Mondo Round-Up: Goodbye 2013

Holidays like New Years can have a lot of mixed emotions. For some, it's an exciting time for an alcohol and stupid party hat induced revery. For others, it's the lingering reminder of all the stuff you wanted to, maybe even vowed, to accomplish that never happened. Call it ghosts of holiday resolutions. It used to be one of the most dreaded of holidays for me, but over the past few years, that anxious knot has dwindled down to more of a thoughtful observation and a low burning sensation that inevitably bleeds into ambition. “Failure” is the best opportunity to recycle the past and focus on the fresh, pristine white page in front of you.

For me, this has been an amazing year of seeds planted. Some big projects were put on hold, but potential bigger ones have started to take shape. All the 2012 superstitious fears are laid to waste as life keeps on and on again with the big message here is to never let fear rule you. Remember kids, the worst strain of regret is for the things you never did. And before I devolve into doing some hideous karaoke version of the Butthole Surfers “Sweat Loaf,” here is a Mondo Link round-up for your reading and visual pleasure! 

Happy New Years and let's make every moment smoke and sparkle in 2014!

 Movie Morlocks Tribute to Jess Franco

Beyond Blood Feast: The Lost Films of Herschell Gordon Lewis

Mondo Round-UP: Who the Fuck is Madison? Edition 

The Candy Web & William Castle Tribute!

Rupert Pupkin Speaks: Underrated Dramas & Underrated Horror

Lost Art of Flying Saucer Rock &Roll: Ghastly Love of Johnny X

Wet Nights on Neon Grounds: BillMilling's Oriental Blue

Paracinema's Notes from the Backroom

Fish Heads & Meat Babies: The MusicVideos of Barnes & Barnes

Lust, Mad Love & Dirty Talk: Nelson Lyon's The Telephone Book

In the late 1960's and early 1970's, there was something very special and weird in the cinematic waters. Underground cinema, thanks to mavericks like Andy Warhol, Jack Smith, the Kuchar Brothers and, of course, the granddaddy of them all, Kenneth Anger, was in a golden age and opened the gates up for more filmmakers to experiment. Throwing rocks at the windows of the mainstream, the seeds planted started to bloom. That said, there was no other film that quite blended the worlds of the art underground, traditional narrative, the irreverent spirit and juvenile sexual humor quite like Nelson Lyon's “The Telephone Book.”

Made in 1971, “The Telephone Book” is the type of film that you are never fully prepared for. It doesn't matter what you may have read about it, you will never truly understand what kind of ride you will be in for until you actually sit down and let the images unfurl in front of you. Even then, after the last frame is finished, you will be sitting there, possibly scratching your coconut head, wondering “what the hell did I just watch?” Of course, these are all positive attributes leading up to the fact that there is nothing quite like this film.

The center of this experimental whirlpool is Alice (Sarah Kennedy.) A blonde gamine with a spartan apartment wallpapered floor to ceiling with repeated images of human coupling. She does her morning stretches and listens to “dial-a-prayer” on the radio. Life is a series of weirdly sexualised but rarely sensual vignettes for Alice, with the apex being a chance phone call from the master of dirty phone calls. The velvet voice caller whirls Alice's universe, leading her on a wild goose chase for the elusive Mr. Smith (Mr. Mad from “Tennessee Tuxedo” himself, Norman Rose). Down the rabbit hole Alice goes, running into a ridiculous stag film star by the name of Har Poon (veteran character actor Barry Morse), a thwarted flasher/bargain basement psychiatrist (Roger C. Carmel, best known for his turn as Harry Mudd on “Star Trek”) and a creepy housefrau with sapphic intentions (Jan Farrand), all in the quest to find her dream obscene talker.

