boys choose to
employ the services of the San Francisco “Night Chicken.”
Apparently this never seen but heard on screen fowl-tool-of-villainy
is six feet tall and has a penchant for rape. (As all overgrown night
chickens do!)
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_uksDzs3VthTsi6jgipQaA1NMGr9SxDTOhAkwyyLtB3zCeiwLCUXtoRrYF8rKAakAnsfj0_XpwRLVFDxggvqAEfSzXB7Use5J5qW0K0YqDWenHegleaCLNu1W7V4LW4zeLyUP0PkTFvJu/s1600/vlcsnap-00024.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_uksDzs3VthTsi6jgipQaA1NMGr9SxDTOhAkwyyLtB3zCeiwLCUXtoRrYF8rKAakAnsfj0_XpwRLVFDxggvqAEfSzXB7Use5J5qW0K0YqDWenHegleaCLNu1W7V4LW4zeLyUP0PkTFvJu/s1600/vlcsnap-00024.png" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
After one of the girls gets violated,
John immediately knows it is the Night Chicken. We then find out from
him that, “We have been after this chicken for ten years!” I
guess local police weren't too worried about giant poultry sexually
assaulting various people? Anyways, with the aid of his coworker and
sidekick Bob (director Bob Chinn), John and company are determined to
crack down on this truly foul fowl. Will the gang succeed or lose out
to perverse man-birds and fried chicken enthusiasts? What about
Inspector Blackie and the wholly guile-less Ann? For that and more,
you'll just have to grab some hopefully non-carcinogen riddled
popcorn and watch for yourselves! </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ2rcycWMvqxikgcgutawVukjaK1OKwp-GHRb0RQnYVmuEuIDRN-dutP_Lq71x3_gHyerefhrcoxH9CxslSKM_Z31Vn_J-vdIKNJomnsXzHjLELlxKIRnz_jN0H0wZ0xDK48vC6J1xKXLC/s1600/vlcsnap-00028.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ2rcycWMvqxikgcgutawVukjaK1OKwp-GHRb0RQnYVmuEuIDRN-dutP_Lq71x3_gHyerefhrcoxH9CxslSKM_Z31Vn_J-vdIKNJomnsXzHjLELlxKIRnz_jN0H0wZ0xDK48vC6J1xKXLC/s1600/vlcsnap-00028.png" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<a href="http://vinegarsyndrome.com/shop/hot-saucy-pizza-girls-dvd/">Hot & Saucy Pizza Girls</a>” is an
amazingly silly film but the best kind, since it knows it's
ridiculous and completely revels in it. It is truly a fun, airy
little film that has all the appeal of a naughty and light comic
book. The fact that you have a subplot about women getting violated
by a monstrous chicken and yet, the whole still plays very sunshine
with no dark clouds, is nothing short of amazing. It helped,
undoubtedly, having Bob Chinn at the helm. Chinn is most famous for
directing a number of the “Johnny Wadd” films, which also brought
“Pizza Girls” male star, John Holmes, to major fame and
notoriety. The two men had a great rapport with each other and that
definitely shows here, with Holmes being incredibly likable and quite
funny as the manager of Country Girl Pizza. (Though it is Bob who
gets the great line, “I just don't want to get fucked by no
chicken!”) Speaking of funny, Richard Pacheco also merits a kudos
for his eight-miles-outside-of-Hee-Haw cornpone bumpkin who sings
“Get Along Little Doggie” mid-coitus. Eternally underrated John Seeman is funny and physically adept as the mysterious yet wondrously nerdy Inspector Blackie.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhths_Ve-zlsRoSHQrlExAYbGY7ks6qXaRBpokIGn216K4mzv1WEOVPgxZ5pXuIyyBnC15qW42MTG9LrYA4W0RerTo2hOSgxP0hdMn5qvZRf6KfxDkbTxuWzQsryvSZ_6AWwBI5O43eNmSD/s1600/vlcsnap-00020.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhths_Ve-zlsRoSHQrlExAYbGY7ks6qXaRBpokIGn216K4mzv1WEOVPgxZ5pXuIyyBnC15qW42MTG9LrYA4W0RerTo2hOSgxP0hdMn5qvZRf6KfxDkbTxuWzQsryvSZ_6AWwBI5O43eNmSD/s1600/vlcsnap-00020.png" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The titular pizza girls are all
supremely lovely and likable, including such classic adult legends
like Desiree Cousteau (“<a href="http://mondoheather.blogspot.com/2014/11/candide-on-speed-pretty-peaches-trilogy.html">Pretty Peaches</a>”) and Candida Royalle, as
well as the equally wonderful but more on the cult side starlets
Laurien Dominique and Christine de Shaffer (who was great as lunatic
Babsy in Johnny Legend's mind-blowing “<a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0154013/">Young & Nasty Teenage Cruisers</a>.”) Here they get to be sassy, gorgeous and funny, with
Royalle and de Shaffer both carrying off a very strong,
take-no-prisoners pizza delivering style. Cousteau is her usual
charming Betty Boop by way of small town Southern USA self and
looking every inch a 1970's version of a Vargas girl. </div>
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The pseudo-twang-country music is
fittingly goony, right down to it being listed as “Lousy Music,”
that is credited to “Lon Jon.” (Surely, his real name.) The film
is well shot, with all of the colors popping in a pastel yet vibrant
type of way. Another stellar remastering job courtesy of the skilled
folks at <a href="http://www.vinegarsyndrome.com/">Vinegar Syndrome</a> does not hurt either. Speaking of the DVD
release, there's also a short but very informative interview with
noted adult film director and “Pizza Girls” producer, Damon
Christian. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEildttZ9_rM8825UWdi_SjJeW93f0PDsNrwyXZAqDZfKcC4tfHTkZBBK6g_NNrhpogRq2mBRqk8EGgxPlOj1jPeiJHSKNPInvF5lVGSZ91UKSFfsvYQSJChNvhRwSPTMpJ1bfTr3cfeTP6A/s1600/vlcsnap-00041.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEildttZ9_rM8825UWdi_SjJeW93f0PDsNrwyXZAqDZfKcC4tfHTkZBBK6g_NNrhpogRq2mBRqk8EGgxPlOj1jPeiJHSKNPInvF5lVGSZ91UKSFfsvYQSJChNvhRwSPTMpJ1bfTr3cfeTP6A/s1600/vlcsnap-00041.png" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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“Hot & Saucy Pizza Girls” may
not reinvent any cinematic wheel or even the wheel spokes themselves,
but it is a very cute, dementedly whimsical movie that features some
good comedic performances and is the only film to date that has
combined the notion of a pizza brothel with a menacing six foot
chicken/creeper. That alone spells it out better than any paint by
numbers nature velvet scene available at your nearest family oriented
hobby store.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8U8b-2r1xJkO4FdOlYppg39wiO84sogcgvp5EJfuBTT-l6ltftqeWCyOLjtySzN71OQnptslHvoJUOwreihUyHar7zYstSuAyzcjoKwoZb5xAfISzke1pmKMqfVtYvvf2TRH5f2ABX9tK/s1600/vlcsnap-00040.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8U8b-2r1xJkO4FdOlYppg39wiO84sogcgvp5EJfuBTT-l6ltftqeWCyOLjtySzN71OQnptslHvoJUOwreihUyHar7zYstSuAyzcjoKwoZb5xAfISzke1pmKMqfVtYvvf2TRH5f2ABX9tK/s1600/vlcsnap-00040.png" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
2015 Copyright Heather Drain</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07563735654661798606noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581822480031284544.post-72051030661580307432015-02-19T20:21:00.003-08:002015-02-19T20:21:42.882-08:00You're Either In or In the Way: Duke Mitchell's Massacre Mafia Style<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4tJpk0Vkx8ll8hejBgajeVsAhUoObLImOnae-kNqtNb9FccuNDtKtS8MwYGcET5lZ-6hLjODcyzc1-rmMOlXwNcvPb0Dplls3Gnq-6TBTfc_39sH26pWddZol56rvtk16eMPJs-NQRcOA/s1600/MMSCoverArt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4tJpk0Vkx8ll8hejBgajeVsAhUoObLImOnae-kNqtNb9FccuNDtKtS8MwYGcET5lZ-6hLjODcyzc1-rmMOlXwNcvPb0Dplls3Gnq-6TBTfc_39sH26pWddZol56rvtk16eMPJs-NQRcOA/s1600/MMSCoverArt.jpg" height="320" width="250" /></a></div>
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When it comes to crime cinema, there is
real and then there's Duke Mitchell real and once you have witnessed
that, you will never be the same. Imagine if Cassavetes was a famed
lounge singer who once worked with a third-rate Jerry Lewis imitator
in a schlocky Bela Lugosi film and then would go on to make two of
the most volatile, straight from the soul-gut crime films in the
history of independent cinema. That, ladies and gentlemen, is <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Duke_Mitchell">Duke Mitchell</a>.
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His directorial debut was 1974's
<a href="http://grindhousereleasing.com/?p=605"><i>Massacre Mafia Style</i></a>, in which he also starred as Mimi Micelli, the
son of Don Mimi (Lorenzo Dodo), a massively powerful mafioso who was
deported back to Sicily when his son was only in his teens. Mimi
marries a woman of “...simple Italian heritage, a Saint..” who
bares him a little baby boy before she dies of cancer two years
later. Now, being a widower with a 6 year old son and a graying
father, Mimi plans to move back to the States and continue the family
business. Namely, moving to Los Angeles and getting a firm hold on
the bookies and pimps. Despite his father's warnings, Mimi goes
through with the move, hooking up with his old childhood friend,
Jolly (Vic Caesar), who is now a bartender. Mimi offers him a better
deal than serving up drinks to the Hollywood fringe and Jolly quickly
becomes his right hand man. </div>
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He manages to muscle his way back in
with his father's old crew via kidnapping one of the main guys,
Chucky (Louis Zito.) After severing his captive's ring finger, Mimi
gets the ransom money, releases Chucky just in time for his son's
wedding and attends the family event. His beyond brass balls
technique works and Mimi and Jolly are officially in business. Mimi's
pathway to mafioso supremacy quickly grows slick with blood, with him
even saying to Jolly early on, “Tonight we eat, tomorrow we shoot!”
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It's not long before the gang want Mimi
off their back and to calm all the murdering down. (Which is a huge
testament, by the way, to how violent someone is when they have other
mob guys complaining about the amount of murder going on.) Even his
own father calls him, begging him to stop all of the killing. But
when Mimi becomes the target of a double cross, it is only a matter
of time for his life of crime and killing to take a monumental
ancient Greek tragedy turn. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEOCcBNliOSw2kWh-k0bTBhxYSJoAYZ_ICDKaXMtiPdG64VroGHKY_U09HpHIa1ltYcB3h1IcEV5v19EDWt8MSwaDBT0_ZJ5GqWaxYuZKPay-KxAlZabV3OymJPNJGqHtBb8tXagaImGW-/s1600/MMSoriginalposter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEOCcBNliOSw2kWh-k0bTBhxYSJoAYZ_ICDKaXMtiPdG64VroGHKY_U09HpHIa1ltYcB3h1IcEV5v19EDWt8MSwaDBT0_ZJ5GqWaxYuZKPay-KxAlZabV3OymJPNJGqHtBb8tXagaImGW-/s1600/MMSoriginalposter.jpg" height="320" width="210" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://grindhousereleasing.com/?p=605"><i>Massacre Mafia Style</i></a> is a gut punch
straight from the heart. What Duke Mitchell was able to do with both
this film and its masterwork of a follow up, <a href="http://grindhousereleasing.com/?p=657"><i>Gone With the Pope</i></a>, is
singularly brilliant. You have this cross-pollination of extreme
violence, gritty and highly un-politically correct language,
Cassavetes style verite (more on that in a minute), artistry,
intelligence and strangest of all, pure love. The latter is a lot
like obscenity. It's hard to properly define but you know it when you
see it and with Duke's work, it is all over the place. One of the
best scenes of this caliber is when Mimi and his compatriots are
having this big Italian lunch, prepared by one of the guys' mother.
Mimi launches into this terrific monologue about how they are the
ones that have disgraced this woman and all Italian mothers, with
their violence and crime. It is such an interesting choice on
Mitchell's part because with that monologue, he gives his character a
depth and underlying moral tear that is not typically expected.
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Speaking of dialogue, there are some
real doozies here, with my personal favorite being the scene where
Mimi and Jolly go to kill the “Greek” and are confronted with his
massive bodyguard. After firing several bullets into the hulk of a
man, who promptly keels over, Mimi says to Jolly, “You know I'm
empty. Got any?” His partner says “I got two.” Mimi replies,
“Give them to him.” Jolly does just that, finishing the hit. </div>
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More tender audiences will probably
have a tougher time swallowing some of the more racial language used
throughout, a lot of which revolves around the pimp character, Super
Spook (Jimmy Williams). But it is all true to life because you are
dealing with characters who are rough, working class criminals circa
the 60's and 70's. It would be false to have these guys suddenly be
mindful of their language after gunning down x-number of people. On
top of that, if you're really sensitive, maybe picking up a film
called <i>Massacre Mafia Style</i> is not the best idea in the first place.
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Going back to the Cassavetes theory,
Mitchell used a cast of mostly non-actors whom physically fit their
roles to a T, giving the film a more raw sort of feel. Which for a
movie like this, is such a harmonious move. It graces the film with a
sense of more realism that some of its more polished counterparts
lack. This coupled with some of the highly intense and bizarre
bordering on surreal acts of violence, make for a truly unique brew.
The latter includes a man in a wheelchair hooked up via electrical
cables to a urinal and another one literally crucified near the
Hollywood sign. (The crucifixion scene sports some great intercutting
with a religious choir, making the proceedings all the more
ghoulish.) What's even more crazy is that both of these incidents are
based on true events, with the wheelchair incident being something
that Duke personally witnessed during his days as a singer, with the
only exception being that in real life, the guy didn't die. In fact,
much of the film was loosely based on true events, all gathered from
friends and associates Duke had made in his music career. Cliches
exist for a reason and truth really is stranger than fiction.
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After years of minor cult notoriety due
to its run under the title of <i>The Executioner</i> back in the
1970's, <a href="http://grindhousereleasing.com/">Grindhouse Releasing</a> is doing <i>Massacre Mafia Style</i> justice,
with help from Duke's son, Jeffrey Mitchell and releasing it this
month on a 2 disc set. It is a true shame that Duke Mitchell never
got the praise and attention he deserved for his directing work while
he was still here, since he died at the young age of 55 back in 1981,
but there is no time like the present to raise a toast to the man and
marvel at this blood soaked cinematic patchwork quilt sewn together
with thought, hard work and love.</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Iz9YqMrTBCo" width="465"></iframe> </div>
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Copyright 2015 Heather Drain </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07563735654661798606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581822480031284544.post-43009693264790362272015-02-16T12:03:00.000-08:002015-02-16T12:03:15.042-08:00Animal Man: Kim Fowley, We Miss You<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFW_nKOjOhhCroAf6-0k1gVfY7kVwUcL7OsCz5cYFqnSCpmDvdVw3snDQ42lvETwoMe-THLa0QCaU0Tw3w8TxSlx4GYYZYf-2Aacxmd21AR-xn_vZZv3D-p-d-UfAw-ANAp6OPp2iKVYV_/s1600/kimteddy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFW_nKOjOhhCroAf6-0k1gVfY7kVwUcL7OsCz5cYFqnSCpmDvdVw3snDQ42lvETwoMe-THLa0QCaU0Tw3w8TxSlx4GYYZYf-2Aacxmd21AR-xn_vZZv3D-p-d-UfAw-ANAp6OPp2iKVYV_/s1600/kimteddy.jpg" height="168" width="320" /></a></div>
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I'm trying to remember the first time
Kim Fowley came up on my conscious periphery. He, of course, was up
on my subconscious periphery from conception onward, as he was for
anybody born from the 1960's to now. His pale, long fingers and
electric brain contributed to works from artists as diverse as Helen
Reddy, his proteges The Runaways, Kiss, Frank Zappa, Alice Cooper and
Warren Zevon, just to name a tiny handful out of hundreds. So, the
likelihood of your primordial brain being touched and infected by
something Kim Fowley had a hand in is incredibly strong.
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But I think he must have popped up on
my conscious periphery with my friend Scott. We had connected via a
film fringe culture message board and hit it off. We started talking
about Kim Fowley and it just took one look at his credentials and
realizing the oodles of songs he had a hand in that I already loved,
coupled with some amazing pictures, which included a then current Kim
posing with a weird clown and teddy bears, for it to be instant love.
Scott and I would exchange the coolest and strangest Kim Fowley
pictures and stories we could find, with the both of us having just
the utmost reverence for the man. Scott once wrote that Kim was like
the bastard son of “Klaus Kinski and Boris Karloff,” a descriptor
that the man surely would have loved. But Scott's gone now and so is
Kim.</div>
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Born in the early Summer of '39 to
Shelby Payne and noted character actor Douglas Fowley (who was in my
personal cinematic touchstone, the Timothy Carey dancing epic <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o2IJ6KuC4gI">Bayou aka Poor White Trash</a>), Kim was an outcast from the beginning, as
noted in his feverish tone poem of a bio, “<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Lord-Garbage-Kim-Fowley/dp/0965977765">Lord of Garbage</a>.” But
it is the ground of the outcast that usually springs the best and
wildest blooms and there is no better example of this then Kim
Fowley. He was a one-man music creating blitzkrieg, finding much fame
as a producer, songwriter and a performer in his own right. Phil
Spector might be more famous, especially for his work with some key
girl groups, but you know what? Kim worked with girl groups galore,
ranging from The Murmaids' incredible single, “<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jg3HNnNewXs">Popsicles & Icicles</a>” to spearheading the ultimate teenage rock band, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=25hmT8phNsw">The Runaways</a>. Even better, Kim never murdered anybody (to my knowledge)
and retained his impish bordering on sardonic sense of humor to the
bitter end. </div>
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Fowley, in so many ways, was the Warhol
of rock and roll. Both men were brilliant, made great art on their
own and yet, often operated as creative conduits that attracted all
manners of colorful and talented people. One great Fowley quote that
lends well to this Warholian aspect of his genius is the following:
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<i>“I’m so empty that I don’t have
distractions. If somebody has substance or has developed something, I
have the time for them.”
</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />But even that doesn't quite cover
it, because Kim Fowley was one magical human being whose dualities
would have made him an amazing cult leader, dictator or shaman in
another life. In this one, he was rock & roll's numero uno
zeitgeist that might as well have risen out of the sleazy, beautiful
and vital primordial ooze that all truly great ground breakers emerge
from. He was a hero to some and a villain to others and this you can
etch in blood and bone, there will never be another like Kim Fowley.
</div>
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You are missed, Animal Man.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAI2IjN1T9zkdYtEqVbI_fBmCrI1ZtTC_kYB1pn4FMw00a4tmAezup0l5ElIYMUkhhA44BmSUka7HNdBwdsxrNQE0qIw85DXaRkctFVtqwwPx1aj3c8F4VDCTP7pKikS4PB-chOw3LFmw9/s1600/Kimrecent.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAI2IjN1T9zkdYtEqVbI_fBmCrI1ZtTC_kYB1pn4FMw00a4tmAezup0l5ElIYMUkhhA44BmSUka7HNdBwdsxrNQE0qIw85DXaRkctFVtqwwPx1aj3c8F4VDCTP7pKikS4PB-chOw3LFmw9/s1600/Kimrecent.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>For a superb introduction to the scope of Fowley's work, please check out the fantastically groovy Mal Thursday and the <a href="http://podbay.fm/show/292526872/e/1398227528?autostart=1">"Kim Fowley Trainwreck-a-Go-Go"</a> episode of his internet radio program, "The Mal Thursday Show." </i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
2015 Copyright Heather Drain </div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07563735654661798606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581822480031284544.post-38708024051698544192015-01-22T23:23:00.000-08:002015-01-23T18:44:32.551-08:00Lost, Found & Future: A Peek into Vinegar Syndrome<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoQ7GE3WoLOdPekTZ6PRDpyWcqMeVFStPSAF8BMCwJoNC6Nz9A5_GtfTHyqv-yR11mgSHZv47IdgBRAyD0DVeL-j4qzB390xt_FZckpgaolIgmGU4ouJMY4uiRCePxC90-guhLi59ARNS8/s1600/PDVD_001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoQ7GE3WoLOdPekTZ6PRDpyWcqMeVFStPSAF8BMCwJoNC6Nz9A5_GtfTHyqv-yR11mgSHZv47IdgBRAyD0DVeL-j4qzB390xt_FZckpgaolIgmGU4ouJMY4uiRCePxC90-guhLi59ARNS8/s1600/PDVD_001.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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The phrase “lost film” is one of
the saddest in the English vernacular. For being such a young format,
it seems inconceivable that any movie could already be vanished to
the ether of time. Of course, most know that a large portion of
silent films were lost due to both intentional negligence, since film
was considered a culturally disposable medium, and bad storage
habits, leading to severely deteriorated prints. Due to the flammable
nature of the nitrate, some prints would even spontaneously combust!
