The Birds (1963) **1/2

(This article is from guest contributor Rick29 and first appeared at http://classic-film-tv.blogspot.com/.  The rating in the title is my own.)

Alfred Hitchcock’s most divisive thriller finds the Master of Suspense in magician mode. On the surface, The Birds is a traditionally-structured horror film, in which the bird attacks build progressively to three of Hitchcock’s most intense sequences. However, this is just Hitchcock performing a little playful sleight of hand with the audience. Our feathered friends play a strictly peripheral part in moving the plot along. In actuality, The Birds is a relationship movie about another memorable Hitchcock mother, her adult son, and the women who threaten to come between the two—a theme explored by Hitchcock earlier in Notorious and Psycho.

In The Birds, the son is the bland, but likable, Mitch Brenner (Rod Taylor). Mitch’s mother (wonderfully played by Jessica Tandy) fears losing her son to another woman—not because of jealousy, but because she can’t stand the thought of being abandoned. Young socialite Melanie Daniels (Tippi Hedren) views Mitch as a stable love interest, something she needs as she strives to live a more meaningful life. And Annie Hayworth (Suzanne Pleshette) is the spinster schoolteacher, willing to waste her life to be near Mitch after failing to pry him from his mother.

These characters come together when Melanie follows Mitch to his home in Bodega Bay after a flirtatious exchange in a pet store. Melanie’s arrival coincides with the beginning of the bird attacks. It’s almost as if the birds arrive to prevent any potential love between Mitch and Melanie, perhaps an extension of Mitch’s mother’s anger at having to defeat another rival for her son’s love. (Taken to the extreme, there could a parallel between the birds and the creature created by Morbius in Forbidden Planet). However, although the birds initially come between Mitch and Melanie, they eventually have a very different impact. They allow Melanie, who first appears spoiled and shallow, to show her courage and vulnerability. In the end, Mitch’s mother no longer sees Melanie as a threat, but as a woman worthy of her son. Once the friction between those two characters is resolved, the bird attacks stop and the movie ends. Hitchcock’s conclusion—often criticized as ambiguous—is perfectly logical.

Hitchcock goes to great lengths to misdirect his audience by disguising The Birds as a conventional thriller. Always concerned with audience expectations, the Master of Suspense told French director/film critic Francois Truffaut in Hitchcock, a brilliant collection of interviews: “I didn’t want the public to become too impatient about the birds, because that would distract them from the personal story….” For that reason, the first bird attack comes at twenty-five minutes into the film and occurs toward the end of a playful scene in which Melanie races her boat while Mitch drives along the lake road trying to beat her to the dock.


From that point on, the birds become progressively more menacing and their appearances more frequent: Mitch sees them on the power lines after Melanie visits for dinner; a bird crashes into Annie’s front door and dies; birds swoop down to break up a children’s birthday party; they fly through the open flue into Mitch’s house; and Mitch’s mother find the first human victim in a farmhouse. (I love how Hitchcock uses broken teacups in this scene to foreshadow the impending horror. Earlier, he shows Mitch’s mom picking up broken teacups after the birds-in-the-flue incident. Then, when she visits the apparently empty farmhouse, she sees broken teacups hanging on their hooks—just before discovering the bloody, eyeless body.)

The remainder of the film consists of the three major set pieces: the bird attack outside the school-house; the attack after the gas station blows up; and Melanie’s struggle with the birds in the attic. Again, following the classic horror film structure, Hitchcock separates each sequence with a transition scene that allows the audience to relax and catch its breath. The scene in the restaurant with the ornithologist is one of Hitch’s rare missteps in The Birds; as Truffaut points out, it goes on too long without contributing to the narrative structure. I won’t dissect the birds’ attack on the school children—it’s an iconic sequence—but I strongly recommend that Hitchcock fans seek out Dan Auiler’s Hitchcock’s Notebooks, which include the director’s hand-drawn storyboard and notes. Though less famous, the burning gas station sequence is no less impressive. In the midst of the terrifying chaos, Hitchcock shows Melanie protected—and trapped—inside a phone booth. This “glass cage” is a marvelous metaphor for her previously sheltered life (also symbolized by the lovebirds in the birdcage) from which she is rescued by Mitch (literally…when he pulls her from the phone booth).