 “The Telephone Book” is one kinetic comic book of a film. Not in the sense of the superhero “Zap! POW!” splendor, but more in the sense of vignette pacing and colorful characters. Like a doll eyed version of Candide, Alice is basically this ethereal girl chasing after the one man that's reached out to her and her dysfunctional id. Everything is played out so light, but with all of these strangely dark underpinnings. When Alice's friend (a pre-fame Jill Clayburgh), who goes unnamed and wears an eye mask throughout most of the film, asks her why can't Alice try to find her dream man at home via her own telephone, our heroine reveals that if she spends too much time at home, she fears that she will kill herself. Even after she meets her dream man, there are precise barriers that will prevent them from ever having a non-payphone based union. Then there is the question that is never really posed after the two have an all night phone fest in the absolute most bonkers section of the movie. The film, which up to that point has been in black & white suddenly switches to color, which is then criss-crossed with Len Glasser's crudely striking pornographic animation. The question, for me, is what is left? Presumably, Mr. Smith will keep tantalizing random women with his absurdest erotic phone calls, but what about Alice? 

 

Will she keep chasing Mr. Smith or will the all nighter sonic eros-fest do her in? That's the problem when you reach the mountain is that you either have to find a new mountain or fall to the ground. “The Telephone Book” is such a good film that stubbornly refuses to make any of this easy for you, which is eternally an aces move. The way the film is edited is one hair away from feeling like a Burroughsian cut-up. At different intervals, documentary style interviews come up, talking to an assortment of reformed obscene phone callers. My personal favorite is the gentleman whose new kind of kicks involves farting down an deserted alley. Hey, at least it won't get you arrested! 

 

 

Early on, Warhol Factory Superstar/cult writer, the inimitable Ondine pops up behind a desk, serving as what could only be described as the loosest definition of a Greek chorus ever. His segments are not very long and sparse, which is too bad since Ondine was an incredibly compelling personality. Speaking of fabulous Warhol related figures, Ultra Violet shows up as a whip wielding tigress at Har Poon's studio, looking sexier than any of the nude girls there in her shiny black clothes and surly expression. Rounding out the 6^th degrees of Andy is go-go dancer Geri Miller, who was also in Paul Morrissey's “Trash.” Geri does her famous dance starkers for Mr. Poon's amusement, shimmying like both her rent and life depend on it. The ultimate Warholian move unfortunately is lost, with there originally being intermission footage of the man himself munching on popcorn.

 

Nelson Lyon created something really unique with “The Telephone Book.” Drenched in neurotic human sexuality but always a little too wry and caustic to ever be erotic, this is a film that straddles a line of being richly late 60's/early 70's and yet, due to its very own insane structure, is inadvertently timeless. Being sadly obscure for years, thanks to the continually stellar work of the fine folks at Vinegar Syndrome, we now have this film looking gorgeous and available both on DVD and Blu Ray. 

 

Visually striking in ways you could not even dream of, such as the unforgettable sight of a youngish and aroused William Hickey, and the attitude of a thumb delightfully up the nose towards the status quo, “The Telephone Book is a subterranean gem.

Mondo Round-Up: Grooving in Green Edition

As the ever looming specter of crass holiday infused commercialism and the Carnival of Souls-esque faces of your fellow shoppers appear on the horizon, I have been cocooning myself with the usual one-two punch of writing and culture. Hey, it beats the heck out of dodging the soulless playing grabby-grab to the tune of canned Christmas music straight out of Dante's lake of ice. 

 

The latest for Dangerous Minds is up! Being a fan of Barnes & Barnes for years, it was great getting to delve into their long out of print but worth seeking out VHS, “Zabagabee.” “Zabagabee” is not just any garden variety music video compilation but instead is a treasure chest of strange celebrities, ranging from Larry “Wild Man” Fischer to Shirley Jones to Woody Herman, with each one bridging the music clips together. Barnes & Barnes have never really gotten the respect that they deserve, since the masses tend to always overlook artists that are perceived as “novelty.” If you're one of those, then maybe this piece and “Zabagabee” can both change your mind. 