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There's a new type of lost film,
though. There are films that are barely old enough to collect a
pension check that are marked as missing. People didn't really know
better back in the early days, but what is the excuse for the past
forty or fifty years? The flammable type of nitrate film stopped
being used after 1952, so it's not really the case of movie prints
literally bursting into flames. But then what is it? </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGmRbIRFnS3rY3-7GtqyldvM3puJlM4uqKELB_M-b_JP3xGncUFmGUT1-LRFWFbvxmo7hegxLTeGTaDaOJtb0P1kbaG6VziJiqO7NBwgLh5zGh5PXtDk8bwYZQamd_SlAJxHrF5tVlKSKI/s1600/SCdeaux.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGmRbIRFnS3rY3-7GtqyldvM3puJlM4uqKELB_M-b_JP3xGncUFmGUT1-LRFWFbvxmo7hegxLTeGTaDaOJtb0P1kbaG6VziJiqO7NBwgLh5zGh5PXtDk8bwYZQamd_SlAJxHrF5tVlKSKI/s1600/SCdeaux.png" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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A lot of it is direct kin to the same
kind of thinking that dates back to the early 1900's. Film was not
considered “respectable” therefor it wasn't viewed in terms of
preservation. Fast forward several decades later, with the tide
changing enough for people to start thinking in terms of cinematic
preservation. Ironically enough, most preservationists were thinking
in terms of “respectable” films. Genres and subgenres, like
adult, sexploitation, horror and underground, were, much like those
early silent reels, were regarded as disposable and crude
entertainment.
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This kind of ignorance and pigheaded
elitism is borderline chilling, but there is a silver lining. As more
and more people are debating the future of cinema, there are those
who are working hard to fight for the preservation of <i>all</i>
film. Especially the type of films that have gone on unloved in
mainstream circles for too long. Front and center on this right path
is <a href="http://vinegarsyndrome.com/">Vinegar Syndrome</a>. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf46_cP1TNmxkfMG6Ul7iowGZMpp5zx3RX55D2cBbK0J361x62PF5pyyYYmbZl_M4ra-I_qOQEuTKpPY7IiZNdu6Ep_hXufHTw1p3tGsl4nosQeXDJJvOHqKFcrWJFBaxHzLuA7_FVLsDi/s1600/vinsyn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf46_cP1TNmxkfMG6Ul7iowGZMpp5zx3RX55D2cBbK0J361x62PF5pyyYYmbZl_M4ra-I_qOQEuTKpPY7IiZNdu6Ep_hXufHTw1p3tGsl4nosQeXDJJvOHqKFcrWJFBaxHzLuA7_FVLsDi/s1600/vinsyn.jpg" height="75" width="320" /></a></div>
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Unearthing everything from arthouse
gems (<a href="http://www.mondoheather.blogspot.com/2013/12/lust-mad-love-dirty-talk-nelson-lyons.html?zx=4d998f00c6e16a3a">Nelson Lyon</a>'s “<a href="http://vinegarsyndrome.com/shop/the-telephone-book-bddvd-combo/">The Telephone Book</a>,” <a href="http://dangerousminds.net/comments/sugar_cookies_the_discreet_charm_of_the_swinging_decadent_bourgeoisie">Theodore Gushuny's</a>
<a href="http://vinegarsyndrome.com/shop/sugar-cookies-blu-raydvd/">“Sugar Cookies”</a>) to ultra obscure cult films (<a href="http://dangerousminds.net/comments/kill_the_pigs_or_how_i_stopped_worrying_and_took_a_punk_vacation">Stanley Lewis'</a>
“<a href="http://vinegarsyndrome.com/shop/punk-vacation-bddvd-combo/">Punk Vacation</a>”) to adult film classics (<a href="http://mondoheather.blogspot.com/2014/11/candide-on-speed-pretty-peaches-trilogy.html">Alex DeRenzy</a>'s “<a href="http://vinegarsyndrome.com/shop/pretty-peaches-bddvd-combo/">Pretty Peaches</a>,” <a href="http://mondoheather.blogspot.com/2014/04/seraphim-erotic-lanterns-examination-of.html">Roberta Findlay</a>'s “<a href="http://vinegarsyndrome.com/shop/the-altar-of-lust-angel-on-fire-dvd/">Angel on Fire</a>”), as well
as lurid oddities (Bill Milling's “<a href="http://vinegarsyndrome.com/shop/the-vixens-of-kung-fu-oriental-blue-dvd/">Oriental Blue</a>,” Howard
Perkins' “<a href="http://vinegarsyndrome.com/shop/baby-rosemary-hot-lunch-dvd/">Baby Rosemary,</a>”), they are more than a mere
distribution company. Giving the kind of love and care to prints that
is normally reserved by companies thrice as old and twice as big,
Vinegar Syndrome first come upon my periphery with their Blu-Ray
release of “The Lost Films of <a href="http://vinegarsyndrome.com/shop/the-lost-films-of-herschell-gordon-lewis/">Herschell Gordon Lewis</a>.” Being
someone whose teenage years were spent reading and re-reading and
then reading some more books like Michael Weldon's “The
Psychotronic Video Guide” and Re/Search's “Incredibly Strange
Film Book,” this was a release right after my own heart. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRk0Oc6-cWWGFnrMSJ_K6zldZGS7d_xNYLP3P8C90xFc04h_8ZkQ2cUxMDqqcUr_bC_C5G07aZMmhK4f0znr3ME3F1wNy85g4uxfPxjbGOsGJtF8EO0ws3sBgZ9366w-EtpgCliQZKd-Z3/s1600/ecst2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRk0Oc6-cWWGFnrMSJ_K6zldZGS7d_xNYLP3P8C90xFc04h_8ZkQ2cUxMDqqcUr_bC_C5G07aZMmhK4f0znr3ME3F1wNy85g4uxfPxjbGOsGJtF8EO0ws3sBgZ9366w-EtpgCliQZKd-Z3/s1600/ecst2.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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A simple basic release of such
previously lost H.G. Lewis films like “<a href="http://dangerousminds.net/comments/beyond_blood_feast_and_2000_maniacs_the_lost_films_of_herschell_gordon_lewi">Black Love</a>” and “<a href="http://dangerousminds.net/comments/beyond_blood_feast_and_2000_maniacs_the_lost_films_of_herschell_gordon_lewi">Linda & Abilene</a>,” would have been more than enough. Especially when you
take into account how many a cult film fan had all but given up on
these titles ever surfacing. But, even better, not only did they
surface but on a lush, re-mastered release to boot. It felt like a
gift and it was that key that unlocked for me, the world that is
<a href="http://vinegarsyndrome.com/">Vinegar Syndrome</a>. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAlRTh3vcfu8PQTvpNx9VV_rsgl75A0hGLegyw2724w2I0CuYWsr1EV9UoeCZnHTgLmCwqlUCCwkJ715vYEZ0vJC0k7w1T6vlLQ8MIhEPto-lpVy0C9uR_z4jhersOoeOH8mjZtZCe6lxr/s1600/vlcsnap-00053.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAlRTh3vcfu8PQTvpNx9VV_rsgl75A0hGLegyw2724w2I0CuYWsr1EV9UoeCZnHTgLmCwqlUCCwkJ715vYEZ0vJC0k7w1T6vlLQ8MIhEPto-lpVy0C9uR_z4jhersOoeOH8mjZtZCe6lxr/s1600/vlcsnap-00053.png" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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In keeping with their forward-thinking means of preserving and distributing these fringe gems of the past, <a href="http://vinegarsyndrome.com/">Vinegar Syndrome</a> have started a fundraiser via <a href="https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/vinegarsyndrome-tv-instant-digital-exploitation">Indiegogo</a>. The <a href="https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/vinegarsyndrome-tv-instant-digital-exploitation">VinegarSydrome.TV</a> project is a motion to bridge their incredible library of cult films with the digital age by creating a video-on-demand channel for such a treasure trove of cinema. Given that their title database is going to grow by at least forty more titles this year, it is a undoubtedly a project worthy of any film lover's attention.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjylpBlLsp52IGiHmAk0Y_bHlrx5Jnl-hhYfbZxAvx_kdsSm4IrsEYGs1XNWydd_7VdxLHc03qdAJ1IbkCwJD63VVhCGvAnAyIxmd_znpJI_KWBlHo78YzNMIwvVeWTYH0pSVPzMmN8Cyc1/s1600/objamie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjylpBlLsp52IGiHmAk0Y_bHlrx5Jnl-hhYfbZxAvx_kdsSm4IrsEYGs1XNWydd_7VdxLHc03qdAJ1IbkCwJD63VVhCGvAnAyIxmd_znpJI_KWBlHo78YzNMIwvVeWTYH0pSVPzMmN8Cyc1/s1600/objamie.jpg" height="179" width="320" /></a></div>
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Now....let's
all go to the movies! </div>
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2015 <span class="_Tgc">©</span> Heather Drain </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07563735654661798606noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581822480031284544.post-37375426349869097462015-01-01T12:24:00.001-08:002015-01-01T12:24:40.277-08:00No Such Thing as an Act in Vain: The Golden Age Appreciation Fund<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNHOa2gjlPHNFyG7FRShIsH5KFF2MweIAUPeZrp1l8jp1HU6BVr3A-8OPAQwciH4ChYJ-_4Bf_L01gZarq1MvY_yzanvLSyoL7jCYlD_LHdrmxclN6fZEmTLKWHmlsUvqwa9dQVlwA1FN7/s1600/tgaaflogo.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNHOa2gjlPHNFyG7FRShIsH5KFF2MweIAUPeZrp1l8jp1HU6BVr3A-8OPAQwciH4ChYJ-_4Bf_L01gZarq1MvY_yzanvLSyoL7jCYlD_LHdrmxclN6fZEmTLKWHmlsUvqwa9dQVlwA1FN7/s1600/tgaaflogo.gif" height="94" width="320" /></a></div>
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This world is many things. In the
splendor of life, this existence can be beautiful, harsh, strange,
sad and wondrous. For many artists, life is all of this times nine.
There's no 401K plans and financial instability will more often than
not, be an ever constant presence and yet, it is this blood-born
drive to create, to express, to scream, to whisper and to be seen
that drives you to create even when your more financially pragmatic
loved ones and friends are shaking their heads and asking when are
you going to get a “real job.”
</div>
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The only true shame in being an artist
is the number of those who have dedicated the prime years of their
life to expression, and still end up having to struggle in their
later years. In the 50' and 60's it was the bluesmen who laid out the
blueprints for a large part of modern music and yet, rarely, if ever,
saw a dime for their hard work and toil. All that despite the fact
that there were definitely people making an obscene amount of money
off of them, meanwhile the artists themselves often lived in near
poverty.
</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
There are too many sad variations of
this tale in all the arts, but one area in particular involves the
men and women who took creative, personal and societal risks and
forged new ground in the adult film industry. A sad but true factor
is that our society is still devolved enough to shame consenting
adults whose only “transgression” has been to have been naked and
having a fairly good time on camera. When you think of all of the
real atrocities that happen on this planet every single minute you
breathe, consensual adults having sex should really be nonexistent on
the list of things to be offended by.
</div>
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<br />
</div>
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Luckily, a trio of kind souls have
started a new non-profit entitled <span id="goog_2023990777"></span><a href="http://tgaafund.blogspot.com/">The Golden Age Appreciation Fund<span id="goog_2023990778"></span></a>.
Founded by Mark Murray, whom along with his lovely wife Miranda,
organized the original Golden Age fundraiser back in 2013, Ashley
West whose work, both as a writer, an up and coming documentarian and
the primary force behind the groundbreaking and essential <span id="goog_2023990787"></span><a href="http://www.therialtoreport.com/">The Rialto Report</a> and <a href="http://1976tapesfromcalifornia.blogspot.ca/">Jill Nelson</a>, who is the tremendous author of the
quintessential biography on John Holmes (<a href="http://www.amazon.com/John-Holmes-Life-Measured-Inches/dp/1593933029">A Life Measured in Inches</a>),
as well as the definitive tome on women in Adult film (<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Golden-Goddesses-Legendary-Classic-1968-1985/dp/1593932987/ref=pd_sim_b_6?ie=UTF8&refRID=1EYEV076XHF4SKMGQB8K">Golden Goddesses</a>). These three have come together and created this
organization, in which 100% of the donations goes directly to the
artist that they are aiding.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
In a world where artists and performers
who have earned others millions of dollars and given countless joy to
a world wide audience, they should not have to worry about basic
necessities in their later years. So if you're a fan of the classic
era of this genre or just someone who wants to support artists who
are having to go through the harder aspects of life, please check out
the <a href="http://tgaafund.blogspot.com/">Golden Age Appreciation Fund</a>. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Copyright 2015 Heather Drain </div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07563735654661798606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581822480031284544.post-73061326161987298982014-12-30T16:05:00.001-08:002014-12-30T16:05:02.848-08:00I Love the Dead: Jorg Buttgereit's NEKROMANTIK<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikgxU5oDLP456zR-iIeVxutCSW70p3KotXts-GGnELtaxznhTQ8vHQLndVR-MFqXswe-kmPccZ0JhWVtE1PuDtfFEktoWttriBgdA6NWwqOpNRx0x5QRWHLH3GZwBDH-IOQL6HyKFNbuJS/s1600/nerkomantikart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikgxU5oDLP456zR-iIeVxutCSW70p3KotXts-GGnELtaxznhTQ8vHQLndVR-MFqXswe-kmPccZ0JhWVtE1PuDtfFEktoWttriBgdA6NWwqOpNRx0x5QRWHLH3GZwBDH-IOQL6HyKFNbuJS/s1600/nerkomantikart.jpg" height="320" width="224" /></a></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It takes a hardy artistic soul to
explore cultural taboos with a flat-out bare-knuckles, wild Turk type
of approach. But it takes an even hardier (and often, beautifully
mad!) artistic soul to incorporate comedy with said culturally taboo
exploration. Ladies and gents, let me pull back the curtain and
introduce you to <a href="http://www.joergbuttgereit.com/english/home/">Jorg Buttgerei</a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null">t's</a> 1988 underground classic,
<a href="http://cultepics.com/new_releases.html">NEKROMANTIK</a>. It's not the first film to delve into the topic of
romancing the dead, since an earlier example of that would be the
Lyle Waggoner wonder <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Love_Me_Deadly">LOVE ME DEADLY</a> from 1973, but it is truly unlike
anything made past, present and future. Necrophilia or not.
</div>
<br />Looking like a cross between a scratchy handwritten note and
bathroom graffiti, the film opens with, “Warning! Some of this film
may be seen as 'grossly' offensive & should not be shown to
minors!!!” That kind of lurid hullabaloo can only mean that you are
either in for a fun smear-on-your-soul kind of dark ride or a just
bad carnival ride. Mercifully, it is the former. After that, the
actual opening begins with a woman peeing by the side of the road at
night. As she is relieving herself, her flowery panties splayed, her
male companion starts yelling at her from the driver's side to hurry
up. Getting back in the car, they almost get hit by one car and then
as he starts to bitch more about her small bladder, it's time to cue
up the Bloodrock since they get in a nasty and very fatal car wreck.
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The beginning credits roll over the
highly gruesome crash site, including the woman being not so neatly
bisected and her partner's eye dangling from his newly empty socket.
Soon the J.S.A. (Joe's Streetcleaning Agency) show up to tidy up the
accident scene. The newest member of the crew, Robert (Daktari
Lorenz), despite constantly irritating his team's leader, quietly
enjoys his job. To the extent of bringing home little mementos---this
time around being the driver's now completely severed eyeball. In a
beautifully composed sequence, we get to see Robert, in his Ed
Gein-meets-junkie-esque pit apartment, meticulously prepare a jar of
(presumably) embalming fluid for him to place his newest acquisition
in. There's a great shot of some of his previous souvenirs, including
a hand, some organ meat and what looks like a fetus. (Hey, it beats
the hell out of Precious Moments figurines.)</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
He's greeted by his girlfriend, Bettie
(Beatrice M.) who shares Robert's <i>enthusiasm</i> <span style="font-style: normal;">for
the dead and their assorted bits. Later on, she takes a bath in some
especially ruddy looking water while the sounds of an academic
discussion involving fear, desensitization and even, briefly, the
video nasties, plays in the background. The sound is emanating from
Robert's television. As fear and the confrontation of it continues
on, it triggers a particular troubling flashback for him,
inter-cutting footage of a live rabbit being killed and promptly
skinned with Robert performing an autopsy of sorts on a corpse and
removing some lard-type gunk out of the incision. Adding to the no
fun ambiance is the quite brilliant white noise soundtrack. The whole
sequence is hard to watch but so well put together that it puts you
through a seesaw effect of compelling and wanting to look away from
your screen.</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />An interstitial
sequence involving apple picking and the dangers of doing so near a
drunken German redneck who is listening to military-style music and
trying to kill innocent birds plays out. (Here's a hint. It doesn't
end too well for our intrepid apple picker.) The J.S.A. are called on
an unrelated case, this time involving removing a long decomposed
body out of a pond. (One of Robert's teammates remarks, “Picked a
good day to go swimming!”) Everyone goes home and Robert's boss
tells him to take over the wheel, leaving him alone with the husked
out, waterlogged corpse. Faster than you can throw on Alice Cooper's
“Cold Ethyl,” Robert brings the body home, to a very delighted
Bettie. It has been said that necessity is the mother of all
invention and as Robert saws off part of a pipe, the truth of this
old saying has never been brighter. Attaching the metal form of a
luscious apparatus to their new “friend,” Bettie makes sure to
sheath it with a condom before one of the strangest menage-a-trois'
ever to be committed to film occurs. It is, despite all of its tawdry
eyeball licking and rot-goo glory, strangely arty and as tasteful as
a three-way with a drowned corpse is going to be. Also, I absolutely
dare you not to get what I am going to call “Love Theme from
Nekromantik” out of your head. It's a strangely sweet tune that is
more befitting of a chaste lovers holding hands in a field than
rubbing your naughty bits up on a putrefied body. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcdqk_i1VQZjjG3T-18cFW-ZADELC2pYHrZxSzpiSphB6RdsnkTnx3MyHL_6kaoMQf9Bjp2C8wxadVdirBIxtVBJaYqKRPFWFW4DMqO-Mh_ju5JOQL7uFKrMZ1ZRtPXZJI7vPmP32mTZdF/s1600/nekrobeatric.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcdqk_i1VQZjjG3T-18cFW-ZADELC2pYHrZxSzpiSphB6RdsnkTnx3MyHL_6kaoMQf9Bjp2C8wxadVdirBIxtVBJaYqKRPFWFW4DMqO-Mh_ju5JOQL7uFKrMZ1ZRtPXZJI7vPmP32mTZdF/s1600/nekrobeatric.jpg" height="221" width="320" /></a></div>
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The afterglow is
nice but things soon deteriorate when Robert loses his job and
Bettie, worried about where they will find <i>the next one</i>, ends
up leaving him. Everyone has a breaking point and for Robert,
Bettie's terse departure is it. His path of self-destruction leads
him from drinking to killing a cat (in a mercifully faked scene) and
inevitably, murder. There's also a hilarious dream sequence involving
a lovely maiden in white and playing a game of hot potato with a
severed head. All of this leads him to one fluid and anguished
climax, which I dare not spoil here. You just really need to see this
for yourself, not to mention the sweet little twist ending.
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For being only 75
minutes, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Nekromantik-Blu-ray-Beatrice-M/dp/B00MNQO3DY/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1419983398&sr=8-1&keywords=nekromantik">NEKROMANTIK</a> packs a lot into its fairly short running time.
Having first read about it back when I was in junior high and managed
to find an issue of the long defunct magazine, Film Threat Video, I
thought I knew what kind of ride I would be in for. The associated
still, a shot of Beatrice M. cuddling up to her long dead amour,
flanked by a picture of Charles Manson on the wall, backed my
assumption up. But NEKROMANTIK is more than just an extreme tale of
the love that is hopefully outlawed in your home country. Sure, it
has plenty of inventive uses of gore, ooze, goo and outre imagery to
horrify your family and delight your more hardy friends. But if
NEKROMANTIK was simply just another gross-out gore film, it would not
have the level of notoriety that it does today.