The three years between Psycho and The Birds (1963) comprised the longest gap between Hitchcock films up to that point. Much of that time was spent dealing with the technical difficulties in bringing Daphne du Maurier’s short story to the screen. In Truffaut’s book, Hitchcock admits that he discovered narrative weakness in The Birds as he was shooting it. A compulsive pre-planner, who storyboarded every shot in every film, Hitchcock began to improvise during the shooting of The Birds: “The emotional siege I went through served to bring out an additional creative sense in me.”

That creative genius is captured for all to see in The Birds. From its use of bird sounds in lieu of music to its disturbing closing shot, The Birds is an atypical Hitchcock film which finds the director in a mischievous mood. He gives us a classic chiller, but then reveals that it’s all wrapping paper and that’s what inside is a relationship drama. It’s an unexpected gift and, hey, Hitchcock even includes a birthday party for us—although it’s disrupted by those darn birds!

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Goldfinger (1964) **

(This article is from guest contributor Sarkoffagus and first appeared at http://classic-film-tv.blogspot.com/.  The rating in the title is my own.)

At a beautiful resort in Miami, British secret agent James Bond (Sean Connery) is relayed a message from MI6 head, M (Bernard Lee). Bond’s friend and occasional confidante, CIA agent Felix Leiter (Cec Linder), informs 007 that he is to watch a man named Auric Goldfinger (Gert Fröbe), who the spy catches cheating at a game of gin rummy. However, Bond’s true assignment is to learn how Goldfinger, who by all intents and purposes is a legitimate jeweler, is moving his shipments of gold bullion. As 007 is told, since gold can be melted down, tracing any of the precious metal that has been stolen is nearly impossible. The superspy trails Goldfinger, always accompanied by his mute henchman, Oddjob (Harold Sakata), from London to Switzerland, eventually uncovering Goldfinger’s plan known as Operation Grand Slam. Bond, with the help of a fully loaded Aston Martin DB5 and shaken, not stirred, martinis, must halt an attack on Fort Knox.

Goldfinger has become the “go-to” Bond film since its release in September 1964. It popularized a number of 007 elements, most notably, perhaps, the title song performed by a famous singer, in this case Shirley Bassey. Bassey would also be the only musician to perform a Bond title song more than once, having the honor again in Diamonds Are Forever (1971) and even a third time, as a last-minute replacement for Johnny Mathis in Moonraker (1979). A title song performed by a well known singer would become a staple in the Bond series, with 1969’s On Her Majesty’s Secret Service being the sole exception.

This is the first film of the series that 007 orders a martini “shaken, not stirred” (although in 1962’s Dr. No, the titular baddie serves the secret agent a martini, knowing how he likes it mixed). This is actually taken from Ian Fleming’s novels and would become such a celebrated trait of the films that it was sometimes parodied, such as You Only Live Twice (1967), when he accepts a martini inaccurately stirred, and Casino Royale (2006), when an irate, preoccupied Bond refuses to specify a mix. According to actor Desmond Llewelyn, who plays Q, director Guy Hamilton instructed Llewelyn to play his character as if he disliked 007, since he has no respect for his gadgets. This method led to numerous sarcastic remarks from a perpetually exasperated Q, as well as one of his best known lines spoken in Goldfinger: “I never joke about my work, 007.” Although Bond was given a gadget-laden briefcase in the previous year’s From Russia with Love, Goldfinger popularized Bond’s visit to the Q-Branch, as Q explains to him his latest gadgets (as well as the audience treated to various additional gadgets in the testing phase).

Editor Peter Hunt, who worked on Goldfinger, had reconstructed From Russia with Love into a nicely paced action feature. His most noteworthy contribution was creating a pre-credit sequence. With Goldfinger, Hamilton and screenwriters Richard Maibaum and Paul Dehn turned the pre-credit scene into a movie all its own, with Bond in the midst of an assignment that has nothing to do with the forthcoming mission. Most of the subsequent movies adopted this format.

Goldfinger is likely the most popular of the Bond films. In addition to the distinctively mixed drinks and Q berating Bond, there are a number of things viewers tend to remember about this film: the golden fate of Jill Masterson, the introduction of the Aston Martin, the movie’s theme song (I personally cannot speak the title, choosing instead to sing it). But one of the most memorable components of Goldfinger is Goldfinger himself. Bond’s chief antagonist is a charming, brilliant man, and he’s an impressive and fascinating figure to watch onscreen. One reason for this is an outstanding performance from Fröbe, a German actor who could not speak English and was consequently dubbed for the film. He plays Goldfinger with a style that can easily be equated to 007. But more than anything, the manner in which the villain transports gold and his plan that he ultimately reveals to Bond are ingenious, and even if he is a self-centered, egotistical, malicious person, it is difficult not to respect him for his methods.

