Only now does it occur to me... BLUEBEARD (1972)

Only now does it occur to me... somehow, by putting a drunken Richard Burton into what is essentially a Vincent Price role––playing "Bluebeard," with an actual blue spray-painted beard, in a campy Technicolor French-Italian-German-Hungarian co-production––

 

that you could end up with something that's quite so... mediocre.

This is an odd duck. It's directed by former Golden Age Hollywood player Edward Dmytryk (CROSSFIRE, THE CAINE MUTINY, and MURDER, MY SWEET), has a haunting soundtrack by Ennio Morricone (which is very reminiscent of his work on DUCK, YOU SUCKER, completed one year prior), and brilliant cinematography (Gábor Pogány),

 

art direction (Tamás Vayer ), 

 

and set decoration (Boldizsár Simonka), 

 

by a trio of talented Hungarians who would rarely find work outside of their own country. It occasionally evokes shades of Mario Bava, Hammer horror flicks, and Nicolas Roeg's work for Roger Corman. All of this is good.

However, the screenplay (by Dmytryk and three Italian collaborators, based on the dark fairy tale but updated for a 1930s setting) is an absolute train-wreck: unfocused, pretentious, and meandering. Or perhaps it's more like a messy bird attack, ordered by a lethargic Richard Burton on his wife who just blew a raspberry at him?

 

I'm sorry, I'm afraid I'm making this look better than it is. There is artistic merit here, and, hell, there is camp merit, too, but it keeps getting dragged down into a morass of Italo skin-flickery and wannabe arthouse pomp. Like the Nazi subplot that it can't quite support.

(That's right, this Bluebeard is also an Austrian Nazi––and the cheapjack scaffolding this film provides can't come close to bearing that historical load.)

So while the director and writers believe it is something closer to CABARET or MEPHISTO, and its design team believes it is something closer to THE ABOMINABLE DR. PHIBES or BLOOD AND BLACK LACE, and its star believes that it's his naptime (between his morning tipple and his happy hour), I think the producers––with their reliance on tawdry Eurosleaze thrills––think they're making a Tinto Brass or Joe D'Amato flick. Whew.

 Also, on a semi-related note, there are way more musical numbers in this than I would have imagined.

Oh, and Raquel Welch kinda sorta plays a nun. Maybe Ken Russell should have directed this. 

Speaking of Ken Russell, there's a ridiculous phallic moment where one of Bluebeard's wives cheats on him and then makes the mistake of falling asleep, naked, entwined with her lover beneath a rhino horn antler-chandelier. Which Burton gleefully unleashes upon the couple, impaling them.

And even though it's set in the 1930s, I guess Joey Heatherton is playing "Shirley Partridge" from THE PARTRIDGE FAMILY?

Damn, there I go again, making this look better than it is. Anyway, just go watch Catherine Breillat's BLUEBEARD instead.

Film Review: CODE NAME: WILD GEESE (1984, Antonio Marghereti)

Stars: 2.5 of 5.

Running Time: 101 minutes.

Tag-line: "This is a corporation of businessmen.  Their business is war.  For them, the jungle and the city are the same."

Notable Cast or Crew: Lee Van Cleef (THE GOOD, THE BAD, AND THE UGLY; ESCAPE FROM NEW YORK), Klaus Kinski (AGUIRRE, THE WRATH OF GOD; DOCTOR ZHIVAGO), Ernest Borgnine (MARTY, ESCAPE FROM NEW YORK), Mimsy Farmer (FOUR FLIES ON GREY VELVET, MORE), Lewis Collins (KOMMANDO LEOPARD, CONFESSIONS OF A DRIVING INSTRUCTOR).  Directed by Antonio Marghereti (YOR THE HUNTER FROM THE FUTURE, CANNIBAL APOCALYPSE).

Best One-liner: "You find them, and make it slow. I want them to suffer. And then...take PICTURES!"

So you send your buddy down to Drug Mart with 50¢ to grab THE WILD GEESE on VHS with Richard Burton.  Instead, he comes back with this. We're far beyond the point where Margheriti and his Campari-swilling cronies are making any money off of that rental, but, the question is, what are they getting out of it? I would propose that (like every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings) maybe every time a piece of plagiaristic Italo-trash gets mistakenly rented, Fabio Testi gets another pair of tight jeans?

Regardless, this is pretty terrible. The quality is bootleg-level horrid, the action is boring, the characters bland, the editing stale.  It's the kind of flick that makes Michael Winner look like Orson Welles. It features a fairly awful Jan Nemec/Eloy score––kinda Christopher Cross meets De Angelis. Most everyone seems to have done their own dubbing, but Kinski must've thrown a tantrum in post, cause he's been dubbed by a stuffy English gent, which is just plain whacky.
 