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For starters,
despite its extremely DIY origins, complete with being originally
shot on Super 8mm and taking around two years to complete, the film
is incredibly well made. There is some great camera work that is
utilized with a keen eye on composition, especially during the
sequence when Robert finds out Bettie has left him. Another visually remarkable scene is when Robert and Bettie sit down to eat dinner. As they smile and eat quietly in the bright primary red room, the film keeps cutting back to the squalid gray of where their lover is hanging on the wall. It's a truly rich juxtaposition. Equaling the
cinematography is the editing, which is tight and rhythmic when it
needs to be. There's some especially great editing during Robert's
meltdown, where the film is cut back and forth between him murdering
the stray cat and burning a picture of Bettie. Then there's the
soundtrack, which is terrific and ranges from schmaltzy love tones to
industrial white noise. The fact that one of the composers is
credited as “John Boy Walton” makes it all the better. The acting
is fun with both Daktari Lorenz (who is also credited as one of the
composers) and Beatrice M. being especially good as the young,
attractive and damaged necrophiliacs in love. There could not have been better casting. Also, keep an eye out for director Buttgereit as one of Robert's co-workers at the J.S.A.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Director Jorg Buttgereit with the film's love interest.</td></tr>
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Buttgereit, who had
made a number of film shorts (including <a href="http://www.joergbuttgereit.com/english/films/features/hot-love/">HOT LOVE</a>, whose poster you
can see in the film when Robert goes to a local movie theater) before
his feature film debut with NEKROMANTIK, manages to do the
near-impossible and deftly include both a fabulously twisted sense of
humor as well as genuine horror. Merging the worlds of comedy and
horror can be tricky, which is why most films that have tried are
usually terrible. (There are exceptions, but that is a different
article!) Buttgereit handles it like a director twice his age and
three times as experienced. (He was only in his early 20's when he
started shooting NEKROMANTIK.) The fact that you have this humor
juxtaposed with gruesome imagery and a subject matter that is
automatically going to put a lot of viewers in an extremely
uncomfortable head space is borderline Artaud-like. It is a queasy
but needed combination. It's healthy. After all, art can only hurt
you if you let it.
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Formerly available
via Film Threat Video and Barrel Entertainment, NEKROMANTIK has found a new home in the US via
<a href="http://cultepics.com/">Cult Epics</a>. Thanks to them, the film is now available in a
definitive edition of the film and on Blu Ray to boot! This release
includes both a HD transfer of the original Super 8mm negative, as
well as the “Grindhouse” version that was taken from the film's
sole 35mm print. The former features the film looking as crisp as
Super 8mm footage shot in the mid-80's is ever going to look and the
latter features the film looking especially gritty and murky.
Interestingly enough, one of the disc's extras includes Buttgereit
introducing this version at a film festival and noting that it was
his favorite since it looked more “dirty.” Which is pretty apt.
In addition to these two versions, there is also a director's
commentary, a “Making Of” featurette, the aforementioned HOT LOVE
short and the gem itself, the film's soundtrack. It's a beautiful
release of a still very much controversial and striking film.</div>
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<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
One of the most
inspirational lessons that one can take from NEKROMANTIK (and there's
a sentence I have always wanted to type out) is that it is proof that
you can be a film school reject with limited resources and finances
and still make something that is potent enough for people to still be
shocked, repulsed and entertained by twenty plus years down the road.
With the right vision, tenacity and attention to technical film
details that you don't need a lot of money for, like good editing,
framing and music, you can create something unforgettable too. Even
better is that Buttgereit is still working on film to this day,
including a segment on the upcoming anthology film <a href="http://www.german-angst.com/">GERMAN ANGST</a>. Like
any true fringe film, it's not for everyone but if it was, where
would the fun be in that? Let other people watch the latest codified,
bloated boring-as-beige Hollywood epic. Thanks to film distributors
like Cult Epics and artists like Buttgereit, we have better
alternatives.</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/Hq5Yf-9ec90" width="425"></iframe> </div>
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<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Copyright 2014 Heather Drain</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07563735654661798606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581822480031284544.post-27862873520550194192014-11-29T17:15:00.000-08:002014-11-29T19:12:11.607-08:00Candide on Speed: The Pretty Peaches Trilogy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Even in the wild wild west days of
adult filmmaking, few directors were as bold and frankly, at times,
batshit, as Alex de Renzy. Outre is a classier and equally accurate
word to use, with de Renzy's work being interesting, talented,
sleazy, exploitative and rarely boring. A fine example of this is his
“Pretty Peaches” trilogy, starting with 1978's original <a href="http://vinegarsyndrome.com/shop/pretty-peaches-bddvd-combo/">“Pretty Peaches.”</a>
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If one was to go by the original poster
art, featuring a lifelike drawing of the film's star, Desiree
Cousteau, looking like a curvy Kewpie doll in a cream colored teddy,
you could easily assume that “Pretty Peaches” was another
light-as-air adult sex comedy. Which is sort of true, but then again,
this is a comedy by Alex de Renzy, so keep that remembrance sealed
tight in your cranium.</div>
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The film begins with our titular
Peaches (Cousteau) driving in a jeep and heading towards her father,
Hugh's (John Leslie), wedding to her lovely, new stepmother, Lilly
(Flower). Peaches, after several shots of hard liquor, gets jealous
of not getting her daddy's attention, and she drives off in a huff.
In fact, she leaves in such a huff that she ends up having an
accident out in the country, leaving her physically unharmed but
unconscious. Whether or not you believe in constructs like luck or
fate, you will soon realize that if such things do exist, then our
heroine has apparently done something so hideous on a cosmic level
that she ends up being put through a series of misadventures that
will start to read less like Penthouse Forum and more like the
Personals in Nugget. Don't believe me? Keep reading. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John Leslie & Flower. The happy newlyweds.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Desiree Cousteau as Peaches. Looking none too happy.</td></tr>
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While she is passed out, two young cads
who had seen Peaches earlier at the gas station while dealing with a
seat sniffing gas station clerk, stumble upon our beautiful and
knocked out heroine. Kid (Joey Silvera) and his friend at first try
to help. However, despite his friend being nervous, Kid immediately
starts feeling her up and quickly graduates to mounting Peaches, who
awakens right after the attack. In addition to essentially being
raped back into consciousness, she also has a wicked case of amnesia.
And if you're picturing the old school Conan O'Brien character, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GwSsMMou_Hc">Clive Clemmons</a>, waving the devil horns and playing electric guitar while a
British voice screams out “Inappropriate!!!”, then give your
brain a high five because it is so right.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Joey Silvera (Kid) & friend. </td></tr>
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After the two try to run off with the
amnesiac’s van, she ends up tagging along and temporarily moving in
with them. That scenario alone sounds like the most demented 70's
sitcom plot to have emerged out of the first several stratus of Hell.
Still riddled with amnesia, she tries to find work, which leads to
her getting an enema that is the Fleet equivalent to Vesuvius, in an
often-censored scene, as well as being violated in a lesbian
gang-bang that plays out like a Mack Sennett riot with gyrations,
genitals and one harrowingly sized dildo. Things get slightly
brighter when she connects with a seemingly nice shrink (Paul
Thomas.) They make tender love and then, as a romantic gesture, he
brings her to one insane-o swing party which quickly turns into a
huge oily mess of bodies. Little does Peaches know that daddy Hugh
and his new bride will bet there too. Will she get her memory back
before something really life-altering and de Renzian happens?
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“Pretty Peaches” pulls off some
sort of strange alchemy where despite all of the depravity you are
witnessing, the tone never veers off its screwball comedy path. It is
way lighter than it should be, which make it all the more
compelling. A perfect example of this is when Kid sends Peaches to
meet his “Uncle Percy,” who is a “Doctor.” This Doctor drags
her into a hidden bathroom and after borderline accosting her, he
offers her a strange solution for amnesia. All in the form of an
enema bag. Peaches immediately says “N.O! No.” His response?
“Don't you want to be somebody?” It is that blurred line where
hilarity and damaged have the most awkward make-out session ever.
Even better are some of the performances, from the eternally solid
John Leslie to the underrated Flower, but this is Desiree Cousteau's
show all the way. Her sweet face and curvy body rendered her a Betty
Boop for the 70's, but with an “I Love Lucy” styled delivery.
Nowhere is that more defined than in “Pretty Peaches.” Cousteau's
performance is fun to watch and meringue-lite enough to keep you from
calling your own sleazy-shrink.
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Siobhan Hunter as Peaches in Pretty Peaches 2</td></tr>
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Little under 10 years later, de Renzy
returned to this singular universe with, what else, <a href="http://vinegarsyndrome.com/shop/pretty-peaches-ii-pretty-peaches-iii-dvd/">“Pretty Peaches2.”</a> In lieu of a continual storyline from the first film, the cycle
is rebooted with young Peaches (Siobahn Hunter) having a sexual
curiosity that is matched only by her pie-eyed naivete. Her
domineering mother, Eunice (Tracey Adams, who looks as much like a
“Eunice” as Bryan Ferry looks like a “Bubba”), is not much of
help, with her making incidental cockblocking a borderline
profession. This starts with Peaches jock boyfriend Tommy (Peter
North), whom Eunice ends up forcing to have sex with her via knife
point. (The lady does not mess around!)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7V62UHhKoAGxX7AILkfLE4LqVunbOh3A4QBGrpWPcSgfO38H-Y3iXYeHecyYzvc7KCe1JLrPkYG3rL3jdVucjod4d4GEDZg_UebzqlgkP-vgYkUbXiahwKv7iyHO3rOA9t-IccKuF_9mY/s1600/vlcsnap-00077.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7V62UHhKoAGxX7AILkfLE4LqVunbOh3A4QBGrpWPcSgfO38H-Y3iXYeHecyYzvc7KCe1JLrPkYG3rL3jdVucjod4d4GEDZg_UebzqlgkP-vgYkUbXiahwKv7iyHO3rOA9t-IccKuF_9mY/s1600/vlcsnap-00077.png" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tracey Adams as Peaches' Mother</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Beyond frustrated, Peaches goes to have
a heart to heart with her father, Stanley (Hershell Savage). He
encourages her to go out and explore the world on her own. She does
just that and while hitchhiking, gets picked up by a trucker (Buck
Adams.) But before she can lose her flower to a man who probably
reeks of black beauties and Red Sovine tapes, a door-to-door hooker
(!) (Jeanette Littledove) pops by and they quickly start to knock
boots. Peaches watches with rapt fascination but never gets directly
involved, which might be the result of the one synapse in her pretty
but well ventilated head that dictates common sense. Losing your
virginity in a three-way with a strange trucker and the no-tell-motel
version of a lot lizard is an ill-advised thing, not unlike having
unprotected carny sex while a bible salesman watches. (Now there's a
movie for you!)</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Peaches soon reaches her destination of
San Francisco, where she stays at the house of her Uncle Howard (Ron
Jeremy), his newish wife (Ashley Welles) and his dorky son (Billy
Dee.) This side of her father's family are all WAY too familiar with
each other, to the point where she would be safer back with the
trucker and his dollar-a-dance hooker. While staying there, she meets
both her uncle's exotic maid, Crystal (Melissa Melendez) and the
superbly eccentric “Granny” (Jamie Gillis.) Yes, you read that
correctly. Jamie Gillis is in grandma drag and yes, it is as wrong
and amazing as you think it would be. Granny has Peaches don a skimpy
teddy that is all the rage in France while schooling her on cleaning
techniques. Soon, the big bad wolf comes out and after telling
Peaches to keep the fact that she's a horny dude a secret, though no
one on the “outside” is aware, Granny shows her the art of
physical love.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG5x0AKZw4Fj95toxDxyjXuFKUE1Tn9QWWBjUQq-NJKZO0_wzzPEsSHiK_0_ZzDBw8qstSzQGXtRahbXf0dJ95F4WhUMT6RQ1ulNHrVbZp35gQkRzcuUnBcZynJ3XkDNDTKJY-B5qdFwkB/s1600/vlcsnap-00087.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG5x0AKZw4Fj95toxDxyjXuFKUE1Tn9QWWBjUQq-NJKZO0_wzzPEsSHiK_0_ZzDBw8qstSzQGXtRahbXf0dJ95F4WhUMT6RQ1ulNHrVbZp35gQkRzcuUnBcZynJ3XkDNDTKJY-B5qdFwkB/s1600/vlcsnap-00087.png" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Buck Adams and Janette Littledove</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig9sFM0QcBT24F_rvzLu5ebRICGNbKCn6ljjz1ljRBzbm80ZJ-DykjRf909nBJ_i0RIGk7p6tTRMGxlKArq3fT1CVbysd-4WWIbC1OMaw39WLZhqwMLkFZ_MSxsxornIk9qJOJ_tTO4mY7/s1600/vlcsnap-00092.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig9sFM0QcBT24F_rvzLu5ebRICGNbKCn6ljjz1ljRBzbm80ZJ-DykjRf909nBJ_i0RIGk7p6tTRMGxlKArq3fT1CVbysd-4WWIbC1OMaw39WLZhqwMLkFZ_MSxsxornIk9qJOJ_tTO4mY7/s1600/vlcsnap-00092.png" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The wrongest family dinner EVER</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
After that, Peaches ends up in
Chinatown, as her parents go to Uncle Howard's. While trying to find
their daughter, they end up getting sidetracked by the ick-ick-icky
family dynamic. Crystal ends up leaving and taking Peaches to “The
Master” (also Ron Jeremy), where more education of the DNA
exchanging occurs. But there is one more surprise in store for our
heroine, all in an unlikely and yet, oddly expected form.<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_b73wG1T-62IIBFJd8EmxOMD3snvJxmh1xAhQyO5IFSN2z3wkjF8RC0iPGnyL85jkHXKFvmzmY-jF1P0j3LrKgqU8vl3Gjq5mTCBhvHj1JpAs9M-bOFZrwFKS3MQTlyl8QWbhOlILWqwH/s1600/vlcsnap-00109.png" height="180" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Granny....what big eyes you have...Jamie Gillis as Granny.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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</div>
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</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKsDRUR-LiJ5Oxn4BbldRgGKzZO7M0TxxhKw89_u5SWutUDPtZ1xy82f-19Vh-BPU09mfx-beu2DOCVanGEx_vvHJg7qtv4ck4YIsvxew2edsUCLlRO_D9sOEJUgFEykDWTPWUeiBGtH4S/s1600/vlcsnap-00121.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKsDRUR-LiJ5Oxn4BbldRgGKzZO7M0TxxhKw89_u5SWutUDPtZ1xy82f-19Vh-BPU09mfx-beu2DOCVanGEx_vvHJg7qtv4ck4YIsvxew2edsUCLlRO_D9sOEJUgFEykDWTPWUeiBGtH4S/s1600/vlcsnap-00121.png" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Melissa Melendez as the mysterious Crystal with Peaches. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
While “Pretty Peaches 2” lacks the
screwball-comedy-from-Hell vibe of the original, it does make up for
it with some strange plot decisions and terrific camera work. This is
one well-lensed film and on top of that, there are some good
performances here, namely from Savage, Adams and especially, Gillis,
who completely steals the show as the lascivious “Granny.” One
would be hard pressed to think of a better “big bad wolf” than
Jamie Gillis. Tracy Adams, who was often underused as an actress, has
such a strong presence that she easily overshadows Siobahn Hunter.
(Whom she was only older than by about 6 years. What is this?
Hollywood?) Hunter does look lovely here and in the spirit of
fairness, it's not like she is given much to do other than look
pretty, bat her wide eyes and get busy. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsKZyuN6ioeS7I1TegTB9RSAyUvR7_o8DYpjLynowFk4wJeDH2rrNVEfN9A166_uV5W-sy_FPLNIr2QXM_R0ULcfIMj2MRf2uHTHxceVg5Kf8ABq5nGdPE2hr73F4juHryxYqqB7EmKF9z/s1600/vlcsnap-00129.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsKZyuN6ioeS7I1TegTB9RSAyUvR7_o8DYpjLynowFk4wJeDH2rrNVEfN9A166_uV5W-sy_FPLNIr2QXM_R0ULcfIMj2MRf2uHTHxceVg5Kf8ABq5nGdPE2hr73F4juHryxYqqB7EmKF9z/s1600/vlcsnap-00129.png" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
DeRenzy ended up having one more
“Peaches” film in him and in 1989, he directed <a href="http://vinegarsyndrome.com/shop/pretty-peaches-ii-pretty-peaches-iii-dvd/">“Pretty Peaches3: The Quest.”</a> Returning from the last film is Tracey Adams as
Peaches' mother, though her daughter is played this time around by
super-curvy Keisha. For all intents and purposes, pretend that the
last film didn't happen since this version of Peaches, while equally
naïve as her predecessor is less concerned about sex and more
focused on her spiritual journey. (The titular “Quest.”) The fact
alone that this is an Alex de Renzy film dealing with spirituality is
pretty astounding.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Case in point, after being disturbed by
her daughter having strange and erotic dreams, including one where
two men claw through several pairs of tights and hosiery to get to a
friend of Peaches, her mother arranges an appointment with a
therapist. With some vague echoes of the original Peaches and her
luck with salacious doctors, this incarnation goes to meet Dr.