Honor Blackman as the provocatively-named Pussy Galore gives a strong showing in Goldfinger. Before being cast in the film, Blackman had just ended her contract on the successful British series, The Avengers. Her co-star, Patrick Macnee, would star in another Bond film, A View to a Kill (1985), and her replacement, Diana Rigg, would catch Bond’s wandering eyes in On Her Majesty’s Secret Service. To round out the Bond-Avengers connections, Joanna Lumley, who would be featured in The New Avengers with Macnee, had a small role in On Her Majesty’s Secret Service. Prior to Goldfinger, both Blackman and Shirley Eaton, who played Jill Masterson, had made appearances in another popular British TV show, The Saint, starring future 007, Roger Moore. Following the film’s 1964 release, Lois Maxwell, who played Moneypenny in numerous Bond films, and one-time Felix Leiter, Cec Linder, both starred in episodes of The Saint.

Toshiyuki “Harold” Sakata, of Japanese descent and born in Hawaii, was a professional wrestler, wrestling under the name Tosh Togo. Although he has no lines, his portrayal of Oddjob would make the character one of the best of the 007 series. The weaponized bowler hat was Fleming’s creation, but it is Sakata who flashes a wicked grin when Bond’s attempts to subdue him prove futile. Reportedly, Milton Reid, who’d previously had a small role as a guard in Dr. No, was up for the part of Oddjob and challenged Sakata to a wrestling match (to determine who would play the henchman) that never materialized. Reid would have a significant villainous role in The Spy Who Loved Me (1977). Linder is a standout among the many actors who would play Felix Leiter, pleasant and a worthy counterpart to Bond.

Goldfinger was a huge international success, breaking box office records and earning back its three-million dollar budget in just two weeks. Just a little more than a month before the premiere of Goldfinger, Bond creator/novelist Ian Fleming died of a heart attack.

Goldfinger is one of my favorite Bond films and is typically the one that I will recommend to potential 007 fans. Connery is terrific, of course, and there are many significant aspects of the film: a great villain, plenty of action, and excellent music.

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In the Heat of the Night (1967) ***

(This article is from guest contributor Rick29 and first appeared at http://classic-film-tv.blogspot.com/.  The rating in the title is my own.)

This racially-charged mystery, 1968’s Oscar winner for Best Picture, has aged gracefully over the years. The secret to its success can be attributed to its many layers. Peel back the mystery plot and you have a potent examination of racial tension in the South in the 1960s. Peel that back and you have a rich character study of two lonely police detectives, from completely different backgrounds, who gradually earn each other’s respect.

The film opens with a nighttime “tour” of Sparta, Mississippi, as police officer Sam Woods (Warren Oates) makes his rounds in his patrol car. He stops at a diner for a cold Coca Cola, then drives past closed shops with their bright neon signs. He pauses at a house where a young exhibitionist walks around in the nude. It’s a typical night in the sleepy little town…until Sam finds a dead body in an alley way.

The murder victim turns out to be an industrialist who planned to build a big factory in Sparta. The local police chief, Bill Gillespie (Rod Steiger), quickly launches an investigation that results in the arrest of a well-dressed black man at the train station. Much to Gillespie’s dismay, he learns his prime suspect is actually a police detective from Philadelphia named Virgil Tibbs (Sidney Poitier), who was awaiting a connecting train to Memphis. Tibb’s Philly superior tells Gillespie that Virgil is his “number one homicide expert.”

Though Gillespie doesn’t like Tibbs, he realizes that he needs help. Gillespie knows his subordinates are ineffective (they can’t even remember to oil the air conditioner) and the mayor won’t support him if he fails to find the killer quickly. Most importantly, Gillespie realizes that he’s out of his element; he just wants to run a “nice clean town” and lacks the expertise to handle a homicide investigation. For his part, Tibbs is torn—he’s eager to leave, but wouldn’t mind showing up these prejudiced, ignorant white men.