Speaking of music, I recently have rediscovered my love for the UK band The March Violets. Originally rising out of the post-punk ether along with contemporaries like Sisters of Mercy, this is a band I listened to a lot in my late teens, thanks in part to scoring a vinyl import copy of their album “Natural History” from a friend. Maybe the graying of days with the onset of Winter has something to do with it, but I had this urge recently to listen to them again and discovered that not only the original core of the band reformed but they have new material out! Even better is that what I have heard from their newest album, “Made Glorious,” is quite good. Also, the two forces of nature behind the March Violets, Rosie Garland and Simon Denbigh are highly impressive people. In addition to their musical talents, Garland is a published writer whom under the name “Rosie Lugosi” is a self-proclaimed “lesbian vampire poet” and Denbigh is skilled in the art of forging swords and armor.

After writing my tribute to the late, great Lou Reed, I finished it in the hopes of being able to stay away from anything death related for a long time. But that was not to be when I saw the news of uber-character actor Tony Musante passing away at the age of 77. Acting in everything from Argento's giallo classic “Bird With the Crystal Plumage” to HBO's “Oz,” Musante has a huge place in my heart for his role as captivating sociopath Joe Ferrone in 1967's “The Incident.” In a film brimming with great performances, Musante is king and once you see him in this film, you will never ever forget him. Musante was a master and will definitely be missed, especially in my household.

Keep an eye out for upcoming links and posts covering the fine directorial work of Eric Edwards, the beautiful mad genius of Michael Findlay, more cinematic goodies from Vinegar Syndrome and much, much more!

Mondo Round-UP: The Fan Continuum

The beast that is fandom can be a three-headed monster. It's one a lot of us have in our hearts, too. Feeling fascination and passion for art is nothing to be ashamed of. Naturally, it is one of the purest things that fuels one to create, whether it is writing, painting, etc etc. Where things can get sticky is when the ugliest of the three-heads emerges; the fan ownership.

I'm sure you have seen this pop up on assorted message boards and social media sites like Tumblr, YouTube and Facebook. Someone posts a clip from a movie or concert and then instantly gets irate if someone else posts the same clip. All this despite the fact that person #1 didn't direct, shoot, produce or star in said clip. I've even seen some “fans” go so far to put ugly, cumbersome watermarks on videos that they basically got from someone else. Which is even more ridiculous when you get into the whole bootleg realm.

Entitlement isn't always just for the fans. With writers and journalists, the pissing contest can extend to subject matter, as if only one person can cover one specific thing. How boring would that be? Information is for the masses and I am more than happy to wave my proletariat flag on that. If anything, I love seeing other writers tackle films that I have written about. Case in point, the always fabulous and ultra-bright Gore Gore Girl's meticulously thoughtful write-up of Radley Metzger's “BarbaraBroadcast.” Seeing a good writer explore any subject is a joy and anyone that gets territorial in a huffy, petty way is tantamount to a small-peckered man buying a Hummer. If you're confident with your ability, then you have nothing to worry about. Any artist/writer that feels threatened by another really needs to examine their own emotions of self-worth. After all, the outside world makes it hard enough on the expressive, so the time is nigh for artists to put aside the small-minded bullshit and support each other. Save the nastiness for the printed page, canvas, sound, stage and screen.

As for the fans, if one really wants to feel true ownership of something, then create your own art. It's relaxing, restorative and will make you look less like an entitled wanker.

 Going back to “Barbara Broadcast,” it is the perfect film to start off the new monthly feature, Notes from the Back Room, over at Paracinema. There's a legion of titles that went through my head to start off these proceedings, but between Distribpix's recent super-lush release and an A+ cast that includes C.J. Laing, Wade Nichols, Bobby Astyr, Michael Gaunt and Annette Haven, the choice was obvious. (By the way, if you're Radley Metzger/Henry Paris admirer, you can also read my pieces on Camille 2000, Private Afternoons of Pamela Mann, Naked Came the Stranger and Opening of Misty Beethoven.)

If you're feeling some Halloween withdrawal, check out my review of the gonzoid-monster kid underground film, “Geek Maggot Bingo” over at Dangerous Minds. This could possibly be the most overlooked and unappreciated film in the Nick Zedd filmography, so throw on your K-Tel “Haunted Hits” compilation and your “Zacherley for President” button and enjoy the show.