Thunderpussy (Rachel Ryan), who does exactly to her patient what you
would expect someone with such a name would do. (Was Doctor
LightningCervix too subtle?) </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2hNLqvpyvYKo03AyikE137euAoAcwURsOdet-hMElatA4JsaJT1oFDue2acEQAw72WqAwki5wN5jlNM2M1969rUjDSR8ZRHi_ZPomBZ8JwldyXuqNUkHpG44eB-CN8f-dHSUu7_hMLNwV/s1600/vlcsnap-00132.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2hNLqvpyvYKo03AyikE137euAoAcwURsOdet-hMElatA4JsaJT1oFDue2acEQAw72WqAwki5wN5jlNM2M1969rUjDSR8ZRHi_ZPomBZ8JwldyXuqNUkHpG44eB-CN8f-dHSUu7_hMLNwV/s1600/vlcsnap-00132.png" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGlaTDkN92bqd3IyAjCfJmsn6GqnxNzN_fafZSpiPZ9OCwZr_QZ_k7BBl7o4DG8mqlQFadVfhX3JXAmXytGIe-0E2-PhIJvBBeatMCeoLVhMwoFeF5q3Glfd1-jyxmlKQD5c6kQ7FCRplJ/s1600/vlcsnap-00136.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGlaTDkN92bqd3IyAjCfJmsn6GqnxNzN_fafZSpiPZ9OCwZr_QZ_k7BBl7o4DG8mqlQFadVfhX3JXAmXytGIe-0E2-PhIJvBBeatMCeoLVhMwoFeF5q3Glfd1-jyxmlKQD5c6kQ7FCRplJ/s1600/vlcsnap-00136.png" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
However advantageous, it is this
encounter that sends our heroine on her journey. Will young Peaches
find what she is looking for or only get used and chewed up in the
process? “Pretty Peaches 3,” while not quite as well shot as the
2<sup>nd</sup> one or as bizarro as the first, does stand out for a
number of reasons. For starters, it's a weirder animal, with some
fairly funny and acidic commentary on religion in general. Whether it
is a sleazy, Swaggart-like televangelist (more on him in a minute),
lesbian “nuns,” a yuppie New Age huckster (played to perfection by Jon Martin) or a Ray Ban wearing,
“omm-ing” phony-guru, there is little chance for redemption or
personal growth in this opportunistic world. The film's surprise
ending is further proof of this. It would be heavy stuff if this film
wasn't so goony and fun.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjKDaQcYjFdHxXN5wyAGC3haw94WU0QNvZ_70IPk0GKMPFaUMmW13erpWrcB0uEncHfvuDbVGEtylX51KvcZy6BNYPnZSObiGL45QajXU-vFH22YLH7UrkfR11hnI7xsKARvk4vsXgMeWe/s1600/vlcsnap-00152.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjKDaQcYjFdHxXN5wyAGC3haw94WU0QNvZ_70IPk0GKMPFaUMmW13erpWrcB0uEncHfvuDbVGEtylX51KvcZy6BNYPnZSObiGL45QajXU-vFH22YLH7UrkfR11hnI7xsKARvk4vsXgMeWe/s1600/vlcsnap-00152.png" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lesbian Nuns....sort of.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg27fq0HU9n1Mgu4RnofbKFDSyjmmE76dFCd_HoVxwZDyYAVA_he15dAo5VqKmRPOxagTQBqEOmmQm5ZG01Iz28tLbj63pnffV_TX9LhEcF07BylhfhvfoGPQpzq2nc-ClJYnyWhkRmakXZ/s1600/vlcsnap-00165.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg27fq0HU9n1Mgu4RnofbKFDSyjmmE76dFCd_HoVxwZDyYAVA_he15dAo5VqKmRPOxagTQBqEOmmQm5ZG01Iz28tLbj63pnffV_TX9LhEcF07BylhfhvfoGPQpzq2nc-ClJYnyWhkRmakXZ/s1600/vlcsnap-00165.png" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The fantastic Jon Martin in intense yuppie-guru mode.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1iG7_-8Y9MCPg_Xw63GX_N6uGLAdnTfEVPn21jMYR91uKLxr4wWSmw4NO5gBZFgCEqJZyiElUq_e2iIo5F4ROVVk0pFsoOnsOOM0Pl1lIzA5WSZgyv115PFURaJMQ6VnuApwy29sD5DZJ/s1600/vlcsnap-00144.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh6Xuv9zGlYuB6-9t9W5T5N2-_oaxrAkOWscjveuPpZFolF-gIzoIOX1xO9S3uXzuE2MxHLm62yXxfBEJ61rxza-VacSkMk66Auv6CGG-QGQ7zsQKuj4tdRTF_pppFz2XOtIT3HxqmnnIK/s1600/vlcsnap-00175.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh6Xuv9zGlYuB6-9t9W5T5N2-_oaxrAkOWscjveuPpZFolF-gIzoIOX1xO9S3uXzuE2MxHLm62yXxfBEJ61rxza-VacSkMk66Auv6CGG-QGQ7zsQKuj4tdRTF_pppFz2XOtIT3HxqmnnIK/s1600/vlcsnap-00175.png" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mike Horner....Ommmming</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Speaking of fun, for starters there is
Jamie Gillis as Reverend Billy Bob, crying on air when he's not
running from the authorities or getting sidetracked by pleasures of
the more Earthy variety. The image of Gillis in a white suit that is
way too tight and wearing a cross the size of one of Rod Rooter's
wind-chime-sized medallions is one that borders on the
life-affirming. It is one of those moments where you can say, “You
had me at Jamie Gillis playing a televangelist.” </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD5i4Q112ceVu8ao-lIRTytLroaG_WMm5GFMC-S0AWJXWELYDgE_sWhd8vTK1sc-aaHtGZI-fNDUGHTJ46cDm3hT2nrfvhwlZIYUF6jnMok8popO036Qh2mPN7V26hkBP3zx-rn9k-g6Ia/s1600/vlcsnap-00141.png" height="240" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jamie Gillis as a teary eyed Televangelist</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Keisha is surprisingly likable and warm
in the title role, making her seem less cartoony than Siobahn
Hunter's version. (Though Cousteau's Lucille Ball-esque performance
is still miles ahead of both.) In some ways, she has more in common
with the Cousteau version, since sex is something she is not so much
seeking out as it is something that happens to find her. In a non-sex
role, Jack Baker, whose resume ranged from “Happy Days” and
“Kentucky Fried Movie” to “New Wave Hookers,” pops up, making
the film instantly even better. Baker was an incredibly talented
actor who really deserved a bigger career then he received but he
always brightened up everything he was in. This is no exception. Mike
Horner also gets a special nod for being really, really funny. I
would also be remiss if I didn't mention film legend Richard Pacheco
turning up in a small non-sex cameo role as the most glorious wino in
recent memory. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKn3JTFYIWyizwzPN_SvFLzhkK20cztN6qikPD6e1-rSGfmx33cxIyjLkWC0PnuXa_uySzB124SWSRdeXot4OfyWYx3uDhDVBzhMT_Kv42_57aRNqHRnQr2d9tozton-4Jk9Gmvgw-Vytv/s1600/vlcsnap-00180.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKn3JTFYIWyizwzPN_SvFLzhkK20cztN6qikPD6e1-rSGfmx33cxIyjLkWC0PnuXa_uySzB124SWSRdeXot4OfyWYx3uDhDVBzhMT_Kv42_57aRNqHRnQr2d9tozton-4Jk9Gmvgw-Vytv/s1600/vlcsnap-00180.png" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Peaches (Keisha) meets the world's most awesome wino (the ebullient Richard Pacheco)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The original “Pretty Peaches” was
only available uncut via gray market sources for years in the US, but
thanks to the untiring and dedicated folks at Vinegar Syndrome, it
is, along with the two sequels, are available, uncut and looking
better than ever. The original is now on Blu Ray and has some
incredible supplements, including rare footage of an interview with
de Renzy himself. There are also some great trailers, featuring one
of my own personal favorites ever, “Babyface 2.” If this means
that <a href="http://vinegarsyndrome.com/">Vinegar Syndrome</a> are releasing it too, you know I will be doing
my own personal happy dance. (For the best article written on that
title, please check out <a href="http://www.goregoregirl.com/">Gore-Gore Girl's</a> fabulous article <a href="http://www.goregoregirl.com/2009/12/gillies-1-babyface-2-1986.html?zx=9b47981db340b3d6">right here</a>.) As for the trilogy itself, it is a fun adult peek into
cinematic chaos bordering on the surreal. It's not for everyone but
if you are that person that is open to it, you will love it.
</div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
Copyright 2014 Heather Drain</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07563735654661798606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581822480031284544.post-37765447087731131592014-11-10T12:00:00.001-08:002014-11-10T12:00:25.464-08:00Say it Again! Mad Magazine Presents Up the Academy!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE-FqNPEfGt9DY4_bLlk5t9ewqkSDn8WE9SOolpGyWmXUbk9ZQWZsLa2KLjpLLtLzsgLzxrUPL88LTtMcO0zzdW32YJxk-v4f_sJcP-E7l7nF8TSdpo-qorYGWAPU06y2j4mIF45TDdKQk/s1600/UTASoundttrackcover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE-FqNPEfGt9DY4_bLlk5t9ewqkSDn8WE9SOolpGyWmXUbk9ZQWZsLa2KLjpLLtLzsgLzxrUPL88LTtMcO0zzdW32YJxk-v4f_sJcP-E7l7nF8TSdpo-qorYGWAPU06y2j4mIF45TDdKQk/s1600/UTASoundttrackcover.jpg" height="320" width="315" /></a></div>
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There is something so undeniably
captivating about a magnificent disaster. It's the same kind of
charisma and fear that you see in riots and car crashes. One part
horror and one part pure human magnetic curiosity, both coming
together to make you turn your head and aim your gaze straight into
the wreckage. This is everything I felt and more when I realized that
I wanted to, scratch that, <i>needed</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
to see the 1980 Robert Downey Sr. film, Mad Magazine Presents Up the
Academy. </span>
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It all started when
I picked up a pristine copy of the vinyl soundtrack at a local flea
market about a couple of months back. Unlike more famous soundtracks
of early 80's comedies, I was shocked at how crazy solid it was. Case
in point, Fast Times at Ridgemont High. Sure, it had Oingo Boingo, but
it also had Jackson Browne and Jimmy Buffet. Up the Academy, on the
other hand, had Blondie, Ian Hunter and The Modern Lovers. Even the
Sammy Hagar track is pretty good. After playing the album dozens of
times, it planted the seed of car crash compulsion. First I
researched it. I had known beforehand that the film had bombed at the
box office and there were some kind of legal actions related to it.</div>
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This was an
understatement.</div>
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The combination of
a live action film tied with one of the greatest and most irreverent
humor mags to have ever come out of these shores was a brilliant
idea....at least on paper. Add to the mix a brilliant underground
film maverick in the form of the man that gave the world Putney
Swope, Pound and Greaser's Palace, Robert Downey Sr and it's a no
brainer. Again, on paper. Throw in a mixed cast that included some
young newcomers as well as notable actors like Antonio Fargas,
Barbara Bach, Tom Poston and the eternally marvelous Ron Leibman as
the main villain along with the aforementioned killer soundtrack and
it was sure to be an ace in the deck. So what went wrong?</div>
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The first cracks
appeared back n the pre-production process, when the script was sent
to Mad publisher Bill Gaines. According to an interview that appeared
in the Comics Journal, he liked the script as a whole but found some
things offensive and requested that certain changes be made. However
the changes that Gaines was promised never happened and the end
result ended up muddled. To the extent that he ended up paying
$30,000 for Warner Brothers to remove any references to Mad,
including the appearance of Alfred E. Neuman, on both the cable
television print, as well the domestic home video cut. Mad even did a
parody called <a href="http://technicolordreams70.files.wordpress.com/2010/04/mad_throw_up_the_academy-12.jpg">“Mad Magazine Resents Throw Up the Academy.”</a> Adding
further to the hot mess factor was actor Ron Leibman, who is the
biggest adult character in the film, requesting his name be removed
from the film and any related promotional materials.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirEBDKYW9VQDLvTtMooozpkY_sN4_kBQAo2KK2FqK-B_MTqyAD2fWvyGIEBdiySd_0VRzcJAP26BYV1TYlSvErbXX7BTmaB-Rfs-vKcG9iGQyRup97mm569bTWqdN5O0dHh8s8-7wJeJMm/s1600/vlcsnap-00064.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirEBDKYW9VQDLvTtMooozpkY_sN4_kBQAo2KK2FqK-B_MTqyAD2fWvyGIEBdiySd_0VRzcJAP26BYV1TYlSvErbXX7BTmaB-Rfs-vKcG9iGQyRup97mm569bTWqdN5O0dHh8s8-7wJeJMm/s1600/vlcsnap-00064.png" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-style: normal;">So,
knowing all of this </span><i>before</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
going into the film, I was prepared for the worst. Like Fraternity
Vacation bad. However, the end result, while admittedly uneven, is
not the worst thing in the world. The plot centers on three kids
whom, due to assorted delinquent behavior, are sent to the Weinberg
Military Academy. It's there that they encounter the motley crew of
academic faculty, that include a blind barber, a pederast dance
instructor (Tom Poston !?) and a weapons expert whose radiant and
extremely tan d</span><span lang="en"><span style="font-style: normal;">écolletage
</span></span><span style="font-style: normal;">belongs to Barbara
Bach, sporting the weirdest accent that sounds like Cat on a Tin Roof
with a dash of </span>Perini Scleroso. The film's real star and the
thorn in our young protagonists' side is one Major Vaughn Liceman
(Ron Leibman).
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Liceman, a former student of Weinberg
and happy participant in the My Lai Massacre (yes, that is part of a
joke in the film), tries to be the boys' friend which includes
spying, assorted racist comments aimed at Hash, the Middle Eastern
student and barking out “Say it Again!” anytime he wants to
emphatically stress the importance of saying “Sir” at the end of
a sentence. Further proof of the amazingness of this villain is that
for the first part of the movie, his entrance is always signified by
a cool gust of wind and The Stooges “Gimme Danger!”</div>
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The boys, headed by Oliver (Hutch
Parker), plot revenge after Liceman obtains Polaroids of the young
lad in flagrante delicto with his girlfriend, Candy (Stacey Nelkin).
Why is that particularly a big deal? Well, the reason Oliver ended up
at Weinberg in the first place was due to him getting Candy knocked
up, much to the horror of his politician father. One of the bits of
satire in the film that halfway works is the fact that Oliver's dad
's campaign hinges on a staunch anti-abortion stance, meanwhile Candy
is quickly sent to the abortion clinic before departing to Butch
Academy for Women. (If you're groaning, don't worry, I am groaning
just typing that last part out.) Well, Oliver's friends help him bust
out to go “visit” Candy at her nearby academy for ten minutes,
which is just enough time to shake some action.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn0rr9vMeW1m9jYY-qvBaEuQVJUZt7WVEgTnWCm7AfbGxq0ebt7d0z-sCWdJZ-FBn6CewxXCj4dI21cMHX_D2F4SB0VOUtUqXaDQWIi2LelM1VGUlp24oLCL_5g0sN0ELEF9GaIe8yA_ht/s1600/vlcsnap-00011.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn0rr9vMeW1m9jYY-qvBaEuQVJUZt7WVEgTnWCm7AfbGxq0ebt7d0z-sCWdJZ-FBn6CewxXCj4dI21cMHX_D2F4SB0VOUtUqXaDQWIi2LelM1VGUlp24oLCL_5g0sN0ELEF9GaIe8yA_ht/s1600/vlcsnap-00011.png" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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So, if the photos are exposed, then
Oliver's dad's campaign is jeopardized, as well as Oliver's chances
of getting his dream car. Add in a subplot involving a fourth student
who shows up after setting fire, literally, to his last school and
the film goes from already ridiculous to wholly head scratching. Case
in point? The strains of Lou Reed's “Street Hassle” intros a
scene of the boys doing a “proper” eating exercise in the mess
hall. Great song but talk about inexplicable usage. I'm surprised
Suicide's “Frankie Teardrop” wasn't used during one of the fart
gags. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1t0KiC-5H1x8IiplgD2fn8_BAoLL3l4Bub1t1AK07Tjlhr8HB0c86aDL5Kt_jkl82kjWZH0RDiEF7_1yXVgQIbkEvOJVRy_m8oE_gVoAXmbtoVD4LE8SWLCi0YtkK0rVg4l_X1ObJakJb/s1600/vlcsnap-00067.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1t0KiC-5H1x8IiplgD2fn8_BAoLL3l4Bub1t1AK07Tjlhr8HB0c86aDL5Kt_jkl82kjWZH0RDiEF7_1yXVgQIbkEvOJVRy_m8oE_gVoAXmbtoVD4LE8SWLCi0YtkK0rVg4l_X1ObJakJb/s1600/vlcsnap-00067.png" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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Figuring turnabout is fair play, the
gang enlist Candy to seduce Liceman explicitly so they can jump in
and take some incriminating photos of their own. The plan actually
goes without a hitch, with Liceman and the gang using an upcoming
soccer match between students and the faculty to settle the score.
The best part of the ending is the surreal looping of Liceman running
after the gang as they drive away, with each loop beginning with the
audio of him yelling out “Play it again!” As if it couldn't get
any weirder, around the second to last loop, the camera zooms in
closer to reveal the figure of Alfred E. Neuman standing at the side
of the road waving and then shrugging as a “What, me Worry?” word
balloon pops up. Well, when I say Alfred E. Neumann, what I really
mean is what appears to be a child wearing a beautifully executed
though moderately unsettling mask created by SFX wizard Rick Baker.
The end result of this is nothing short of absolute deviltry, though
I'm sure Satan had his name taken off the credits too. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizExfIY0ht3cnCpNk43LXt_E7ePHdIl_-cI428ZoZ98TVzTTaO4cF2zmVJS4mLVbXsDtfBfz4HQ-t-sLAl2MilFYoAXON4xMRe-KibLDew5aff0M0VE1pBxQ3zw5yCaEKQFyhI-OSgVrDp/s1600/vlcsnap-00060.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizExfIY0ht3cnCpNk43LXt_E7ePHdIl_-cI428ZoZ98TVzTTaO4cF2zmVJS4mLVbXsDtfBfz4HQ-t-sLAl2MilFYoAXON4xMRe-KibLDew5aff0M0VE1pBxQ3zw5yCaEKQFyhI-OSgVrDp/s1600/vlcsnap-00060.png" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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Up the Academy has three incredibly
strong things going for it. First and foremost is Ron Leibman. The
man, who is rock solid in everything he graces, is absolutely
majestic here as the Southern milatoid with a penchance for
repetition, tying girls up with rope and using “Tickle ya ass with
a feather?” as a come on. If they had cast anyone else, the film's
watchability would go way, way down. He's charismatic and hilarious,
with one of the highlights being the whole seduction scene with
Candy. He plays it off so perfectly, right down to doing front clap
push ups while she is slipping into something more comfortable.
(Which is a belly dancing outfit. Something a random high school aged
girl staying at a military academy would happen to have?) His
performance outsmarts the script by 800 miles, to the point where I
wish he would have left his name in the credits, since he is golden
here.
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The second is the whole scene with an
atrocious a capella group, aptly titled The Landmines. Horrible a
capella is admittedly one of my personal comedy triggers, so your
mileage may vary. But imagine a band so awful that not only do they
practically clear the room, except for an ecstatic and grinning
Liceman, but glasses break, dogs growl, stock footage buildings from
the past crumble and a woman's shoes fall off. Even better is
Leibman's bit at the end, where he asks them if they have any records
available.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN_I9HzbWfYgsXFtF70tt4HFoUHkX6xGMCIuQlymjqOPHepWgJwngvd4RY09Dpi5HrnT7W41t2UMk0EBldYMdtzFc0EV3w7JMWUZnWoGS3XXL6Xaj73eOW1HprbtDh9mb6G93fCR57txFg/s1600/vlcsnap-00024.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN_I9HzbWfYgsXFtF70tt4HFoUHkX6xGMCIuQlymjqOPHepWgJwngvd4RY09Dpi5HrnT7W41t2UMk0EBldYMdtzFc0EV3w7JMWUZnWoGS3XXL6Xaj73eOW1HprbtDh9mb6G93fCR57txFg/s1600/vlcsnap-00024.png" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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Then there's the aforementioned
soundtrack. Supervised by <a href="http://www.blowupband.com/page32/upmovie.html">Blow Up</a> frontman Jody Taylor, it is a
veritable Whitman's sampler of the best of the best of 70's era
proto-punk (The Stooges, The Modern Lovers), punk/new wave (Eddie &
the Hot Rods, Blondie, David Johansen solo) and pop (The Babys, Pat
Benatar). The catchiest songs, however, belong to Blow Up themselves,
providing both the main song, “Kicking Up a Fuss” and the tune
that plays during the “Play it Again” end sequence, “Beat the
Devil.” (Again, further proof that Old Scratch was connected to
this film.) Much like Liebman's performance, it is too bad that Blow
Up's terrific efforts got saddled to a film that ended up being so
maligned.</div>
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The young cast, minus Ralph Macchio as
the incredibly pissy Italian-American Chooch, are serviceable at
best. Macchio, only 12 here in his first film role, out-acts all of
his peers and makes you wish that his wimpy character in The Karate
Kid was this full of moxie and anti-social awesomeness. The others
are not bad, but are not terribly memorable either and in fact,
inadvertently neutralize some of the better lines in the film.
There's also Harry Teinowitz as Rodney Ververgaert, a highly awkward
pyromaniac who is so irritating that he actually weighs any scene he
is in down. It is one of those performances that is either terrible
or brilliant, because he easily makes one recall that kid in school
that annoyed even the other student pariahs. Poston is kind of wasted
in a one note role that requires nothing for him to do except mince,
swish and invoke some of the lighter comedic stylings of your garden
variety NAMBLA member. His role is symptomatic of a lot of the more
politically incorrect humor, which is occasionally amusing but more
of than not falls flat. Antonio Fargas, the great Antonio Fargas, is
even more wasted as a cranky soccer coach who shows up for all of two
minutes.
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The humor misses more than it hits but
the film's high weirdness factor combined with its strengths do make
Up the Academy an overall entertaining movie. It does make one wonder
what could have been if both Downey Sr and the writers at Mad have
been given more control. But. that said, the film is worth seeking
out on DVD, which has all of the Mad references reinstated, for Ron
Leibman, the stellar soundtrack and the most hideously splendid
a capella group ever. </div>
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<i>For more on Up the Academy, check out this awesome article over at <a href="http://technicolordreams70.wordpress.com/2010/04/13/forgotten-films-up-the-academy-1980/">Technicolor Dreams</a>.</i> </div>
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Copyright Heather Drain 2014</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07563735654661798606noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581822480031284544.post-64303575544681170312014-11-02T23:39:00.003-08:002014-11-02T23:39:56.099-08:00Hell Bent for Cinema: Mike McPadden's Heavy Metal Movies<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh3ksZU8spje3uKiCYRBitDtKxYXsyvIj6J3eX84TKdJmHUiK-LiY-86_6vwFyHzcp1_kISK4arZX7xu9Z36gPPAQbMdqDhQIarFamj3EXFe2i5IfOyIolVnS2TQvK7qMMXU6Q9YJTqIah/s1600/HMM-052113.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh3ksZU8spje3uKiCYRBitDtKxYXsyvIj6J3eX84TKdJmHUiK-LiY-86_6vwFyHzcp1_kISK4arZX7xu9Z36gPPAQbMdqDhQIarFamj3EXFe2i5IfOyIolVnS2TQvK7qMMXU6Q9YJTqIah/s1600/HMM-052113.jpg" height="320" width="235" /></a></div>
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Music and film are two constructs that
fit so perfectly that they might as well be sending each construction
paper hearts with glitter glue lovey words. With something that can
be as epic, brutal and at times, goony as heavy metal, it is always
natural for it to cross-pollinate with the wild world of film.
Luckily for us, someone was ballsy, brave, educated and, yes, metal
enough to traipse these curious waters. That man? Mike McPadden and
his book, <a href="https://www.blogger.com/Music%20and%20film%20are%20two%20constructs%20that%20fit%20so%20perfectly%20that%20they%20might%20as%20well%20be%20sending%20each%20construction%20paper%20hearts%20with%20glitter%20glue%20lovey%20words.%20With%20something%20that%20can%20be%20as%20ephttp://www.bazillionpoints.com/shop/heavy-metal-movies-by-mike-mcbeardo-mcpadden/g-Scream%20Films%20Ever!">Heavy Metal Movies: Guitar Barbarians, Mutant Bimbos &Cult Zombies Amok in the 666 Most Ear- and Eye-Ripping Big-ScreamFilms Ever! </a></div>
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This is a book, nay, a tome, that loves
metal more than the older brother of your best friend in junior high
who used to sell skunk weed to underage kids at the roller rink. Even
more than that acquaintance you once had who could quote Rush's “Fly
By Night” by heart, worshiped at the altar of Ronnie James Dio and
happened to have at least one 8-sided dice in his/her pocket. In
fact, the only way this book could be more dedicated to the genre of
heavy metal is if it was spit shining the studded codpiece of Blackie
Lawless himself.