The film’s most famous scene is the confrontation between Tibbs and Endicott (Larry Gates), a wealthy cotton farmer and a principal murder suspect. Their conversation begins as a calm discussion on orchids, but Endicott quickly shows his racist side when he notes his flowers are “like the Negro…they need care and feeding and cultivating.” Tibbs coolly ignores the insult and persists with probing questions. When Endicott realizes he’s under investigation for murder, he slaps Tibbs across the face. Without hesitation, Tibbs strikes him back. When an enraged Endicott asks Gillespie what he’s going to do about Tibbs’ actions, the police chief replies simply: “I don’t know.”

Seen today, the scene still works as powerful drama. It no doubt had a greater and more significant impact when In the Heat of the Night was originally released. Ironically, Tibbs’ slap wasn’t in the novel nor the original screenplay (in both, Tibbs just walks away). In a February 2009 interview with the American Academy of Achievement, Poitier said he read the script and then told producer Walter Mirisch: “I will insist that I respond to this man (Endicott) precisely as a human being would ordinarily respond to this man. And he pops me, and I'll pop him right back. And I said, if you want me to play it, you will put that in writing. And in writing you will also say that if this picture plays the South, that that scene is never, ever removed.” Mirisch agreed and a classic, landmark scene made its way into a mainstream Hollywood film.

Historical significance aside, the film’s best-played scene has Tibbs and Gillespie relaxing in the latter’s drab home as a train whistle echoes in the distance. Drinking warm bourbon, Gillespie confesses to Tibbs that the Philly detective is the first person to see the inside of his home. Then, in an unguarded moment, Gillespie opens up about his mundane existence and isolation.

Gillespie: Don’t you get just a little lonely?
Tibbs: No lonelier than you, man.
Gillespie: Oh now, don’t get smart, Black boy. I don’t need it. No pity, thank you. No thank you.

The scene perfectly illustrates the performers’ contrasting acting styles (which is one reason why they work so well together). Steiger dramatically transforms from a sad sack looking off into a corner of room into a proud man who is offended that Tibbs would empathize with him. Poitier, meanwhile, says very little, slumping in his chair to convey exhaustion and leaning forward attentively to show interest in Gillespie.

Thanks in part to Stirling Silliphant’s excellent dialogue, In the Heat of the Night provides an ideal showcase for its two leads. Steiger, who had a tendency to overact in later movies, remains in total control here. Gillespie’s sloppy appearance, yellow-tinted sunglasses, and constant gum-chewing makes him look like a typical redneck Southern sheriff—but Steiger skillfully avoids playing the stereotype. Gillespie comes across as wily, independent, proud, prejudiced, and lonely. The performance earned Steiger a well-deserved Best Actor Oscar.
Poitier matches him scene for scene as the intelligent, proud, equally prejudiced Tibbs. He skillfully underplays the Philadelphia detective, so that when Tibbs strikes Endicott or flashes his anger toward Gillespie, those scenes catch fire. Amazingly, Poitier was not Oscar nominated, perhaps because his votes were split among three memorable 1967 performances: In the Heat of the Night, Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner, and To Sir, With Love.

Strip away its atmospheric setting and riveting characters and In the Heat of the Night is just an average mystery. But, in this case, the plot is just a means to the ends. The film is foremost a character study of two strong-willed men (played by two actors at the peak of their careers). Secondly, it’s a portrait of Southern life in the late 1960s. Some of it may be exaggerated, but overall, screenwriter Silliphant and director Norman Jewison skillfully capture a time and a place—making the viewer feel like they’ve just experienced a visit to Sparta in the 1960s. That’s what makes the confrontation between Tibbs and Endicott so powerful.
In the Heat of the Night also spawned one of the most famous lines of dialogue in movie history (the American Film Institute ranked it #16…it should have been higher). When Tibbs’ investigative skills expose a flaw in Gillespie’s initial theory about the crime, the following exchange take place:

Gillespie: Well, you're pretty sure of yourself, ain't you, Virgil? Virgil, that's a funny name for a nigger boy to come from Philadelphia. What do they call you up there?
Tibbs: They call me Mister Tibbs!

And that’s exactly what they called Virgil in two sequels in which Poitier reprised the role: They Call Me MISTER Tibbs (1970) and The Organization (1971). Sadly, neither film is very good. They transform Tibbs into a family man working in a big city—making him just another detective working the streets in a 1970s urban crime film.

In 1988, In the Heat of the Night was adapted as a television series starring Carroll O’Connor as Gillespie and Howard Rollins as Tibbs. Set in Sparta again, the show lasted for eight seasons, although Rollins was dropped after 1993 due to legal problems.