Blue Masks & Sister Ray: Missing Lou Reed

Literal death is something I loathe to write about. It's one of those things that overwhelms the bigger picture with big, broad strokes of sadness and loss. Yet, here I am writing about this very thing, since one of my biggest art heroes has passed away. Getting the news about Lou Reed hit harder than I expected. Other artists have passed earlier this year. Artists that I like and admire, but none were, to paraphrase Rodney Bingenheimer, godhead status. Lou Reed was and forever is, godhead status.

Growing up a complete fiend for anything Warhol and Factory related, it was inevitable that my interest would cross into Velvet Underground territory. Solo career wise, Nico was the one that entranced me first, but then Lou Reed's “New York” album came into my life and it was over.

One of the things I love about Lou's work is that even the weakest material still has something interesting and good about it. He managed to avoid the 80's pap-pop-sheen, a feat that even his occasional collaborator David Bowie did not. (Don't get me wrong, I adore Bowie, but the “Tonight” album alone is forever more cringe inducing than even a silly Lou song, like “Little Red Joystick” ever was.)

He angered interviewers, mystified fans and never sold out. Not to the rock critical elite, not to his devotees, not to anyone. As much as both Reed and Metallica fans bagged on their album, “Lulu,” it was the perfect living example of why that cat was brilliant. It's a great album with teeth and even better, its mere existence angered and upset both close-minded metal fans and even more uptight, bourgeoisie Lou Reed fans. Perfect.

Again, it leads up to my favorite adage ever. Don't give the people what they want. Give them what they deserve and Lou always gave us what we deserved.

Lou Reed was a musical maverick whose work changed the game and in its course, invented a whole new one. From “Do the Ostrich” all the way to “Lulu,” his body of work has a pulse and a soul from a man that wrote about the human condition and his own experiences with it. Lou Reed, you will always be missed in this household. 

 

Weekly Mondo Round-Up: The Debaser Edition

 

Being the fringe culture lover that I am, there's a special kind of thrill whenever a movie you love gets referenced in a song that you love. It doesn't happen too often, but one instance of this sonic-geekery kismet would be “Debaser” by The Pixies. Not only is this a great song but it is also the greatest song about “Un Chien Andalou.” Okay, it's probably the only song about “Un Chien Andalou” but still, it's one of the best songs by a fairly stellar band. (I'll save my paean to Kim Deal for a later date.) The manic way that Frank Black sings/yells “slicing up eyeballs whahohoho” is one of those things that makes me happy. Fun random trivia: Pixies drummer David Lovering is also a professional magician. 

Over the weekend, my husband and I ended up getting massively hooked on a YouTube series entitled, “Unboxed, Watched & Reviewed.” Hosted by the fabulous Obulious Toobach (one helluva of a nom de plume, eh?), “Unboxed, Watched & Reviewed” first came to my attention thanks to the “What to Watch” feature on YouTube. The review in question? The 1976 “Taxi Driver” meets colonic horror adult film, “Water Power,” starring the inimitable and unforgettable Jamie Gillis. I hit play and was instantly hooked. Obulious is my favorite kind of fan; funny, a little snarky, smart and obviously loves fringe cinema. On top of that, his reviews are great, well edited and he traipses into territory that both angels and most film writers fear to tread. The man's cinematic testicular fortitude is impressive. Plus, any one that makes references to Gus Pratt and owns a “Liquid Sky”shirt is instantly cool in my book.

 Speaking of film reviews, I was recently invited to contribute a list of some my personal favorite underrated horror films for one of the best film blogs out there, Rupert Pupkin Speaks. I got to contribute for the site awhile back for their “Top Underrated Drama” feature, so it was a pleasure getting to come back and give some love to films ranging from Michael Findlay's psycho-sexual “Janie” to the brother-sister vampire film, “The Black Room.” Hope you guys enjoy it!