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC0eA4K-6YKix-nQX-NHA0DtTr5N0bs3mT7vR3geecyOZ5tsRGN5sNE2gdFmD7sxmOuJVmNukyyk0IqeZ3rEiK9yBifnjoddL4Esiy4FLt3FbjMmjapJ_Mz_IYqfdi9lomSZSHluXGxFpm/s1600/thetruethor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC0eA4K-6YKix-nQX-NHA0DtTr5N0bs3mT7vR3geecyOZ5tsRGN5sNE2gdFmD7sxmOuJVmNukyyk0IqeZ3rEiK9yBifnjoddL4Esiy4FLt3FbjMmjapJ_Mz_IYqfdi9lomSZSHluXGxFpm/s1600/thetruethor.jpg" height="320" width="181" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The one and true Thor</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
One of the first things that stands out
about about <i>Heavy Metal Movies</i> is its sheer density. Even as someone
who is both a professional (yes, because I am that fancy) film writer
and a longtime heavy metal music fan, I was shocked that there were
that many movies that fit the criteria. Which is really a testament
to the tireless research McPadden put into this book. The expected
titles are written about, including for my money, the most uber-metal
film of them all, ROCK & ROLL NIGHTMARE starring the one and only
true Thor, the Canadian hard rock god. Seriously, forget about The
Avengers and all of that and pick up ROCK & ROLL NIGHTMARE. In a
fair and just world, every movie would have the hulky, blonde
presence of Jon-Mikl Thor. </div>
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But the flip side of that is a film
like ACE VENTURA: PET DETECTIVE. Initially, that may seem about as
heavy metal as a Stryper concert, save for one very key detail, which
is the presence of death metal legends Cannibal Corpse. Having seen
this film years ago, how I forgot about Cannibal Corpse being in it
is beyond me. Maybe that detail got lost amongst the singing operatic
butts, Udo Kier (whom, some could argue, is even more metal than
Cannibal Corpse themselves) and the lame, even at the time of the
film's release, CRYING GAME twist ending. Even better, is that
McPadden then informs us that the sole reason that the band
responsible for some of the most grisly album cover art and music in
the annals of metal, is even in the movie itself, is due to VENTURA
star himself, Jim Carrey. The mental image of Jim Carrey rocking out
to some supreme death metal trumps <i>everything</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> that is actually in ACE VENTURA. </span></div>
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The book itself
opens up with, appropriately enough, an interview with the godfather
of horror-rock himself, Alice Cooper. (I type this as the ghost of
Screaming Lord Sutch grimaces from the afterworld. It's okay, I love
them both.) Cooper, having not only integrated horror movie ambiance
and imagery with his stage shows, also has acted in such notable
scary movies as John Carpenter's PRINCE OF DARKNESS, the
Italian-oddity MONSTER DOG and the ooky-spookiest of them all, SGT. PEPPER'S LONELY HEARTS CLUB BAND. With a pedigree like that, as well
as a hilarious cameo in WAYNE'S WORLD he is the perfect interview to
set the tone for <i>Heavy Metal Movies</i>.</div>
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As ambitious as it
is epochal, with a resume like Mike McPadden's, it feels like a
no-fail formula. Here is a writer that was practically built for the
job. His background includes working for <i>Hustler</i> back in the 1990's
and even writing the script for the Skin-a-max staple ANIMAL INSTINCTS 3 (under the pseudonym Selwyn Harris, which are both nods
to the legendary Grindhouses of NYC) and being hip enough to include
a Steve Albini reference. How many “erotic thrillers” included
references to the famed producer and former member of Big Black? Only
one and McPadden wrote it. In addition to helming the seminal early
90's zine,<i> Happyland</i>, he also currently dips his toes into the trash
culture waters with his site, <a href="http://mcbeardo.com/"><i>McBeardo</i></a>. </div>
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All of this
experience shines well in <i>Heavy Metal Movies</i>, with there being a
sweet balance of humor, fucking A attitude but all with an
undercurrent of being smart and impeccably researched. This is one of
those films books where you may learn something new, but even if you
don't, you are gonna have fun reading it one way or the other. Kudos
to both McPadden and the publisher Bazillion Points for not only
releasing this work but having it laid out in such a comic-book fun
level.
</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
For fringe-film culture fans and heavy
metal converts alike, <i>Heavy Metal Movies</i> is the book equivalent of
the cover art for Anthrax's appropriately named debut. But in lieu of
a iron studded wrist going through your skull, you get some wicked
writing and the only film book to my knowledge that intentionally has
666 movie reviews. It's enough to make the dark lord proud.
</div>
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<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Copyright 2014 Heather Drain </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07563735654661798606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581822480031284544.post-69408181964907926862014-10-17T20:55:00.000-07:002014-10-17T20:55:01.996-07:00Cinematic Sacriledge, Nasties, Snake Plants & Felony: Link Update Round-Up<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcYoJteccKdjlrYwVrQLTgauprQ9-xdLKlWNjTcRTgXt2Lwcs7pv1UBDjOTcPgzLKKHHfoYdgNJOl5IWXHKbdHLiJKCigr4Fi1d8H5eebTgoq8XHvuZIQBvx_pdfZuAHtJzmdvo9540N3a/s1600/hail-mary.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcYoJteccKdjlrYwVrQLTgauprQ9-xdLKlWNjTcRTgXt2Lwcs7pv1UBDjOTcPgzLKKHHfoYdgNJOl5IWXHKbdHLiJKCigr4Fi1d8H5eebTgoq8XHvuZIQBvx_pdfZuAHtJzmdvo9540N3a/s1600/hail-mary.jpg" height="320" width="224" /></a></div>
<br />
There are fewer things in life sweeter to me than variety. Chalk it up to a general joie de vivre or a severe case of clinically undiagnosed ADD, I like to shake things up on a fairly continual basis. This is crystalline in its obviousness when you scan through this latest update round-up.<br />
<br />
For starters, my piece on Jean-Luc Godard's controversial 1985 film involving themes of religion and family, HAIL MARY, can be read in the latest issue of the best magazine dedicated to VHS subculture, <a href="http://www.lunchmeatvhs.com/">Lunchmeat.</a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null"> </a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt899MyE7JmsuUf0Jlkc6t3RnBL4ssoRq4gIFRIRvvKDJLYPK1m9s3W-yp_weRJbDaRnRDYwBUp7CSGa4tLtoBqvOHweFX1cLscprfy4vcShw18EG2O9P9K0kzvS-B8fbR6DsSWMolN3Du/s1600/Actually_011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt899MyE7JmsuUf0Jlkc6t3RnBL4ssoRq4gIFRIRvvKDJLYPK1m9s3W-yp_weRJbDaRnRDYwBUp7CSGa4tLtoBqvOHweFX1cLscprfy4vcShw18EG2O9P9K0kzvS-B8fbR6DsSWMolN3Du/s1600/Actually_011.jpg" height="218" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
In the spirit of Columbus/Indigenous Peoples' Day, the fantastic <a href="http://www.actuallyactually.com/">Actually Huizenga</a> (whose work I have written about before on <a href="http://www.actuallyactually.com/">Dangerous</a> <a href="http://dangerousminds.net/comments/viking_angel_hollywood_babylonia">Minds)</a> has released a non-album single called "Red, White, Black & Blue." Even better is that it's a duet with Murphy Maxwell and has a corresponding photo shoot by brilliant photographer, <a href="http://www.socratesmitsios.com/">Socrates Mitsios</a>. I got to write about it as a collaborative effort of sorts for the fashion-travel-art-sex magazine, <a href="http://livefastmag.com/2014/10/red-white-black-blue/">Live Fast</a>. They are great and so is Actually. Definitely check it out. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlnyGipry716uy2uI0UB6FQbyeC6_QDTRvLWVmByOztAZuG70bBsY7vXZrXGSI80fip40plSOQi8I2l4mS_lyvvNozqSbn5AgaxJ6SBfN0DWlUw-V6LQP4RjJbvXFkbDYdmO0kFC8c-BHF/s1600/morghairpieces.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlnyGipry716uy2uI0UB6FQbyeC6_QDTRvLWVmByOztAZuG70bBsY7vXZrXGSI80fip40plSOQi8I2l4mS_lyvvNozqSbn5AgaxJ6SBfN0DWlUw-V6LQP4RjJbvXFkbDYdmO0kFC8c-BHF/s1600/morghairpieces.jpg" height="319" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Speaking of Dangerous Minds, I got to recently cover one of my absolute favorite composers ever, <a href="http://dangerousminds.net/comments/the_electronic_world_of_mort_garson1">the criminally underrated Mort Garson</a>. The man's an electric music pioneer and had one of the most unique careers in the history of modern music. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQavXXeDqgifx5Qo-5uabMZ3krLSmHp4CZdBipWN-x993zrlYxngI_95fPT1AGpacoCyhRpPH-XcQC6p2rwBu1BZUhcVMN_Zo2K8GdAogHoxIkFFqJD3GF-PELIhSKc3v68vrXpkTrCPBX/s1600/videonastiescover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQavXXeDqgifx5Qo-5uabMZ3krLSmHp4CZdBipWN-x993zrlYxngI_95fPT1AGpacoCyhRpPH-XcQC6p2rwBu1BZUhcVMN_Zo2K8GdAogHoxIkFFqJD3GF-PELIhSKc3v68vrXpkTrCPBX/s1600/videonastiescover.jpg" height="320" width="227" /></a></div>
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<br />
Being both a big fan of free speech, documentaries and director Jake West, it was only a matter of time I would delve into <a href="http://www.severin-films.com/">Severin</a>'s superb three-disc set, VIDEO NASTIES: THE DEFINITIVE GUIDE. (You can read my piece about it <a href="http://dangerousminds.net/comments/theyre_only_movies_moral_panic_censorship_video_nasties">over at Dangerous Minds.</a>) Even if you're not a horror or exploitation film fan, you will still love this vital documentary whose issues are as vital now as they were back in the 80's.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXr9lNEGNFgPLTqCP0BDOAYlrRyyIDggcC9WQpDaBcyQD31tqiwjYDxtpNcZCpTwtbN0OOzQczfMdspVoiRR6LzybqzIoIkwyzug2ZRX3UCNyAN1E1jG64yVXLtkTfsoeNy6Em7DNw-cUG/s1600/graddayfelonyawesome.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXr9lNEGNFgPLTqCP0BDOAYlrRyyIDggcC9WQpDaBcyQD31tqiwjYDxtpNcZCpTwtbN0OOzQczfMdspVoiRR6LzybqzIoIkwyzug2ZRX3UCNyAN1E1jG64yVXLtkTfsoeNy6Em7DNw-cUG/s1600/graddayfelonyawesome.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />One of my favorite slasher films, <a href="http://dangerousminds.net/comments/new_wave_slasher_80s_style_herb_freeds_graduation_day">GRADUATION DAY</a>, recently got a spiffy release courtesy of the always fabulous folks over at <a href="http://vinegarsyndrome.com/">Vinegar Syndrome</a>. It's tight little gem with some key surprises and an appearance by one of the most unique bands that came out of the New Wave scene, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ax1ErjLIloo">Felony</a>. You can read about all of that and more <a href="http://dangerousminds.net/comments/new_wave_slasher_80s_style_herb_freeds_graduation_day">right here</a>. <br />
<br />
So there you have it! There is much more where that came from, so keep your peepers peeled, your mind open and in the meantime, have a great evening!<br />
<br />
© 2014 Heather Drain<br />
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07563735654661798606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581822480031284544.post-72097070112359590422014-09-14T13:55:00.000-07:002014-09-14T18:53:00.136-07:00Post-Nuclear Expressionism: A Stephen Sayadian Sampler<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRoQGB3vFHvgViDlbT5ngZcUtQ0dobhzKl-BHXNKCfgLgx4EJXUH6alas6kqnJHRt9h4LHjcmNdGaGvCSnr0Rzy-6m2_mKJ3E7LxslaInyVkPXdfBH6r3yJuOwjYUhGclx-zhYqSFzp5Z4/s1600/redwhite.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRoQGB3vFHvgViDlbT5ngZcUtQ0dobhzKl-BHXNKCfgLgx4EJXUH6alas6kqnJHRt9h4LHjcmNdGaGvCSnr0Rzy-6m2_mKJ3E7LxslaInyVkPXdfBH6r3yJuOwjYUhGclx-zhYqSFzp5Z4/s1600/redwhite.jpg" height="320" width="248" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Still from "Red White Acrylic Dream"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Imagine a time where filmmakers were
shadowy figures of mystique, only mentioned at awards shows and, if
they were really unlucky, clucked about in rags written by harpies
like Louella Parsons and Hedda Hopper. (And boy, if ever a name was
built for literally harpy-ing, it was Hedda Hopper, but I digress.)
In this day and age of social media and artists tweeting the exact
specs of their brunch at Barney's, it is rare to see a living
filmmaker still shrouded in mystery and falsehoods bordering on urban
legend, but yet, all of this and more applies to Stephen Sayadian.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3XDhIFoV9qk-Jsq2rdRExHVLN9hmO054FLpaNDm1ndvd_I4DKfX7UzFEhrPQBZRcF2st3AaY2ZpZiN33gcBDItvMj_t4Cr98egQbo9n2kzgc20i4buhAHVq4v4zyN7RjxV-nvmyY8aT7v/s1600/wovplanetcover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3XDhIFoV9qk-Jsq2rdRExHVLN9hmO054FLpaNDm1ndvd_I4DKfX7UzFEhrPQBZRcF2st3AaY2ZpZiN33gcBDItvMj_t4Cr98egQbo9n2kzgc20i4buhAHVq4v4zyN7RjxV-nvmyY8aT7v/s1600/wovplanetcover.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Album cover for Wall of Voodoo's "Happy Planet." Note the fish, a motif that appears again and again in Sayadian's work.</td></tr>
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For the unfamiliar and unconverted,
Sayadian is a former ad-man and current filmmaker and artist
whose best known works include the post-apocalyptic, science-fiction
adult film, <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0083707/">“Cafe Flesh,”</a> as well as the neon-expressionist
sequel-in-spirit to the German silent film classic <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0083707/">“Cabinet of Dr.Caligari,”</a> <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0097228/?ref_=nv_sr_1">“Dr. Caligari.”</a> But his resume is much more than
that. In addition to working with <a href="http://www.francisdelia.com/">Francis Delia</a> on the classic
<a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0082811/?ref_=nm_flmg_wr_6">“Nightdreams,”</a> in which Sayadian himself appeared in one of the
most joy-happy moments in cinematic history as a dancing piece of
toast, (In wingtips, no less!) Sayadian got his big start working as the advertising art director of <a href="http://backissuesdocumentary.com/">Hustler Magazine</a>, though the masthead often lists him as assistant art director. He made his official
debut in the December '76 issue, with the article “Hustler's Sleazy
Shopping Guide.” Starting off with a sense of humor that at times
played out like Mad Magazine meets Grand Guignol, it wasn't long
before Sayadian's distinctive visual eye and wholly unique thumbprint
would come into full play at the magazine. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR_pTIPbxxSBa0yMtXE6Fg6L90PuGOvJ63HQ4MmKFS34Oa6cSMwZV4PnNXxEl0p1tKnkvC88W371o40dn75gZ78usyIdiOkkMF4BtciPVutYzFrkXTPxahRWwofhDK2FmUoq_KqoCnVC7j/s1600/Madisonavecover.jpg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR_pTIPbxxSBa0yMtXE6Fg6L90PuGOvJ63HQ4MmKFS34Oa6cSMwZV4PnNXxEl0p1tKnkvC88W371o40dn75gZ78usyIdiOkkMF4BtciPVutYzFrkXTPxahRWwofhDK2FmUoq_KqoCnVC7j/s1600/Madisonavecover.jpg.jpg" height="320" width="231" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From the January 1977 issue. </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
One of the most amazing things about
seeing Sayadian's work in Hustler is realizing how young he was. Born
on October 18<sup>th</sup>, 1953 in Chicago, Illinois, Stephen was
all but 23 years old when he started at Hustler. Coming from a
commercial background that included writing the fortunes that were
included in the individual pieces of Bazooka Joe gum, he truly was
the Madison Avenue Wunderkind when he was brought into the fold at
Hustler. Sayadian left the magazine for awhile in late '78, right
after the assassination attempt on founder and editor Larry Flynt.
But as Larry healed up and became more involved directly with the
magazine again, Sayadian returned and created some of the best and
most memorable layouts in Hustler's history. This included “Red,
White Acrylic Dream” in the July 1984 issue, which famously invoked
such American advertising brand stalwarts as Bob's Big Boy, the
Morton Salt girl and Aunt Jemima, coupled with text by frequent
Sayadian collaborator, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jerry_Stahl">Jerry Stahl</a>. It takes the “erotic nightmare”
aesthetic that was used so beautifully in his films and in turn, he
created something simultaneously poetic and ghoulish about our own
culture. So much of modern American pop culture is completely riddled
with advertising and commercial tactics, which is one of many layers
in Sayadian's creative keenness. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz0gtU3D1AgEIuTVHnY-IMbyfO3oeSal_y-iL4kMbAudpjzfydOVJ89Le6CpaFIF74YfDIIB_aHXbMoLJ2ILe62Cpn_T9O2p8n70ZiQIMSKVtE7VN1OaG9r8zEsMIGblTv-4oRFIEHuWbM/s1600/thingfishfront.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz0gtU3D1AgEIuTVHnY-IMbyfO3oeSal_y-iL4kMbAudpjzfydOVJ89Le6CpaFIF74YfDIIB_aHXbMoLJ2ILe62Cpn_T9O2p8n70ZiQIMSKVtE7VN1OaG9r8zEsMIGblTv-4oRFIEHuWbM/s1600/thingfishfront.jpg" height="320" width="233" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cover for the "Thing Fish" spread in Hustler</td></tr>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Another hallmark layout was the
collaborative piece with Frank Zappa for <a href="http://wiki.killuglyradio.com/wiki/Thing-Fish">“Thing Fish”</a> in the
April 1984 issue. Based on Zappa's three-LP album of the same name,
the spread featured model/comedienne Annie Ample, spaghetti used as
a lewd metaphor, a giant reproduction of the infamous Pat Boone
exposing his penis photo and, of course, the titular “Thing Fish.”
(The latter was voiced by Zappa-regular Ike Willis on the album, but
here is portrayed by a glorious creature designed by Jene Omens.)
Frequent Sayadian collaborator, intensely skilled Austrian
photographer Ladi von Jansky, lensed this spread, as well as the
cover for the actual album. (Ironically, it is von Jansky's birth
date and homeland that are often erroneously listed as Sayadian's,
despite them being very much two separate individuals. In fact, von
Jansky went to school with Milos Foreman and was, in his youth, the
Austrian equivalent to James Dean.) </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0wiFnAHQGTCDoS-1-BxTuX0EIEL4_0y-eHVmJyLfaB8dcy8PYiFan0iS3M2IrSFRbEyanHD45osquCM51ggBmfcU0hhXK1tvtsooOAW-a7vnpTEmozP_jz0lJK5FjthqPxBT5YUNpjh40/s1600/Sayadianzappa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0wiFnAHQGTCDoS-1-BxTuX0EIEL4_0y-eHVmJyLfaB8dcy8PYiFan0iS3M2IrSFRbEyanHD45osquCM51ggBmfcU0hhXK1tvtsooOAW-a7vnpTEmozP_jz0lJK5FjthqPxBT5YUNpjh40/s1600/Sayadianzappa.jpg" height="320" width="289" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two geniuses: Sayadian & Zappa. Photo by Ladi von Jansky. </td></tr>
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In addition to his print work, he also
worked on a number of music videos, including both Wall of Voodoo's
pioneering <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eyCEexG9xjw">“Mexican Radio”</a> with Francis Delia, as well as the
latter-day incarnation of the band and their cover of The Beach Boys
“Do it Again.” (Complete with Brian Wilson cameo and a
Keene-faced beach bunny.) But it is his film work that has made the
deepest and most seismic-type impact. In a world of remakes,
personas, reboots and pretensions, there is no filmmaker, living,
dead or demon that is like Stephen Sayadian. His fingerprint is
unmistakably his and while Sayadian has influenced numerous artists
since making his debut with <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=elrK0x7sdls">“Nightdreams,”</a> no one has ever come
close to touching him.