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Once Upon a Time in the West (C’era Una Volta Il West) 1968 ***

 

(This article is from guest contributor Rick29 and first appeared at http://classic-film-tv.blogspot.com/.  The rating in the title is my own.)

"Big," "epic," and "sprawling" are the words critics frequently use to describe this now-revered 1968 Spaghetti Western. Yet, despite its lengthy running time and visually massive backdrop, Once Upon a Time in West focuses tightly on the relationships among four people over a relatively short period of time. These characters are: Frank (Henry Fonda), a ruthless gunfighter who aspires to be a powerful businessman; Cheyenne (Jason Robards), a rascally outlaw with killer instincts; Jill (Claudia Cardinale), a former prostitute in search of a more meaningful life; and a mysterious revenge-minded stranger whom Cheyenne calls Harmonica (Charles Bronson).

Each character is introduced to the accompaniment of his or her own musical theme, memorably composed by Ennio Morricone. The mood of these themes range from playful (for Cheyenne) to bold and abrupt (Frank) to sweetly old-fashioned (Jill) to eerily disturbing (Harmonica). The last theme--an almost off-key four-note piece--is often played by Bronson's character on the harmonica he wears around his neck.

In addition to the musical motifs, director Sergio Leone employs natural sounds in unique ways throughout the film. For example, the film's opening fourteen-minute sequence contains virtually no dialogue--but we hear cracking knuckles, buzzing flies, water drops plopping, birds, and a train whistle. Later, Leone introduces Cheyenne by letting us listen to a ferocious gunfight from inside a quiet desert cantina.

As in most Leone Westerns, the storyline takes a back seat to the interesting characters and overarching theme, Leone's stylish direction, and some marvelous set pieces. For the record, Jill inherits a valuable property from a husband she hardly knew. Frank, working for a railroad baron, wants the property for its future value as a railroad way station. Cheyenne takes an interest in Jill and decides to protect her.

Harmonica helps Jill and Cheyenne, but his motive is revenge against Frank. Indeed, his reason for wanting to kill Frank is a riddle that lurks in the background until their epic showdown at the film's conclusion. Then, in a concise flashback that immediately proceeds the gun shots, Leone reveals the incident that fueled Harmonica’s vengeance.

Bronson and Robards give fine performances, but Henry Fonda steals the film in a great change-of-pace role as a villain who kills defenseless children and kicks out the crutches from underneath cripples. When Frank is making love to Jill, he remarks casually: “I think I might be a little sorry killing you.”

The only subpar performance is from Cardinale, who is also burdened with the least interesting character. Nevertheless, Jill is the strongest female character in any Leone Western and central to the film’s theme. Unlike the male characters, Jill is willing and able to adapt to the “New West.” Frank wants to become a businessman, for example, but he can’t change his violent ways.

Once Upon a Time in the West features one of the best openings of any Western: the aforementioned fourteen-minute sequence in which three gunfighters arrive at a train station to kill Harmonica after he unboards. They walk around the empty town and then wait and wait--and we wait with them as the credits appear slowly across on the screen. After thirteen minutes, the trains finally arrives, but Harmonica is nowhere in sight. As the train pulls out of the station and the gunfighters turn to leave, they hear Harmonica play his eerie tune. They turn around and he becomes visible on the other side of the tracks as the train rolls out of view. That leads to the following exchange:

Harmonica: "Did you bring a horse for me?"
Head Gunfighter (laughing): "Looks like we're shy one horse."
Harmonica (shaking his head): "You brought two too many."
In a flash, guns are blazing and four bodies hit the ground in a matter of seconds. It's a textbook example of how a filmmaker can manipulate his audience's perception of time and space--and it's also an incredible way to start a movie.

Amazingly, Once Upon a Time in the West flopped miserably when released in the U.S. in 1969. Part of its failure can be attributed to Paramount’s poor decision to cut thirty minutes from the film’s running time, thus rendering some of its plot incomprehensible. Still, the film did brisk business in Europe and helped make Charles Bronson an international star (ironically, Leone had tried to convince Bronson to play the Eastwood role in the earlier A Fistful of Dollars). As Leone’s status as a Spaghetti Western auteur grew in the 1970s and 1980s, Once Upon a Time in the West came to be rightfully hailed as his masterpiece.