Good day to you, sir

Then Mimsy Farmer shows up about 50 minutes in to ruin our lives.  But there's a lot of schweet things going on as well: Lee van Cleef with a Rambo-bandana as the badass prisoner sprung for the mission (in a role reversal from ESCAPE FROM NEW YORK),

Science cannot explain my irrational dislike for Mimsy Farmer (shoulda been Grace Jones)

Ernest Borgnine doing his patented "Borgnine-grin,"


Truly Kinski's madness holds no power in the face of a Borgnine-grin


Kinski's machine gun versus Lee van Cleef's flamethrower-spewing helicopter,



Even the prospect of attacking Kinski with a flying flamethrower does not excite Lee van Cleef

the operation at hand is called "Operation: Cleaning," there's a generic villain named 'Khan' ("You find them, and make it slow. I want them to suffer. And then...take PICTURES!"), and the line "That's Americans for you! The only serious thing we've ever done is revolt against your king, since then, it's just been Hollywood, Hollywood..."

This movie's full of head-scratchers––like the weird nuzzle/forehead rub van Cleef does with Mimsy at the end.

Not sure where this came from.

And where does this guy keep getting ice cold Buds in the middle of the jungle?

I'm reminded of the finale of DELTA FORCE––beers for everybody!

Why do the silenced gunshots sound like a pinball ricochets? How does a car drive sideways along the wall of a tunnel?
 
 
 
 
 
This is truly one of the more majestic scenes in film history: Lewis Collins, while driving his car in a tunnel, swerves to avoid some construction and drives sideways down the tunnel wall (in miniature) for a good forty-five seconds as Ernest Borgnine tries to wrap his head around it, in vain.

Still, this is far from being the worst that Italy has to offer.  I cheerfully give it two and a half stars.

–Sean Gill

Film Review: THE SANDPIPER (1965, Vincent Minnelli)

Stars:  2 of 5.
Running Time:  117 minutes.
Tag-line: "She gave men a taste of life that made them hunger for more!"
Notable Cast or Crew:  Elizabeth Taylor, Richard Burton, Eva Marie Saint, Charles Bronson.  Written by Martin Ransohoff (producer of THE FEARLESS VAMPIRE KILLERS, CATCH-22), Irene Kamp (THE BEGUILED), Louis Kamp (MR. QUILP), Michael Wilson (PLANET OF THE APES, THE BRIDGE ON THE RIVER KWAI), and Dalton Trumbo (SPARTACUS, JOHNNY GOT HIS GUN).
Best One-liner:  "What would you do, in my shoes?"  –"Wear them!"

THE SANDPIPER is a mostly torpid romantic drama featuring star-crossed dipsomaniacs Liz Taylor and Richard Burton being directed by the legendary Technicolor dream-master Vincent Minnelli.  It's got some nice nature photography, but then again, so does ROBOT MONSTER.  So, here's a list of my favorite things that Charles Bronson does in it:

#1.  Bronson is real hip to your jive, daddy-o.  That's right:  Charles Bronson is playing a beatnik.  A loud-mouthed Bohemian-by-way-of-Big-Sur liberated artsy know-it-all.

And check it out, there– he's totally doing the arm motion from the "It's MY car!" scene in DEATH WISH 3!

It's MY car!

Talk about goin' through the rabbit hole:  Bronson's playing the sort of hilariously stereotyped youth-subculture ne'er-do-well that he'd later spend large chunks of the 1970s and 80s gunning down in the street!

#2.  Bronson the sculptor.  So Beatnik Bronson's artistic discipline happens to be sculpture.  And sculpt he does:  specifically, he sculpts a nude wooden Liz Taylor while Richard Burton (playing a lovestruck Reverend) paces around uncomfortably.

Given the context I'm used to seeing Bronson in, this is fairly bizarre and absolutely welcome.  Though it's worth noting that even Bronson's "sensitive artist" is a brawny guy who spends most of the film tangling with and harassing outsiders.

#3.  Bronson, the drug addict.  Being a bongo-n-beret-luvin' Beatnik with loose morals and declining character and grumble, grumble would you believe kids these days grumble, grumble:  Bronson naturally acts like a total dick to the Reverend Richard Burton and starting talking about heroin ("H", to use Bronson's parlance) like it's no big deal and

wondering if God lives inside his hypodermic.  Again, it's amazing in context– twenty years later, he'd be flinging a bag of crack in a dealer's face and saying "How many children have you killed with this shhhhhitttt!" while unleashing a hail of bullets.

#4.  Bronson, Liz Taylor smoocher.   As the film develops, Bronson briefly becomes a sort of romantic rival to Richard Burton, and even sneaks a smooch.

Later, they duke it out and Burton proceeds to kick Bronson's ass

but then Bronson gets back up to have the last word and knocks Burton out.

So there's your schoolyard hypothetical "what would happen if Bronson and Burton had a fistfight?" played out on screen.

#5.  Bronson, the man who leans on things.  If there's anything around to lean on, anything at all, Bronson makes the acting choice... to lean on it.