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While he has flown under the radar for
the past several years, Sayadian himself has been surfacing more and
more, between an appearance at last year's <a href="http://<iframe width="853" height="480" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/qLQ91U0HQFI" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>">L'Etrange Festival</a> in
Paris and showing up for one barnstormer of a Q&A session with
Stahl at the <a href="http://www.cinefamily.org/artcore-the-films-of-stephen-sayadian-night-1-cafe-flesh/">Cinefamily Even</a>t showing “Cafe Flesh” in Los
Angeles. Could it be a sign of fresh and bigger things afoot?
Absolutely, with a new film entitled “May's Renewal” in the
works, which for the handful that have read it indicated that all signs point to it the being the
best and most transformative Sayadian film yet. If 2014 has been the
year of Jodorowsky's return, then 2015 will be the year of Stephen
Sayadian.</div>
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<i>Thanks to David Arrate for the Red, White Acrylic Dreams scans and super-special thanks to Stephen Sayadian for everything. </i></div>
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<i>© Heather Drain 2014</i></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07563735654661798606noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581822480031284544.post-70835237750634429642014-08-24T19:44:00.000-07:002014-08-24T19:44:15.332-07:00The Death Game & Pop Life<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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"With love, there is no death"-Christopher Tracy<br />
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"Fuck death."-Anyone who has lost someone they loved.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirDaMdmdvS2b6C-5Ur_nSPllkitCnAyJA7moOWWi7eY1FHY5BXeQjRFdLfdHrKATlvJl79HRWXFm9wK5KLkKSdtdyF0Qj2yQF_tv4Oh8PmtFi7zIURc7DPCAw9j74DHjaCJ7v1QjRxxsyL/s1600/missyoubillyrath.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirDaMdmdvS2b6C-5Ur_nSPllkitCnAyJA7moOWWi7eY1FHY5BXeQjRFdLfdHrKATlvJl79HRWXFm9wK5KLkKSdtdyF0Qj2yQF_tv4Oh8PmtFi7zIURc7DPCAw9j74DHjaCJ7v1QjRxxsyL/s1600/missyoubillyrath.jpg" height="231" width="320" /></a></div>
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Mortality. The word alone is enough to elicit depths of worry and dread, not unlike loss, illness and family reunions. It's one of those things most do not want to think about but the cycle of living has a way of wafting it all right under your nose. The scent is one part charnal house and one part weighted awareness. The more our loved ones, heroes and heroines shuffle off this mortal coil, it is hard to not feel, to quote Love & Rockets, haunted when the minutes drag.<br />
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Personally, I have an acceptance/hate relationship with death. It's the great inevitable and an essential part of life. You can't really escape it, so making moderate peace with it is a good idea. Yet, even though many view it as simply a transition to something else, whether it is heaven, limbo, Earth again or the great void, it flat out sucks for those of us who are still here. The dead ultimately are fine. They have moved on but yet it is us who are left to sift through the ashes, sometimes literally. <br />
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Out of the assortment of heroes and loved ones alike that I have lost in the past few years, the thing that haunts me the most are the lost acts, ideas and art that never came to fruition. When a close friend of mine passed away in '08, one of the things that hurt the most was all of the great writing he never got to do. He had some <i>amazing </i>ideas and coupled with his innate charisma with words and intrinsic understanding of film and music, there would have been some sheer magic he could have created. This is where I loathe death the most, though it's the worst the kind of hate, because it does not change a thing.<br />
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All that said, a lesson for the living that I repeat time and time again is that the best use of death is motivation. We're still here to burn the ashes, create, love, scream and fight for ourselves and our work. Art isn't just for the artist, it's for those who aren't here quite yet and for those who can't be here. Let's rock.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwIHUUqJp-ucHUJIYHXHWBPJxzWQC9pqENattiXl5jzlTDJoyYET5cwWCLk62rc1_8Ki81ieGVabsSDUAdZYQmrDMeW9nP0VeyANB5rI3xq1EbprP83A22ynILBq-R9sOWEHMaYo0d5XIA/s1600/coyne.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwIHUUqJp-ucHUJIYHXHWBPJxzWQC9pqENattiXl5jzlTDJoyYET5cwWCLk62rc1_8Ki81ieGVabsSDUAdZYQmrDMeW9nP0VeyANB5rI3xq1EbprP83A22ynILBq-R9sOWEHMaYo0d5XIA/s1600/coyne.jpg" height="174" width="320" /></a></div>
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Critics and the public alike have always had a strange relationship with pop music. The former tend to, for the most part, glower at it and hiss like a foamy-mouthed feral cat. The latter can alternately love with a blind, cult-like devotion, only to hastily switch to storming the internet with lit torches in hand. It's weird that such a fairly safe genre can elicit some pretty extreme emotions, but that is part of the fascination with pop music.<br />
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I was lucky enough to grow up in a fairly schizophrenic-musical environment, so genre snobbery is something quite alien to me. Metal, punk, klezmer, country, pop, exotica, etc etc. If the song is good, it's good. So when I heard The Flaming Lips cover of "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds" with Miley Cyrus and Moby, I was astounded. Not because of Miley but because it is really, really great. Not thing I went into it expecting it to be horrible, I was just not expecting it to wow me like it did.<br />
<br />
This kind of collaboration may seem like it is from Mars, since the Lips are this fairly respected, psychedelic-art-rock band and Cyrus used to be Hannah Montana and has the sad distinction of twerking on Alan Thicke's son. However, if you think about it objectively, there is something kind of brilliant about that. The Lips are too weird (and probably "old") for Cyrus' demographic and she is too pop-tart for their core audience. Which makes it even more interesting because it is a real creative risk for both parties. Granted, it's one for <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/music/2014/may/16/miley-cyrus-moby-flaming-lips-beatles-sgt-pepper-tribute">a good cause</a>, since a portion of the sales are going to the Oklahoma City based non-profit, <a href="https://thebellafoundation.org/">The Bella Foundation</a>, which helps low-income, elderly or terminally-ill pet owners with veterinary costs.<br />
<br />Some of the negative reactions to both the collaboration and the fact that Cyrus and Lips frontman Wayne Coyne (who looks like the world's grooviest professor/magician) are good friends, reminds me a lot of the critical and public flotsam that ensued when Metallica and Lou Reed worked together and released "Lulu." "Lulu" was an intense and brave album that was also quite good and definitely the best thing Metallica had worked on in several years. The only real thing that either Lou or Metallica had to gain was the feeling of creating a work that they personally loved. Over time, hopefully, both "Lulu" and the Lips cover of "Lucy" will be seen as ballsy creative moves with some gorgeous, rich moments intertwined. (Also, for a really terrific article on the recent negative critical reaction to Coyne in the media, please check out Katy Anders' piece on her fabulous blog, <a href="http://www.fascistdykemotors.com/2014/07/we-need-to-talk-about-wayne.html">Fascist Dyke Motors</a>. Then read everything else on there because she is THAT good.) <br />
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© 2014 Heather Drain<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07563735654661798606noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581822480031284544.post-86494749573002770902014-08-05T19:16:00.000-07:002014-08-05T19:30:56.919-07:00The Future of Cinema Meets Article Round-Ups<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuPqhyphenhyphenrK6zGXcyNp_pFZj49XlU0tAkfDsSStY77B-4CkHL8d1kFlcpUcrZpTCfLCeqXrvzv9aNrcOXLCNbX4QZpukkYi9NBV4Hd7KBEtgS5_O0TUHR59nIOkEbS2r44OOwGY0tGRLzoPZ8/s1600/lestercreemstaff.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuPqhyphenhyphenrK6zGXcyNp_pFZj49XlU0tAkfDsSStY77B-4CkHL8d1kFlcpUcrZpTCfLCeqXrvzv9aNrcOXLCNbX4QZpukkYi9NBV4Hd7KBEtgS5_O0TUHR59nIOkEbS2r44OOwGY0tGRLzoPZ8/s1600/lestercreemstaff.jpg" height="215" width="320" /></a></div>
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2014 has already been one of the strongest and strangest years I have had, well, ever. Older projects are getting filled out and delved into further, while new ones are starting to take root. The best part is that I am only halfway getting started.<br />
<br />
Before I segue into my "It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad World"-style post, one thing I have wanted to briefly write about is a discussion that has come up and more and more regarding film versus digital. Seeing quotes from directors who should know better proclaiming the digital wave as a sign that "cinema is dead," I have instant PTS of hearing a litany of old people griping about change. You know the drill. The younger generations are sending the world straight into dumbass hell, while their parents and grandparents grind their dentures on butterscotch candy and abandoned dreams. It's as old as time itself. Saying cinema is dead is tantamount to telling all the struggling filmmakers out there that they are screwed and might as well give up. But one thing they don't teach you in school is that the biggest element you need to survive in any of the creative arts is pure, undiluted tenacity. Someone tells you cinema is dead, then prove them wrong and make the best movie you can dream of. I grew up worshipping at the twin altars of silent film mavericks like Robert Weine as well as Indie Cult gurus like John Waters because these are artists that took what could be perceived as limits and instead, created new frontiers. Rip it up and start again.<br />
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I will always champion film preservation till my last breath. I love film stock with all of my cineaste heart, especially all the beautiful grain and texture it can possess. But there is a middle to be met here. You can love film, as well as embrace digital. After all, what makes real cinema is the right mix of vision, lighting, good editing, sound, heart and flat out testicular/ovular fortitude. These elements can cohabitate on <i>any</i> format. <br />
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In other words, take care of the past, look to the future and never ever give up. <br />
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+<br />
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Now, speaking of the past, here are some of my favorite things that I wrote about in the past several months.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5_DMdU1QBSWZBssI68MhmnXhuHfvVJqWi6HBq5Tvsp7Dj20NAuW0XCB2bL4_ux7XReaeaPynqXBDtS6UWK2bhFLZoRnnHtvy9X7koQFRlLb18OkVF8QtplDZGxQi9OJ8fhtnyEE3ticvr/s1600/dancejodo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5_DMdU1QBSWZBssI68MhmnXhuHfvVJqWi6HBq5Tvsp7Dj20NAuW0XCB2bL4_ux7XReaeaPynqXBDtS6UWK2bhFLZoRnnHtvy9X7koQFRlLb18OkVF8QtplDZGxQi9OJ8fhtnyEE3ticvr/s1600/dancejodo.jpg" height="198" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://dangerousminds.net/comments/a_human_tarot_comes_to_life_in_alejandro_jodorowskys_the_dance_of_reality"><i>The Dance of Reality/La Danza de la Realidad </i></a><br />
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One would be hard pressed to think of a finer gift from the universe than a new film by Alejandro Jodorowsky and this year, we got such a present. Even better, is that it was well worth the nearly 25 year wait.<br />
<br />
Getting to write about this brilliant and heart-burrowingly great film for <a href="http://dangerousminds.net/">Dangerous Minds</a> was a pleasure, matched only by getting to talk with the man himself. With generous thanks to both my fantastic editor and Jodorowsky's lovely PR guy Matt, I got to speak on the phone with the director/personal artistic godhead for an interview about his latest film. Sadly, our connection was pretty spotty lending to a fragmented conversation that was heavenly when it did connect and frustrating when it did not. The fact that it did last almost 30 minutes is both a testament to the seeds of a good conversation and (more than likely) the man's saint-like patience. But even with the wonky connection, Mr. Jodorowsky was incredibly gentle, assertive and nothing short of wonderful. (Also, quick thanks to my friend <a href="http://mykindofstory.wordpress.com/">David Arrate</a> for his audio assistance.) <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtYBvAI2LJxd4-82bk09eHHMZdKpY-NgDuVpJcKRbbnuRL7l5miWZXKAy_UUUJtQICDMRQUl-khV-glNqZ8wlxEfc8aMVSsnP0Mj3yMkVSVL3Ry5CynN5wxNj7QH8hFmc2NaNKIS-Md_2a/s1600/backissuescover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtYBvAI2LJxd4-82bk09eHHMZdKpY-NgDuVpJcKRbbnuRL7l5miWZXKAy_UUUJtQICDMRQUl-khV-glNqZ8wlxEfc8aMVSsnP0Mj3yMkVSVL3Ry5CynN5wxNj7QH8hFmc2NaNKIS-Md_2a/s1600/backissuescover.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a></div>
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<i><a href="http://dangerousminds.net/comments/shocking_pink_back_issues_the_hustler_magazine_story">Back Issues: The Hustler Magazine Story</a></i><br />
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Hands down, one of the best documentaries I have seen in a long time, <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/tag/michael-lee-nirenberg/">Michael Lee Nirenberg</a>'s film is smart, fun, kinetic and has its own thumbprint while exploring one of the most subversive American magazines ever. Keep on eye on this guy, because I have a feeling this is just the beginning for the young filmmaker.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvlCW7pZOzHA9hyphenhyphenQFFF0B1ooVEgxng8ttepo1wvp0pLOUqesPFzDwqW9w-h96S_SMqOHAlsQ6x1GPEVYH1K_kaQpb-cEg1qQ3c1JEUGrOrKLQZOQN26EqDkabeWd2NqoHPAcXsVPfarrm_/s1600/MACHMarkrealizes.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvlCW7pZOzHA9hyphenhyphenQFFF0B1ooVEgxng8ttepo1wvp0pLOUqesPFzDwqW9w-h96S_SMqOHAlsQ6x1GPEVYH1K_kaQpb-cEg1qQ3c1JEUGrOrKLQZOQN26EqDkabeWd2NqoHPAcXsVPfarrm_/s1600/MACHMarkrealizes.png" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://dangerousminds.net/comments/massacre_at_central_high_lord_of_the_flies"><i>Massacre at Central High</i></a><br />
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After writing about Rene Daalder's powerful and still controversial feature film, I found out directly from <a href="http://www.cultepics.com/">Cult Epics</a> that they are indeed prepping to release it. This will be the first legal domestic release this overlooked gem has had in decades. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9IjfXXxU1ktpIFsoGk1ehvOK9nW1k8MH1mh2ldA-jOFXHm5WDHvqnqGXy5CXr1SqOFK5wVI2SJ1mlF1ouEU5HNCQ88MA4ckw7sHhbofybJ5j0x3zEE-Cib8SKGlYfOntXym8yIDsFUa-I/s1600/vlcsnap-00008.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9IjfXXxU1ktpIFsoGk1ehvOK9nW1k8MH1mh2ldA-jOFXHm5WDHvqnqGXy5CXr1SqOFK5wVI2SJ1mlF1ouEU5HNCQ88MA4ckw7sHhbofybJ5j0x3zEE-Cib8SKGlYfOntXym8yIDsFUa-I/s1600/vlcsnap-00008.png" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://dangerousminds.net/comments/sugar_cookies_the_discreet_charm_of_the_swinging_decadent_bourgeoisie"><i>Sugar Cookies</i></a><br />
<br />
Bless <a href="http://vinegarsyndrome.com/">Vinegar Syndrome</a> for not only releasing this underground-meets-overground film but also for giving it such a gorgeous release. Every frame in this feature could be put on a wall in an art gallery. Great, great stuff.<br />
<i> </i><br />
Of course, this is just the tip of the iceberg, which also includes book projects, <a href="http://projection-booth.blogspot.com/2014/03/episode-158-smoker.html">recent podcast appearances</a> (Thank you <a href="http://projection-booth.blogspot.com/2014/07/episode-176-waterpower.html">Mike White, Rob St. Mary</a> and <a href="http://www.juicedtalk.com/?p=713">Frank Cotolo</a>!) and an event that equals my Jodorowsky experience in a multitude of ways. But I'm here to sell the sizzle, folks, not the steak. So in the meantime, enjoy!<br />
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2014 © Heather Drain<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07563735654661798606noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581822480031284544.post-46415206074805682682014-06-30T19:23:00.001-07:002014-06-30T19:23:50.664-07:00Print Your Own Revolution: Jon Szpunar's XEROX FEROX<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdqnTui2bx6JzFidUPj_gZ76Ms0Glqix4OkKDO4tTjkaGpIfAl2DwGO3Q1E-KN936Df9ajeTVw57Olzkijb8Z6ml9yrDLhPWVOcE0TlBCvH67POpBiC7c1Xmiyx7cWu9kvgaAuzuiu3RHL/s1600/xeroxferox.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdqnTui2bx6JzFidUPj_gZ76Ms0Glqix4OkKDO4tTjkaGpIfAl2DwGO3Q1E-KN936Df9ajeTVw57Olzkijb8Z6ml9yrDLhPWVOcE0TlBCvH67POpBiC7c1Xmiyx7cWu9kvgaAuzuiu3RHL/s1600/xeroxferox.jpg" height="320" width="211" /></a></div>
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DIY. Three delicious letters that hold
more power than entire scripts consisting of the rest of the
alphabet. The ethos of do-it-yourself is one that has spearheaded
everything from political revolutions to cultural movements. The
former in the past could inspire things like rioting and
decapitation. The latter could be slightly more gentle, with one of
its many forms resulting in the zine movement. This inspired an
assortment of writers and simply enthusiastic fans creating their own
magazines. This shined brighter in fewer fields than film, with
horror and cult movies becoming a huge part of the DIY periodical
zenith. At last, a tome dedicated to this rich, fun and occasionally
troubled field has come out, all thanks John Szpunar's meticulously
put together <a href="http://www.headpress.com/ShowProduct.aspx?ID=126">XEROX FEROX: THE WILD WORLD OF THE HORROR FILM FANZINE.</a></div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Xerox-Ferox-World-Horror-Fanzine/dp/1909394106"><br /></a>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Xerox-Ferox-World-Horror-Fanzine/dp/1909394106">
</a><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Xerox-Ferox-World-Horror-Fanzine/dp/1909394106">XEROX FEROX</a> begins from, where else,
the beginning, with its chapter/interview formatting starting with
such genre film writing legends as Steve Bissette, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bhob_Stewart">Bhob Stewart</a>, <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0840989/">Gary Svehla</a>, <a href="http://www.videowatchdog.com/">Tim Lucas</a> and <a href="http://www.zombiebloodbath.com/deepred.html">Chas Balun</a>, as well as the young Turks that
came along a little later, like Bill Landis, <a href="http://www.cinefear.com/">Keith Crocker</a>, <a href="http://angelsindistress.blogspot.com/">Greg Goodsell</a>, <a href="http://mcbeardo.com/">Mike McPadden</a>, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/shane.dallmann">Shane Dallmann</a>, <a href="http://monster-international.blogspot.com/">Tim Paxton</a> and <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0178760/">Andy Copp</a>. And they are just
the tip of the iceberg! In fact, each individual profiled in this
book ranges in personality, approach and aesthetics. From old school
Universal Monsters moon-eyed love to a celebration of all things
grue-filled and naked nubile flesh, all of them are unified by one
very important thing. The sheer drive and need that only the purest
of passion and enthusiasm can breed. It's like obscenity. Hard to
define but you'll know it when you see it.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Matching the subjects enthusiasm is the
sheer amount of research and care that both Szpunar and the book's
publisher, <a href="http://www.headpress.com/">headpress</a>, put into this work. It is an instant
historically important tome and a needed read for both genre film
fans and nonfiction writers, young and seasoned alike. These are
stories that were needing to be documented and bless all involved for
doing just that. Hopefully, it will be a touchstone for other
like-minded compendiums to bear fruit. Imagine <a href="http://www.headpress.com/ShowProduct.aspx?ID=130">XEROX FEROX</a>-quality
books covering the music zines, the poetry zines, the DIY comics, etc
etc. All of this is art that is not really that old but yet is in
continual danger of being lost due to its fringe, low-budget origins.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The only real negative with this book
is how little women are featured. No singular woman is mentioned. It
would have been nice to see someone like <a href="http://missflickchick.com/">Maitland McDonagh</a> get
mentioned, since she's a great writer who has been in this field
since the 1980's. Michelle Clifford does at least get mentioned in
conjunction with Bill Landis, since she worked with him on the latter
stages of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Sleazoid-Express-Mind-Twisting-Through-Grindhouse/dp/0743215834">Sleazoid Express</a>, as well as being the main figure behind
Metasex. This isn't necessarily Spuznar's fault, but is more of a
symptom of a bigger problem that is the boy's club of genre film
writing where women have been relegated more to the sidelines, only
to be dusted off for the occasional female-centric bone thrown their
way. It can be a well meaning thing, but the best surefire route to
equality is just to treat a female writer like you would a male
writer. But all that aside, this is a fine book that will inform and
inspire those of any category. Long live the DIY press!