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The Bird with the Crystal Plumage (L’ucello Dalle Piume Di Cristallo) 1970 **

(This article is from guest contributor Sarkoffagus and first appeared at the Classic Film & TV Cafe.  The rating in the title is my own.)

Sam Dalmas is an American writer looking for inspiration in Italy. After two years of writing very little, he is nearly broke and planning a return to the U.S. Passing by an art gallery one night, he sees a woman struggling with a man in black. The woman is stabbed, and the man runs away. Sam is inadvertently locked between giant glass doors and is unable to help the wounded woman. The police arrive, and Sam is questioned all night, but he cannot recall much about the man in black. In spite of this, the police consider the writer an important witness, and his passport is taken from him. Apparently, someone else believes Sam knows more, as an unknown assailant swings a cleaver aimed at his head while on his way home. When other young women start being murdered, and realizing that the killer may very well be the one who wants him dead, Sam begins investigating the killings on his own. This leads to a mysterious painting and a close examination of a recorded phone call from the killer, with a strange sound in the background (and an explanation of the title).

Director Dario Argento was a screenwriter for some years (including co-writing Sergio Leone's classic, Once Upon a Time in the West (1969), and Don Taylor's 1970 Western, Five Man Army). The Bird with the Crystal Plumage (1969) was his directorial debut and marked the beginning of what would become his trademarks. These include: a killer who threatens people with a creepy, whispering voice; focusing on the killer's weapon(s) of choice with extreme close-ups; and frequent point-of-view shots of the killer donning black leather gloves (Argento has stated that, in his films, the killer's hands always belong to the director himself, who believes that no one else can move the hands the way that he wants). One of the more significant and original trademarks that Argento first employed in his debut is a character who believes that he/she has seen something that may be important, but cannot be recalled at the present time. Sam says just that in The Bird with the Crystal Plumage, that there was something about the attack that was a little "off." Argento did this again in films such as 1975's Deep Red (aka The Hatchet Murders), 1982's Tenebrae (aka Unsane), and Trauma (1992). In each film, the character invariably remembers what exactly he/she was seeing, and it eventually leads to the killer's unmasking.

With this movie, Argento proved adept at combining scenes of suspense with humorous sequences. There are many instances of the killer stalking potential victims, and one attack in particular is truly terrifying, as the murderer tries to force a way into Sam's loft, while Sam's girlfriend, Julia, is alone. But comic relief abounds, as Sam visits a man in prison who tackles a speech impediment by saying "So long" (initially making Sam believe the interview has prematurely ended), as well as tracking down the artist of the aforementioned painting, a burly man surrounded by cats who lives on the second floor of a remote cottage, accessible only by a rickety stepladder.

The unveiling of the murderer is shocking and quite clever, and it's important to note that Argento never cheats in hiding the killer's identity. He is fair in his presentation to the audience. Much like the protagonist, Sam, the viewers see what they need to see and are allowed to form their own conclusions. Although many Italian horror films are mocked for weak and illogical stories (as well as shoddy English dubbing), The Bird with the Crystal Plumage has a solid plot with strong, likable characters. Tony Musante is very good as Sam, but he is outshined by Suzy Kendall portraying Julia. The real star, however, is Argento's camera, which simply refuses to sit still, creating beautifully fluid shots.

The Bird with the Crystal Plumage is reportedly an unaccredited adaptation of Frederic Brown's novel, The Screaming Mimi (officially adapted in 1958 in the U.S. as Screaming Mimi). This movie is the start of a reputed "Animal Trilogy," as the director followed this with The Cat o' Nine Tails (1970) and Four Flies on Grey Velvet (1971). Many Italian directors, hoping to achieve similar success, began including animals in the titles, such as Sergio Martino's The Case of the Scorpion's Tail (1971), Paolo Cavara's Black Belly of the Tarantula (1971), and Lucio Fulci's A Lizard in a Woman's Skin (1971) and Don't Torture a Duckling (1972).

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The Exorcist (1973) **

(This article is from guest contributor Sarkoffagus and first appeared at http://classic-film-tv.blogspot.com/.  The rating in the title is my own.)