He is simply a man who leans on things.  I would like to believe that he wasn't just feeling lazy, and that in fact this was a conscious acting choice–  hell, maybe it's Bronson's take on the Beatnik generation:  too namby-pamby to stand up straight on their own, or something.  I don't know.  

Anyway, even all this Bronson greatness (in what amounts to three brief scenes in a nearly two hour movie) can't come close to savin' this weird-n'-jazzy, pre–"Summer of Love" snoozer.  Two stars.

–Sean Gill

Film Review: EXORCIST II: THE HERETIC (1977, John Boorman)

Stars: 2.8 of 5.
Running Time: 118 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Linda Blair (ROLLER BOOGIE, THE EXORCIST), Richard Burton (THE KLANSMAN, THE SPY WHO CAME IN FROM THE COLD), Louise Fletcher (BRAINSTORM, ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO'S NEST), Max von Sydow (THE ICE PIRATES, THE SEVENTH SEAL), Ned Beatty (STROKER ACE, DELIVERANCE), James Earl Jones (SOUL MAN, STAR WARS), Paul Henreid (OPERATION CROSSBOW, CASABLANCA), Kitty Winn (KOJAK, THE PANIC IN NEEDLE PARK). Music by Ennio Morricone (RED SONJA; THE GOOD, THE BAD, AND THE UGLY). Tap Dance Routine choreographed by Daniel Joseph Giaghi (PENNIES FROM HEAVEN).
Tag-line: "It's four years later...what does she remember?"
Best one-liner: "If he can teach me how he has survived Pazuzu... I'll come back and let you know."

Where to begin? The acting talent is astonishing- of the seven principal players, six have been nominated for (or have won) Oscars. The seventh, Kitty Winn, had won Best Actress at Cannes. The director, John Boorman, had a history of accomplished, edgy work from POINT BLANK to HELL IN THE PACIFIC to DELIVERANCE. So where did we go wrong? Well, two things in particular:

#1. EXORCIST II is playing a high-stakes poker game with the audience. And it's betting the farm on a little lady named Linda Blair, which you'll soon realize was something of a mistake. What everyone thought was a genius, new acting talent from the first EXORCIST was mostly just the voice of Mercedes McCambridge and the astonishing special effects. In the meantime, Blair had unfortunately become something of a King Midas in reverse… but, hey, she still does a mean tap-dance. More on that in a minute.

#2. Looks like John Boorman kept Richard Burton sober. Another big mistake. He plays nearly every scene with an infantile, bewildered grimace- the subtext is "Goddamn you for taking away my gin stash!" He's pronouncing "evil" with three syllables- "Eee-vee-ill." This man is tortured.

"When the wings have brushed you...is there no hope once the WINGS HAVE BRUSHED YOU!!!" Hand this man a flask, for the love of God!

"Where'd you put my stash, John? I won't be cross with you if you give it back, straightaway. I don't even want it all- just a fifth of the best gin. How's about a Gin Rickey, John? Just one Rickey. Then we'll get back to the film. Just a quick snifter, John. John?"


"Oh, I'll buy it back, John! I'll give you all the gold 'n silver in all the world, John! I'll do the picture gratis, John! Whaddya say? Just a quick Pimm's cup! It's all I need, John- just a little Pimm's to keep me going."


"You want some shite acting for your shite film, John?! By all the saints, I'll give it to, you bloody bastard! All's I wanted was some Pimm's, you divvy git! Why, now I'll take this Pazuzu fellow and cock up your picture!"

Anyway, there's some shit with amnesia and synchronized hypnosis,


and, wait- if Linda Blair can see into the future, then why doesn't she use that knowledge to prevent ROLLER BOOGIE from happening?

Then there's this tantalizing bit from the credits: "Tap Dance Routine choreographed by Daniel Joseph Giaghi." If you're anything like me, such an absurd statement will excite and intrigue. 'What can we put in Part 2 that we didn't have in Part 1?' Clearly the answer is a tap-dance routine. And not just a tap-dance routine– a psychedelic tap-dance collective seizure attack:

Dit-dat duh duh

Clickety-clackety-clickety-clack

EEEEEYEEOOOOOWWWW

YUHH-UHHHH-UHHH

Truly, it's the little things that keep ya going.

So, EXORCIST 1 had the head-spin, the vomit, and the inappropriate use of a crucifix. EXORCIST 2 has the tap-dance seizure, the locust POV shot,

and the rock crevice plummet. But there's some good stuff going on, too. Ennio Morricone's score is in turns funny, primal, epic, thumpin', and, on at least one occasion lends unexpected weight to a scene involving a locust attack. Boorman makes some bold stylistic and editing decisions, a few of which (trippy hallucinations

and a jarring self-immolation sequence) work quite well. On the whole, it kinda feels like a weird, arty horror retread of those terrible old Republic serials. It never quite bores and never quite entertains. Almost three stars- why not?.

-Sean Gill