</div>
<br />
© 2014 Heather Drain</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07563735654661798606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581822480031284544.post-66369565249257669432014-06-22T15:40:00.000-07:002014-06-22T15:40:22.476-07:00The South Will Never Rise Again<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Flashback all the way to the hallowed
early 2000's. I still had a stomach for constructs like internet
message boards, with one of the best being the one at Patty Mahlon's
loving and meticulously constructed <a href="http://www.williamgirdler.com/">William Girdler</a> website. It was
on that very board where I first read about a Long Island erotic
atrocity known as <a href="http://www.cinefear.com/adult.html">“Lulu & Friends”</a> aka “Valley Stream
Slut.” This film was helmed by a true Renaissance man, Keith
Crocker. Keith, in addition to being the man responsible for the
fabulous <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Cinefear">“The Exploitation Journal,”</a> an early and seminal
horror/cult zine, he also has directed some of the most unique and
balls out features like <a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Bloody-Ape-George-Reis/dp/B001IYJV5C">“The Bloody Ape”</a> and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Blitzkrieg-Escape-Stalag-Tatyana-Kot/dp/B001IYAJG2/ref=pd_sim_mov_6?ie=UTF8&refRID=01WMNGV1R93G8TQK2WTQ">“Blitzkrieg:Escape from Stalag 69.” </a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLSFTGzOz5bzAtMpS3WffZNTfrmJMWrnWpu0muEp9wW3NfYgregRSmNr7mbQSUOAunolzBInZs0Czq9xvI2sLjeG5Q_Iv38jTYqTYxaVyajCqbG2QEyZmDuYImdf2HiiiNnWFAlDf8HSux/s1600/BloodyApe_DVD%2528rgb%2529-small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLSFTGzOz5bzAtMpS3WffZNTfrmJMWrnWpu0muEp9wW3NfYgregRSmNr7mbQSUOAunolzBInZs0Czq9xvI2sLjeG5Q_Iv38jTYqTYxaVyajCqbG2QEyZmDuYImdf2HiiiNnWFAlDf8HSux/s1600/BloodyApe_DVD%2528rgb%2529-small.jpg" height="320" width="227" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">DVD Cover art of Crocker's "The Bloody Ape"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Getting to know Keith via this message
board, I was always impressed with his storytelling abilities,
especially when related to his experiences as an independent
filmmaker. The stories were often unflinching about the non-glamorous
aspects of the business but always were tinged with a wink and a nod
kind of humor. In short, they were a fun and terrific read. Out of
all the great stories Keith wrote about on that long
dead-in-the-ground forum, the tale of his one and only foray into the
seemingly seamy world of X-rated film making was as harrowing as it
was hilarious. Little did I know that years from then, that I would
be watching this infamous film in the comfort of my own living room.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0RnSuDzdtaChg9lNpIn9Bk894EAKzF14VPf7YlQWTGgRDPvA4CKWvRwSCuWJvrAS4F7LoW-KaSaeRv5eW2a98gX5rNuUBN_CIp6OfJdyTeBg2iOA6tN3hgtMQtPTMqKDN6E_pQzv0nd9q/s1600/lulu8.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0RnSuDzdtaChg9lNpIn9Bk894EAKzF14VPf7YlQWTGgRDPvA4CKWvRwSCuWJvrAS4F7LoW-KaSaeRv5eW2a98gX5rNuUBN_CIp6OfJdyTeBg2iOA6tN3hgtMQtPTMqKDN6E_pQzv0nd9q/s1600/lulu8.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lulu meets one of her "friends."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Not too long after reading about
Keith's tales of “Lulu” and her randy friends, I had also read a
review of an equally sexually inept adult film on the Girdler-Board
sister-site-of-sorts, the now long defunct Brains on Film. That
website's main man, Larry Joe Treadway aka Professor Tread, was one
of the funniest and most unique film writers on the internet at that
time. Out of the sizable body of review work he built up, it was his
write-up of one of the most striking, brain-scratching and
life-affirming-in-every-wrong-way-possible films, courtesy of the
impressive film library at <a href="http://www.somethingweird.com/">Something Weird Video</a>. A film that, once
seen, will stay with you like a drunken hug from your Southern uncle.
That is, if your Southern uncle also happens to be wearing a beat up
and stained Halloween superhero costume.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7KQbD0vmU-yWda_LFPBUU5YWFZPpIWOai2otr9e7o92OdFmHosNgHPebD55Qt0fJgFllLO4uqTbpoVYuxBe2H20yY_4lEo7rTN5PEqY8Vm-Wx0ilFZ-4f1oKW_AD0bkBvx96KerPbx2XK/s1600/batpussycoverart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7KQbD0vmU-yWda_LFPBUU5YWFZPpIWOai2otr9e7o92OdFmHosNgHPebD55Qt0fJgFllLO4uqTbpoVYuxBe2H20yY_4lEo7rTN5PEqY8Vm-Wx0ilFZ-4f1oKW_AD0bkBvx96KerPbx2XK/s1600/batpussycoverart.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Something Weird Video's DVD release of "Bat Pussy."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The film in question was 1973's <a href="http://www.somethingweird.com/product_info.php?products_id=23351">“Bat Pussy.”</a> A film so obscure that the odds of its cast and crew ever
surfacing are about as good as finding a photo of Frank Sinatra
testifying against the Mafia. Dialogue rich with white trash
psychodrama bordering on burma shave with the biggest “star”
being an issue of Screw magazine, “Bat Pussy” is a film whose
description will never do justice to what your eyes and ears will see
and hear. I will, of course, though, give it my best shot. (It is a
real shame that Tread's review of it is MIA since it has remained one
of my favorite pieces of film writing ever, with him describing the
movie as “John Waters' Whose Afraid of Virginia Woolf. That might
be the most accurate statement ever written about “Bat Pussy.”)
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZOZWXgqHe1wTEp8WUnNIsC7H84Pxyj76q3JKlQvDq1MDMMXQA7z8aAT-epHS32vOdZMm76S8z8C5LMbz7BnwS7yKj5odTM0QhN5P4pIjUY3pLUCpryQxXBpuSQ1Io8i61siATbBVybim-/s1600/vlcsnap-2014-06-22-16h06m02s5.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZOZWXgqHe1wTEp8WUnNIsC7H84Pxyj76q3JKlQvDq1MDMMXQA7z8aAT-epHS32vOdZMm76S8z8C5LMbz7BnwS7yKj5odTM0QhN5P4pIjUY3pLUCpryQxXBpuSQ1Io8i61siATbBVybim-/s1600/vlcsnap-2014-06-22-16h06m02s5.png" height="120" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Best SCREW Magazine plug ever!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
You may be wondering what do these two
films have in common, other than being two extremely low-budget,
ultra-obscure adult films? Not much other than a sense of human
sexuality going directly past eroticism and into a transcendent
netherworld that will leave you mystified, giggling and wondering why
your sex drive just took a left turn to Albuquerque and is never
coming back!
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
With “<a href="http://www.cinefear.com/adult.html">Lulu & Friends,</a>” Crocker
was given a lot of unenviable cards in his deck. Sure, his leading
lady, our titular Lulu, is enthusiastic and gets an absolute A for
effort. Her acting is a bit rough but she does try, with the
highlight including a crude and funny spectral encounter. Actually,
the women in the film all get an A for trying. One of her friends, a
very attractive, dark haired beauty valiantly tries to get her
boyfriend, whose bad haircut and horrible taste in underwear just
screams coke head late 80's scumbag, to rise to attention. But it's
no use. You really just want to reach through the screen and say,
“Honey, it's okay. Go shower up and get a nicer man. One whose
taste in bikini underwear won't make you instantly question where
you're headed in life.” </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY6aOaFmzXteUN5j3RZz23VgxQ41xW6eDi6unUw2kiFAdz8QIW7Dg2Hmxi-QuUp24mrX5utvALj6ZXZ2c6J80POftTd4avUgg8l3J1H9-AFKSSxZVnl5Ee_Lhlo6PLcevWe9YU3_pnevXp/s1600/lulu5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY6aOaFmzXteUN5j3RZz23VgxQ41xW6eDi6unUw2kiFAdz8QIW7Dg2Hmxi-QuUp24mrX5utvALj6ZXZ2c6J80POftTd4avUgg8l3J1H9-AFKSSxZVnl5Ee_Lhlo6PLcevWe9YU3_pnevXp/s1600/lulu5.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bad decision making.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
With “Bat Pussy,” the issue of male
virility rendered flaccid despite the near-heroic attempts by giving
women comes into play too. Unlike “Lulu & Friends,” where at
least some of the couplings actually result in some sort of fruition,
“Bat Pussy” is like one mobious strip of bickering and a man, the
only man in the whole bloody film, whose failure to achieve any sort
of usable erection starts to feel like it s an unintentional metaphor
for our failure to ever achieve true greatness in this life. Or maybe
he just had whiskey dick. You never know.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
In lieu of a pretty brunette, we have
our hero's wife, a pale, bouffanted Shirley-type who vacillates
between trying to turn on her man and bitching at him. With lines
like, “You wouldn't know how to eat pussy if it was your dead
grandmother's” (!!!) and “You don't love me, motherfucker!,”
you can maybe understand why he is having a bit of a difficult time
getting aroused. In fairness to her, what woman wants to hear her
redneck amour droning on about how “we need to do this just like in
the magazine” and that ever sweet bon-mot, “Darling, she meant
nothing to me!”? </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCZYvWN1rdKYpxP_NCtRDNOEvLS7lIKoF0E3QNEB0xyW5JX55XjDpifSKFB84YuoK0z7LmbLm7nsUH-ZuX7UTndnDPBS7aHhG1iRnWZh4OKkVDiGG5VQg10_hIqn3r5gAFshlnisSRZx0a/s1600/vlcsnap-2014-06-22-16h05m05s193.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCZYvWN1rdKYpxP_NCtRDNOEvLS7lIKoF0E3QNEB0xyW5JX55XjDpifSKFB84YuoK0z7LmbLm7nsUH-ZuX7UTndnDPBS7aHhG1iRnWZh4OKkVDiGG5VQg10_hIqn3r5gAFshlnisSRZx0a/s1600/vlcsnap-2014-06-22-16h05m05s193.png" height="120" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Probably a relative.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
At least with “Lulu,” there's a
very loosely-restrained feeling of rompiness, rendered all the more
surreal by Crocker's absolutely brilliant use of music. Honestly, the
music saves a large portion of the sex scenes, which otherwise would
be bordering on the unwatchable. Everything from funk classics to
some incidental music most famous for being used on “The Little
Rascals” movie shorts, all pop up throughout the film, as if it is
an act of pure directorial alchemy.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/6R7Md2aq7Oo" width="420"></iframe><br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
That said, there is one mighty big
advantage that “Bat Pussy” has and that is all in the form of its
title character. Imagine Batman if he was a cornfed dame whose “lair”
was a cement dinge-room, complete with a hobbity-hop in lieu of a car
and the rattiest Superhero costume this side of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Adventures-Rat-Phink-Boo/dp/B00008V2US">“Rat Fink a Boo Boo.”</a> If the words, instant awesome, came to mind then you would be
correct! Here's a character that neither Marvel or DC Comics would
want to touch with a 10-foot pole, which is their loss. Bat Pussy is
all sorts of foul-mouthed, bent-moral wonder and yet, sadly, not even
she can get a happy physical result from our hero. Her classy
reaction? “You don't know how to fuck, motherfucker!” I hope this
man got some good therapy afterwards, that is if he didn't end up
buried under a bridge in Anywhere, Southern USA.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZBoHfVXqJnakU0uVNBTIgnsEWvv39E28eNIiH2hf6gv1prB2LDYSdimebjKCFqaSR4kI9nhyphenhyphenTBU28PN1w6BDZF30yD_qGJaPbr0KAyH-2ll-ZeKpCCN8UXmhgCTLgVLJpcNmqQLqoTfHX/s1600/vlcsnap-2014-06-22-16h06m24s206.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZBoHfVXqJnakU0uVNBTIgnsEWvv39E28eNIiH2hf6gv1prB2LDYSdimebjKCFqaSR4kI9nhyphenhyphenTBU28PN1w6BDZF30yD_qGJaPbr0KAyH-2ll-ZeKpCCN8UXmhgCTLgVLJpcNmqQLqoTfHX/s1600/vlcsnap-2014-06-22-16h06m24s206.png" height="120" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The splendor of the Bat Pussy Headquarters.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
At the end of the day, while both <a href="http://www.cinefear.com/adult.html">“Lulu & Friends”</a> and <a href="http://www.somethingweird.com/product_info.php?products_id=23351">“Bat Pussy”</a> may fail in the arousal
department, they took, intentionally (“Lulu”) and unintentionally
(“Bat Pussy”) their individual weaknesses and transformed them
into a viewer experience that is as hilarious as it is harrowing and
even Artaudian in its regard for the audience. Plus, both are still
better than anything Julia Roberts has starred in. (Thank you, thank
you and please, tip your piano player!) </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
©2014 Heather Drain</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07563735654661798606noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581822480031284544.post-41193603134318097622014-05-07T17:55:00.003-07:002014-05-07T17:55:43.585-07:00The Counter-Revolution: A Mini-Tribute to Trumpeter Extraordinaire, Atlanta Bliss<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis5YLlYWjICHcLf-TennNwbu6Qg5I3iRdASUcCznpPYP8N8gOh6ViP_RiFNH0OBthh9pjB3n5UsLVZ-_hOmR-nji7ohwdgeX9pCO2Jl70uS8AoqkmmzVaNIb4lYYnIlKCgptolBo2V6edw/s1600/blistan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis5YLlYWjICHcLf-TennNwbu6Qg5I3iRdASUcCznpPYP8N8gOh6ViP_RiFNH0OBthh9pjB3n5UsLVZ-_hOmR-nji7ohwdgeX9pCO2Jl70uS8AoqkmmzVaNIb4lYYnIlKCgptolBo2V6edw/s1600/blistan.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
The world of music is not unlike some strange, often decadent
beehive. You have your preening lead singers and showoff guitarists,
which are the equivalent to the mated Queen Bee. The music (and money)
(and drugs) are the honey but what about the worker bees? They are the
ones that do a lot of the work and yet, are often just relegated to
drone status. But a great hive is nothing without its worker bees and
one of the musicians who has had some of the absolute best line-ups is
Prince. Rivaled only by Frank Zappa, Prince is one of those composers
who has always had the best of the best in his band. From the Revolution
to the NPG, dollars to donuts, if you're a musician who has worked with
Prince, you are the true blue real deal. <br /> </div>
<div>
Out of the countless names on that list, the one that is often
unfairly neglected is Atlanta Bliss aka Matt Blistan. Brought into the
fold during the tail end of the Revolution by fellow jazz
musician/badass, saxophonist Eric Leeds, Blistan's trumpeting skills
added some rich dimension to Prince's music. At times sonically evoking
such greats like Miles Davis, he provided a mix of old school jazz and
new world funk to an instrument that very few associate with megafamous
popular artists. <br />
</div>
<br />
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<br />
Plus, the cat's got style. Even from the often brief glimpses of
him in assorted Prince related videos and live footage, the white and
black suits, thick head of dark hair and a mustache that would have fit
in perfectly on Tyrone Powers, all reek of a man cool enough to be
called Atlanta Bliss and get away with it. <br />
<br />Blistan continued to play off and on with Leeds after his time
with Prince, as well as appearing on a number of Paisley Park artists
albums, including George Clinton, Mavis Staples and Carmen Electra. (How
is that for brain frying?) There's not a lot of info about Blistan
after the mid-90's period other than a great home <a href="http://youtu.be/1M19sHGhU44">video clip on YouTube</a>
of him tearing it up on "Brazil" at a business conference from the late
2000's. Hopefully this will be an article I can expound upon more in the
near future, but until then, consider this a mini-tribute to a
fantastic trumpet player, great musician and overall cool guy. Matthew
Blistan, thank you for bringing it.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/5r1TfPnIZdw" width="465"></iframe> <br />
<br />
<span class="st">© 2014 Heather Drain</span><br />
<br />
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07563735654661798606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581822480031284544.post-56078463813856728672014-04-14T19:12:00.000-07:002014-04-14T19:12:04.402-07:00Seraphim & Erotic Lanterns: An Examination of Roberta Findlay's ALTAR OF LUST & ANGEL ON FIRE<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The thing about being a
pioneer is that the land you are cutting into is going to range
vastly. The law of averages states that for every acre of rich,
fertile soil you find, you are also going to discover some barren,
rocky land too. This Peekarama double-feature, courtesy of the
fantastic folks over at <a href="http://vinegarsyndrome.com/">Vinegar Syndrome</a>, showcases two films that
are the very definition of this, with the one commonality being that
they were both directed by cult film pioneer Roberta Findlay. This
particular disc features 1971's ALTAR OF LUST as well as the 1974
feature, ANGEL ON FIRE. </div>
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ALTAR OF LUST stars the
fabulously named “Erotica Lantern” as Vivica. A petite and
bewigged beauty, she reclines on a shrink's (Fred J. Lincoln)
psychedelic paisley patterned couch and begins to tell him of her
highly dysfunctional childhood. All was well for little Vivica until
her father died when she was only 14. Her mother, besotted with
grief, married a gold-digging oaf named Hans (C. Davis Smith). That's
right, Hans. While he might have the name of a European pastry chef,
Hans is actually one lecherous boar of a man. As soon as his wife
dies, he follows a newly adult Vivica, who is resplendent in some
really fantastic white go-go boots and ends up raping her in the
woods. In a move to make us about as uncomfortable as Ms. Lantern
must have been during the making of this scene, the cinematic
violation goes on way too long, with the camera steadfastly focused
on Hans' pasty-twitchy-man-ass. It feels hateful.
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Finally, he finishes and
leaves her traumatized in the grass. Abandoning her pig of a
step-parent, as well as her dead mother's farm, Vivica moves to the
City and almost instantly finds love in the form of Don (a
pre-mustachioed Harry Reems). He's handsome, gentle and a wonderful
lover, with the two getting serious enough to move in together. This
results in some semi-simulated sex scenes that read fairly fun and
passionate, including one especially cute and playful shower scene. </div>
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Everything seems idyllic for
the saucy lover-birds until one afternoon, when Vivica comes home to
find Don in flagrante delicto with another woman, Marie (Suzy Mann.)
To say that the couple are nonplussed by Vivica's appearance is a
Plymouth Rock-sized understatement. In fact, Marie's instantly
smitten and immediately starts pawing and “making nice” with
Vivica, who does the sensible thing and walks out. Okay, that's a
total lie. Nope, instead our heroine gets starkers and quickly finds
that she is crazy about Marie's physical affection. To the extent
that Don quickly is downgraded from ultra-lover to nuisance. </div>
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This leads to Vivica's
further angst, making her exclaim to her shrink, “Doctor. I'm a
lesbian! Can you cure me?” He refuses to make a judgment call, but
seems to change his mind by the end of the film when (Spoiler Alert)
he decides to remedy her of these Sapphic leanings with some
unorthodox therapy. Note, if your psychiatrist says things to you
like “Think of me as a man, not as a doctor.” which is then
followed up with, “It really works quite well.” get the hell out
of the room and find a lawyer stat.
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ALTAR OF LUST is one weak
cup of tea. That said, thanks to the typically wonderful restoration
job by <a href="http://vinegarsyndrome.com/">Vinegar Syndrome</a>, the film does look good. Certainly a million
miles away from the murkier print in its previous release from
Something Weird Video. The colors pop nicely and on top of that,
there is some terrific voice over work. For starters, you get to hear
the unmistakable dulcet, New York meets New England tones of
Roberta's then husband Michael as the shrink. In fact, hearing
Michael's voice ask questions like, “Did Don remind you of your
father?” is a perverse treat for any fans of his own
acting/directing work like <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Touch-Flesh-Curse-Special-Edition/dp/B0000A0DX9">The Flesh Trilogy</a>. Roberta also does a
good job voicing the eternally confused Vivica, at times out acting
poor Erotica Lantern. (What a name, though!) </div>
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ALTAR OF LUST was released
in 1971, which was a weird cusp period for sexploitation. Hardcore
was increasingly growing strong, starting with Bill Osco's
groundbreaking 1970 film MONA, but many softcore filmmakers were not
quite ready to take the full plunge. So here you have a weird blend
of blatantly simulated sex, shots of erections, a brief unsimulated
blow job and some fun with digits. Speaking of the art of physical
love, I'm not sure if I have ever seen more un-reluctant simulated
lesbian sex. You can almost feel the actresses thoughts, <i>“What?
I have to put my head down where? Fine, but I ain't touching it!”
</i><span style="font-style: normal;">It gets even more sad when one
of the lady-on-lady love scenes is cross-cut with a much more earthy
scene with Harry and a belly dancer. (Though her somewhat fresh
looking C-section scar is a bit jarring. To the point where I was
yelling at the screen, “Be careful!” when he starts going down
South.) </span>
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Ultimately, ALTAR OF LUST is
more of an interesting relic from an era when softcore was awkwardly
transitioning into hardcore. Thankfully, the second feature on this
disc is miles ahead of the game.</div>
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ANGEL ON FIRE aka ANGEL
NUMBER NINE opens up with a love scene between the handsome but
highly dickish Stephen (Alan Marlowe) and Carol (Judy Craven). Their
afterglow is quickly spoiled by Carol's declarations of love to her
monumentally insensitive lover. Things get even more awful for the
poor girl when she breaks it to him that she is pregnant, prompting
him to yell and throw her out of his apartment. (What a peach!) </div>
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Little does Stephen know
that his life is going to be cut short, thanks to George (Marc
Stevens) getting distracted behind the wheel while a lovely lass
“attends” to him. Stephen gets hit, promptly dies and goes to
heaven. It is there he meets Angel Number 9 (Jennifer Jordan), the
same woman who was with George just moments ago. She informs Steven
that while he was not horrible enough on Earth to warrant going to
“the other place,” he was enough of a cad to not deserve Paradise
either. Not yet.