There's been a lot of buzz lately about Lars von Trier's upcoming film, “Nymphomaniac.” The buzz in question has little to do with the all star cast (including this week's birthday boy and one my uber-acting loves, Udo Kier) but instead of von Trier's choice to include unsimulated sex utilizing body doubles being digitally added to the actors. Von Trier has done some good work and in fact, it was me citing “Breaking the Waves” that invoked some snobby Waspy academic ire during my FSU film school interview years ago, so he has a place in my heart for that. But this feels almost Castle-like in its gimmickry. Having your actors go the extra mile has been featured in films ranging from Gerard Damiano's classic “Devil in Miss Jones” all the way to Michael Winterbottom's flawed but interesting 2004 film, “Nine Songs.”

So using explicit sexuality is nothing new, even for von Trier, going back to his film, 1998's “The Idiots.” Which makes the whole digital body double thing sound incredibly silly. If you're going to be outre, be outre but do not half ass it. What's sad is that there are critics that will call this art, which is fine, but largely will never use the “A” word regarding the pioneers who were using explicit sexuality, like Damiano and many of his peers, decades ago. This is not von Trier's fault, but instead the old guard film critic attitude. All the more reason for a proper cultural revolution. Rip it up and start again. 

Weekly Mondo Round-Up: The Angst Edition

The nature of transgressive cinema has shifted over the years, ranging from the early days of adult cinema to the underground post-punk film scene in the 1980's. Over the past decade, the term has been switched over more to the horror genre, often dealing with an assortment of titles that have been filed under the “torture porn” moniker. (A term itself that has some issues, since the images that come to my mind involve either leather, chains and greased up car batteries or sitting through the IQ-hating “Debbie Does Dallas.”)

With films like “Hostel” and more recently, “A Serbian Film,” being hotly contested, the whole matter has pushed fans and writers alike to ask, “How far can too far go?” My question, though, is what will be the new definition of “transgressive cinema?” In this day and age of, to quote a pretty good Jane's Addiction album title, nothing's shocking, what new frontiers of transgression are there to pursue?

The only path to really pursue at this juncture is, in my opinion, is to be pure DIY. Trying to ape someone else or worse, one up them, is a losing game. Aping puts you at the risk of looking like a pale imitator and one-upping is impossible in this age of war and POW video footage all over the net. So the only truly shocking option is to just do your own thing. After all, while original ideas might be hard to come by, original approach is always possible. Creative transgression is ready for a new landscape, one that will not be defined by certain acts, but instead a harder to pinpoint approach and atmosphere. Of course, it is all a wait and see sort of affair.

Speaking of wait and see, there is an upcoming Kickstarter coming up for “German Angst,” an anthology film featuring work by famed cult director Jorg Buttgereit (“Nekromanatic,” “Schramm,” “Captain Berlin”), Andreas Mitchell (“Tears of Kali”) and Michal Kosakowski (“Zero Killed.”) The trio of shorts will involve stories ranging from mind altering drugs, sex clubs and neo Nazis. The biggest news out of all this is that “German Angst” will be the first new material from Buttgereit after several years out of the filmmaking game. The project sounds highly promising, with their Kickstarter page going live in the next few days, so keep on the lookout. 

October is a great month for newness, since the latest print issue of Paracinema is out and it has been well worth the wait. There are some terrific articles featured, including pieces on everything from the aforementioned “A Serbian Film” to “Penitentiary III” to the later years of action heroes and even racial politics in post-Reagan teacher features. There's enough wit, humor and film smarts to make even the most jaded fringe-cineaste smile. On top of all that, it also has my own article on Stephen Sayadian's “Nightdreams” and “Dr. Caligari,” so if you're a juice dog then you know you gotta giddy-up on that action.

If creatures like vampires are more your thing, then you can get into the Halloween mood and listen to me speaking (aka ranting and rambling) with the great Frank Cotolo on his podcast The Cotolo Chronicles. This past Thursday we talked about the king vampire himself, Dracula and his many incarnations. Listen and thrill and put on your favorite plastic black cape and enjoy!

There will be more things to keep you entertained in the near future, say stay tuned cats and kittens!

You can also find me on Twitter, Tumblr & Pinterest.