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To earn entry into Heaven,
he will have to return to Earth as Stephanie (Darby Lloyd Rains), a
beautiful blonde. Initially resistant, even remarking that “I'd
rather be dead than be a woman,” he quickly changes his tune once
the gravity of the situation dawns on him. Angel makes love to him
and then sends him on his journey. Once Stephanie knows true love and
heartbreak akin to what she/he caused so many hapless young women
back when she was Stephen, only then can she return to Heaven proper.
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Eager to use her new body,
she immediately hooks up with a concerned and confused George, direct
at the scene of the accident. Despite his constant statements of
“You're really strange,” Stephanie's weird behavior is not enough
to thwart him from knocking boots with her at his scumpit of an
apartment. Afterwards, she goes home and gets further acquainted with
her new womanly form. In the morning, she ends up seducing one of her
male form's girlfriends, Linda (Day Jason.) She actually manages to
convince Linda that she really is the reincarnation of Stephen and
after that, they make love. Feeling some goodwill, Linda ends up
connecting Stephanie to a successful fashion photographer named Jeff
(Jamie Gillis.)</div>
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Stephanie ends up falling
fast for the moody and darkly handsome Jeff and in no time, he charms
her into his bed. Love soon becomes intensely unhealthy codependency
with Jeff being an even bigger misogynist than Stephanie was when she
was Stephen. The painful to watch downward spiral ends up proving to
be too much for our redemptive heroine and she/he gets to ascend back
to Heaven. </div>
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ANGEL ON FIRE is a reverse
negative of ALTAR OF LUST in that it is a really, really good movie.
The story, taking a few cues from the 1964 Tony Curtis film GOODBYE
CHARLIE and hence, later on influencing the 1991 Blake Edwards
comedy, SWITCH, is smart and plays out like it is driven from both
the heart and the mind. For being helmed by a director who has been
quoted saying that she would never want a woman on her film crew,
ANGEL ON FIRE is a strong, pro-woman film that delves into the true
heartbreak of bad relationships. It's not the obvious heartsickness
of being in love with someone who will never return your affection,
but the deeper sadness of not loving and respecting yourself enough
to know that you deserve better. Women were (and still are to some
degree) coming from a background where your definition of self was
attached to a man. As if you're almost a ghost, all sad eyed until Mr
Husband Potential shows up and makes you whole. It's a bit of a
generalization but one with large, booming seeds of truth.
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There's also the sexual
orientation play, with the former macho man Stephen suddenly eager to
break his virginity with a man. As Stephanie, he dives into sex with
the lanky-handsome George, even remarking something to effect, “mine
was bigger.” Which is a funny touch of bravado, since he/she is
saying this to Mr. Marc “10 1/2” Stevens. A lot of guys who are
very “fucking A” with their masculinity usually are hiding
something, whether it is an insecurity in sexual ability or a deep
rooted attraction to the most forbidden fruit for the North American
mook: another man.
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The cast is top notch with
the always wonderful Darby Lloyd Rains, who is best known for her
lead turn in Radley Metzger's masterful NAKED CAME THE STRANGER,
ruling as Stephanie. She's passionate, likeable and at times,
heartbreaking, truly showing the transformation from the assholish
Stephen to the redeemed Stephanie. Jamie Gillis is both sensual and
frightening as the ultimate spoiled fruit of a man, Jeff. In contrast
to our torn heroine, Jennifer Jordan is strong as Angel Number Nine.
The supporting cast are all great with industry legend Eric Edwards
popping up as Angel Number Ten, looking every inch the male ideal of
a seraphim.</div>
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Once again, bless the folks
at Vinegar Syndrome for not only releasing this historically and
creatively important set, but for obviously caring about a type of
film that most critics and historians to this day still turn their
nose at. Remember folks, cultural revolution is always closer than
you think.</div>
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© Heather Drain 2014</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07563735654661798606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581822480031284544.post-66854870900108785012014-04-09T11:01:00.001-07:002014-04-09T11:01:53.544-07:00Carnies, Boobs, Cab Calloway & the 6th Dimension: Richard Elfman returns with Forbidden Zone 2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghdYGEIB5M9c0YXvNwKWvxu6M8zNRxudpr18klNr-hR2Z3g5R_mCciCAeB4ecXOMlk2CxrcL365ra8JUF02i9b-GimxNmwU8_38irGJQpu9yDhhKQE7CLwTxoPPF_5yV32j1HnJD9Gtqjv/s1600/Fz2Papajupeelfmanwee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghdYGEIB5M9c0YXvNwKWvxu6M8zNRxudpr18klNr-hR2Z3g5R_mCciCAeB4ecXOMlk2CxrcL365ra8JUF02i9b-GimxNmwU8_38irGJQpu9yDhhKQE7CLwTxoPPF_5yV32j1HnJD9Gtqjv/s1600/Fz2Papajupeelfmanwee.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Words like “sequel” and “reboots”
fill my heart with wholly cynical dread, complete with me quoting
John Hurt from "Spaceballs", mouthing <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RrxlbLVcpqI">“Oh no! Not again!”</a> Given the
bloated six-headed beast that Hollywood has become, burping and
farting up remake after sequel after reboot, I think this reaction is
most natural. Just when I feel completely and thoroughly turned off
to the idea of such creatures, a sequel comes along that actually
feeds me some curiosity and hope. Who better to supply such twin
elementals of joy than Mystic Knight of Oingo Boingo founder and the
man responsible for one of the greatest cult musicals ever created,
“Forbidden Zone,” Richard Elfman?</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Thirty plus years later, Elfman has
created a fundraising page via <a href="https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/forbidden-zone-2">Indie-a-Go-Go</a> for this very special
and unexpected sequel. The immediate question that may come to mind
with a sequel to “Forbidden Zone,” is how? Most of the core cast,
namely Susan Tyrell and Herve Villechaize, have shuffled off this
mortal coil and given the Max Fleischer from Mars approach that the
original possessed, one has to wonder, how could anything possibly
live up to <i>all of that?</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_liZkRmhF0iApzMcrkhneXnHwWQ271XXgMm3z8M0AoZZCTZFMuSK3a33urXQsGnYFsV29u419zqK_y_ywJM4AIEJT8LiqZBwbaoRtT9eDclMR79YUlKZoAiUGls3VgPi6TzrXtZtkTe6l/s1600/fz2stranglethatclown22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_liZkRmhF0iApzMcrkhneXnHwWQ271XXgMm3z8M0AoZZCTZFMuSK3a33urXQsGnYFsV29u419zqK_y_ywJM4AIEJT8LiqZBwbaoRtT9eDclMR79YUlKZoAiUGls3VgPi6TzrXtZtkTe6l/s1600/fz2stranglethatclown22.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
But the stills,
including Elfman himself as one fabulously scummy circus clown gone
to seed, look promising. The premise is pretty spectacular, involving
amazons, inbred corn-pone mommas, wee sized royalty, interracial
romance involving a character named Pythagorus Jones, a giant army of
cloned pinheads and Elfman's daughter-in-law and former “Dharma &
Greg” star Jenna Elfman performing an aerial dance described as
“ballet of the chicken.” Also, there are some great pictures on
Richard Elfman's Facebook of his clown, Papa Jupe, getting wailed on
by fringe culture/stage phenom Jesse Merlin (“FDR: American
Badass”). Even better is that the music promises to be a mix of old
standards with originals courtesy of Richard's younger brother, sonic
genius Danny Elfman. (Whom any of you cool enough to be in the know
will also remember playing the most suave version of Satan ever in
the original “Forbidden Zone.”)</div>
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Interestingly
enough, there's no mention of Matthew Bright, who was both one of the
main writers, as well as pulling acting duty playing both Rene and
Squeezit Henderson (under the exquisite pseudonym, Toshiro Baloney)
in the original. But the fact that Richard is at the helm, along with
smartly creating a universe of new characters, all of this promises
to be anything but boring. This is one sequel that has all the
potential to thrill one's black little crusty-cynic soul with big
bright hope.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07563735654661798606noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581822480031284544.post-26101272871009108742014-03-26T18:23:00.001-07:002014-03-26T18:23:57.456-07:00Mondo Roundup: The Respectable Edition (Aka We Miss You, Dave Brockie)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7vrw6KbUvSMAdkbDzjN-gJa3vW_9gjNXiHVg68bU4DljFwT3Hx8bcbxo3ptskR82IYAivQdnXf_PBeit_f18wSaSexVdvjwPDXfVefqqAmO0OobsPqsbpoZ5D1wLkacaW_4JI7pssQ8bi/s1600/youngdave.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7vrw6KbUvSMAdkbDzjN-gJa3vW_9gjNXiHVg68bU4DljFwT3Hx8bcbxo3ptskR82IYAivQdnXf_PBeit_f18wSaSexVdvjwPDXfVefqqAmO0OobsPqsbpoZ5D1wLkacaW_4JI7pssQ8bi/s1600/youngdave.jpg" height="259" width="320" /></a></div>
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With the arts, “respectability”
always seems to be tied to having a huge hateful aversion to the
pleasure-center of our brain. This entails anything that makes you
giggle, chortle, moan or even shriek out of fright. If you feel these
emotions and all of their fun based kin, then it is NOT art. Which
you know what? Is total, foaming-at-its-fetid-mouth-bullshit. It's
this kind of elitism that I rally against, especially since it denies
so many really good and even brilliant artists the respect and
examination they deserve.</div>
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</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Now this rant is nothing new from me,
but with the recent passing of GWAR front man and founder, Dave
Brockie, it feels more important than ever. Especially after seeing
someone online act like they couldn't or shouldn't mourn because
basically GWAR didn't make “serious” art. Which is really sad.
First of all, Brockie died way too young at age 50 and was, by all
accounts, an incredibly sweet, funny and smart guy. I never knew him
personally but always was impressed with him in interviews, loved
GWAR in general and even made sure to note his badass turn as a
sleazy cook in the independent film “Hackjob” when I had to
review it a few years ago. (Seriously, while the film itself had some
issues, Brockie singing an R-rated version of the Kiss disco-mutated
song, “I Was Made for Loving You” is heart warming.)
</div>
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</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Whenever things can turn weird and dark
in your real life, sometimes it is bands like GWAR that help you get
through it. We all love Leonard Cohen but you gotta have the light
hearted yin to the melancholy yang. Laughing, rocking out and getting
in touch with your inner Beavis can be tremendously healing. It's
also important to keep in mind that no one in that band was or is
dumb and provided the crude and Grand Guignol with a cheeky sense of
knowing. The world is a little less bright without Dave Brockie in
it, but the man has left behind a legacy of one of the most colorful
bands to have emerged out of the punk/metal scene that, despite what
some may have you think, actually did make some really good music.
</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The beauty of this world is that there
is plenty of room for every stripe of creative expression. Remember
kids, Marcel Duchamp once said that you can point at anything and
call it art. And if it was good enough for a genius like Duchamp,
then it should be good enough for all.
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrB5yikl7tjNnAtCxBDGz1mu6hsJaemxb_5qRPaI08-bnutf90v06L0Whlom7vp4CoKp-o7hUq8P9iPhov6HIx7w9qVNlVGqIZEeSHxaDSsb_soS8jhyXj01zSrKqGxovrDVAMpAEmRwc0/s1600/Gwar-Dave.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIm6kmcAJRv6csarT-hC-mMa3gY7tAAued2-neLao78En3eMJEEpMvtchvyifE1A9EQmEZS66A-D0wQnfU0UYkWHHHi0oXtQZ8tvj8gyf6stzrFKzfC5uD2Y4FuwB9Du3IuRpqpbfFKEmy/s1600/danceofreality.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIm6kmcAJRv6csarT-hC-mMa3gY7tAAued2-neLao78En3eMJEEpMvtchvyifE1A9EQmEZS66A-D0wQnfU0UYkWHHHi0oXtQZ8tvj8gyf6stzrFKzfC5uD2Y4FuwB9Du3IuRpqpbfFKEmy/s1600/danceofreality.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
In others news, keep an eye out for
upcoming articles, both here and abroad, covering artists ranging
from Alejandro Jodorowsky to Actually Huizenga to Duke Mitchell and
many, many more.</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
In the meantime, feel free to indulge
in some of my recent article and podcast madness. Enjoy!</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR2UBdQq8i2Ocv1R6RQXTJVyWbOwGrwCqltCLl5qtUqSQnyx2MDwe7lmYfo3FMpaITHuTNmuoHD-Ex5hbDtGCJbB7yCIfClr1dssPxGfGx_tt1s0-0oiu0feotoccX7UKYqNpHMQjgvmJ7/s1600/smoker+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR2UBdQq8i2Ocv1R6RQXTJVyWbOwGrwCqltCLl5qtUqSQnyx2MDwe7lmYfo3FMpaITHuTNmuoHD-Ex5hbDtGCJbB7yCIfClr1dssPxGfGx_tt1s0-0oiu0feotoccX7UKYqNpHMQjgvmJ7/s1600/smoker+cover.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://projection-booth.blogspot.com/2014/03/episode-158-smoker.html">The Projection Booth Episode 158: SMOKER (Guest hostess duties with the always great Mike White & Rob Mary. Guests include David Christopher, Sharon Mitchell, Susie Bright, Ron Jeremy.) </a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.juicedtalk.com/?p=713">The Cotolo Chronicles: Generating Godzilla Episode (Frank Cotolo & I discuss all things bright and Kaiju.)</a><br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRGCj6uMwFNKB9QHDx8EbtgTbFPLX2FURGvAq5hBNHayd2CtRf6tuEwzXBHeRkn1biJutpBZ7-joCfEEPzEuEHL_cDgyBxhEkz2zMh9302MH09IFB28Faw7bDKmulyOmh4jfrhupjr-n4Q/s1600/GleamingSpires-SongsOfTheSpiresFr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRGCj6uMwFNKB9QHDx8EbtgTbFPLX2FURGvAq5hBNHayd2CtRf6tuEwzXBHeRkn1biJutpBZ7-joCfEEPzEuEHL_cDgyBxhEkz2zMh9302MH09IFB28Faw7bDKmulyOmh4jfrhupjr-n4Q/s1600/GleamingSpires-SongsOfTheSpiresFr.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="http://dangerousminds.net/comments/how_to_get_girls_through_hypnotism_the_story_of_gleaming_spires">How To Get Girls Through Hypnotism: The Story of Gleaming Spires (Dangerous Minds) </a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="http://paracinema.net/2014/02/modern-day-puck-a-bobby-astyr-double-feature/">Modern Day Puck: A Bobby Astyr Double Feature (Paracinema "Notes from the Backroom") </a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="http://dangerousminds.net/comments/red_white_and_blue_sleaze_al_goldsteins_infamous_midnight_blue_cable_access">Red, White & Blue Sleaze: Al Goldstein's Infamous "Midnight Blue" (Dangerous Minds)</a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrB5yikl7tjNnAtCxBDGz1mu6hsJaemxb_5qRPaI08-bnutf90v06L0Whlom7vp4CoKp-o7hUq8P9iPhov6HIx7w9qVNlVGqIZEeSHxaDSsb_soS8jhyXj01zSrKqGxovrDVAMpAEmRwc0/s1600/Gwar-Dave.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
<b>© 2014 Heather Drain</b></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07563735654661798606noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581822480031284544.post-60082412026929495142014-03-09T09:50:00.003-07:002014-03-09T09:50:59.070-07:00Gut-Punched by the Crime-Horror Tango: Tammi Sutton's ISLE OF DOGS<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghqflXpGLJI1f9sIKjeNtlQP0xnsmveiQY2ncWcdipgBSKxPopxqsmsd4ElRHozoFDmuHXyjhnK26aT2YtfdhuZftu1sb7KByq2fqxhOtLdUdusRW4MBADAQFh6Namd14YqH2ZxFFP33iD/s1600/islepeacockbathroo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghqflXpGLJI1f9sIKjeNtlQP0xnsmveiQY2ncWcdipgBSKxPopxqsmsd4ElRHozoFDmuHXyjhnK26aT2YtfdhuZftu1sb7KByq2fqxhOtLdUdusRW4MBADAQFh6Namd14YqH2ZxFFP33iD/s1600/islepeacockbathroo.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Everyone, at some point in their life,
has to make a deal with the devil. Whether it is a mundane yet
strangely soul damaging task at your day job or something far bigger
and sinister, you cannot exist for any real length of time on this
planet without having your inner happiness or personal code of ethics
compromised. In Tammi Sutton's incredible 2011 dark crime film, <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1588362/">ISLE OF DOGS</a>, this damaged lesson of the human condition is explored in
the messiest of ways.
</div>
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</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
ISLE OF DOGS centers around the
beautiful Nadia (Barbara Nedeljakova), who is trying to escape her
increasingly violent marriage via her lover, Riley (Edward Hogg). The
husband in question, Darius (Andrew Howard) is one charismatically
nasty piece of work. A British Gangster who succeeds with just enough
cunning and psychosis to make him truly dangerous, with things
getting even dicier when he discovers Nadia's infidelity. But that is
only the beginning, as the timeline begins to grow into a briar patch
of blood, emotion and the eternal question, how far can too far go? </div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
In a cinematic landscape filled with
the same old beige toned retreads, ISLE OF DOGS is one vibrant,
pulsing breath of fresh air. Gone are the one-two-three pastiche of
arthritic genre cliché and in its place, is a film that is smart
enough to respect your intelligence and visual enough to keep your
eyes continually engaged. Nary a minute of lag and rhythmically paced
without sacrificing the integrity of the story or your brain,
director Sutton has crafted a dark gem with this film. Equally
impressive is the intertwining of a Kray Brothers type breed of
gangster film with giallo inspired underpinnings. These are two
approaches that have no right to work together and yet are wholly
seamless here.
</div>
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</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The cast is equally great here, with
the three main leads all turning in ridiculously solid performances.
Both Hogg and Nedeljakova deliver as the attractive and haunted
lovers, with the latter really capturing someone who is a mixture of
bruised vulnerability and fight or flight steel-toed instinct. But it
is Howard who makes the strongest impression as one of the most
striking villains in recent memory. A character as heinous as Darius
needs an actor that can deliver brutality in such a sadistically
magnetic way that leaves you both horrified and compelled and with
Howard, you get all of this and more. Whether it is him getting weepy
over his dog that he just shot and killed or inviting his buddies to
all but pull an implied train on his wife, this is a character you
will not easily forget. All three actors are wonderful in ISLE OF
DOGS, but Howard is definitely the one to keep an eye out for in the
future.
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-ltTLemEDWm_OQBih1eJydAmMmxaTBOCHfh205Uxn5P-uUMotGq_nlOq8AdFhkjLml4HMDQa04CE6fRkg843AVgA87zI9zWg2bpNXATJE6pl3XwrXAc2NdbdN_fTsjOMYg4gBYejTKPsz/s1600/isleofdogsdarius.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-ltTLemEDWm_OQBih1eJydAmMmxaTBOCHfh205Uxn5P-uUMotGq_nlOq8AdFhkjLml4HMDQa04CE6fRkg843AVgA87zI9zWg2bpNXATJE6pl3XwrXAc2NdbdN_fTsjOMYg4gBYejTKPsz/s1600/isleofdogsdarius.jpg" height="177" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
On a cinematically technical level,
ISLE OF DOGS won me over with its attention to both color and music.
Film being such a visual medium, it is depressing to see how many
current day filmmakers almost defiantly refuse to emphasize color,
shadows and lighting. This is something so cleanly rectified here,
with enough color and stylistic set composition to make any Italian
horror maestro happy. The first five minutes alone seals this. Music
wise, Tim Polecat provides a nice moody yet twangy score that hooks
you, along with everyone else attached to this film.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
ISLE OF DOGS is a film that never
compromises on revealing the darkness of the stained human condition
that plagues its characters but yet refuses to revel in the
gratuitous. It's too smart for the grue and glue that people have
come to cynically expect from dark genre films and bless Tammi Sutton
and company for that.
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i> </i></div>
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<i>Special thanks to John Skipp for showing me this awesome film. Please check out his own <a href="http://www.fangoria.com/new/nightmare-royale-11-introducing-women-in-horror-century-featuring-the-kickass-giallo-stylings-of-tammi-suttons-isle-of-dogs/">brilliant piece</a> on ISLE OF DOGS, along with a fab interview with director Sutton, over at his Nightmare Royale column at Fangoria.com.</i> </div>
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