Chris MacNeil (Ellen Burstyn) is an actress filming in Georgetown, Washington, D.C. She begins to notice changes in her 12-year-old daughter, Regan (Linda Blair): aggression, apparent seizures, speaking obscenities and profanities, etc. Chris takes Regan to various doctors and psychiatrists, but the girl’s behavior only worsens. When the medical professionals cannot adequately explain some of Regan’s more bizarre actions (one doctor suggests that muscle spasms were causing an entire bed to shake), Chris turns to Father Damien Karras (Jason Miller), a priest and psychiatric counselor. Father Karras, who has recently begun to question his own faith, eventually requests the Church’s permission to perform an exorcism. Finding a priest with experience in exorcism, the Church sends Father Merrin (Max von Sydow).

The Exorcist (1973) is based on the novel by William Peter Blatty, who also wrote the screenplay adaptation. The author had wanted William Friedkin to direct. Friedkin had recently won an Academy Award for Best Director for The French Connection (1971), and Blatty had hoped that the filmmaker’s gritty, documentary style would add realism to The Exorcist. Friedkin’s approach to the material is straightforward, a deliberately but effectively slow build to a menacing evil. On occasion, the film indeed feels like a documentary, as viewers watch Chris gradually learn what is happening to her daughter.

Blatty was not pleased with the version initially released in theaters, due to scenes that were cut from the film. Though the director has stated that he cut sequences at the bequest of the studio, the novelist felt that these scenes -- including a staircase conversation between the priests during the exorcism, with Karras questioning why Regan was chosen -- were essential to the plot. According to Friedkin, the excised scenes resulted in the two men not speaking to each other for years. Following the 25th anniversary DVD release, Friedkin returned to the source material and edited the cut scenes back into the film. Another sequence that had been removed was what has become known as the “spider walk” scene, where a contorted Regan does a reverse crawl down the stairs. Friedkin was unhappy with the effect, which was later digitally corrected (i.e., the visible cable could be erased).

There is the belief by some that The Exorcist was a cursed film. There were rumors of accidents on the set, sometimes resulting in injuries. Members of the crew or people related to them died during filming, such as Jack MacGowran, who played Chris’ director and possible love interest. Friedkin allegedly asked Father Thomas Bermingham (a technical advisor who also had a role in the film) to exorcise the set. When the film was released, viewers claimed to be possessed or experiencing extreme psychological reactions, some referencing the purported “subliminal” flashing of a demon’s face (although it’s not genuinely subliminal, since it’s clearly visible). Some audience members would prematurely exit the theater during a viewing or would become physically ill. Blatty, however, attributes this not to scenes of demonic possession but rather the sequences of Regan undergoing strenuous tests such as a pneumoencephalography (enduring a needle in her neck and having her head taped down, among other things).

The Exorcist was such an overwhelming success that it sparked a horror subgenre of possessed people and the resulting scenes of exorcism. Not surprisingly, clones and sequels invariably followed. Some of the more interesting takes on The Exorcist were: Alberto De Martino’s L’anticristo (1975/aka The Antichrist; The Tempter), Exorcismo (1975/aka Exorcism), starring popular and prolific Spanish horror star Paul Naschy (sometimes called the “Spanish Lon Chaney”), Un urlo nelle tenebre (1975/aka Cries and Shadows; The Possessor; and even the blatant Naked Exorcism, The Return of the Exorcist, and The Exorcist 3); and La endemoniada (1975/aka Demon Witch Child; The Possessed), directed by Amando de Ossorio, better known for his Blind Dead series. A Turkish film, Seytan (1974), is clearly an unofficial remake. Similarly, William Girdler’s Blaxploitation feature, Abby (1974), starring William Marshall (perhaps best known as Blacula), was sued by Warner Bros. for copyright violation. Mario Bava’s film Lisa and the Devil (aka Lisa e il diavolo), released before The Exorcist in 1972, was reedited with new footage added and retitled The House of Exorcism for its 1975 U.S. release.

John Boorman helmed Exorcist II: The Heretic in 1977. It follows Father Lamont (Richard Burton) investigating a death resulting from the exorcism of Regan. Blair reprises her role, and von Sydow appears as Father Merrin in flashbacks. The film performed poorly at the box office. Blatty fared a little better with The Exorcist III (1990), based on his novel, Legion, which was also the movie’s original title. The author wrote and directed the film, but the studio compromised his efforts, demanding rewrites, reshoots, and a title change. It featured George C. Scott as Lt. Kinderman and Ed Flanders as Father Dyer, both characters having appeared in the first film (Lee J. Cobb, who played Kinderman in The Exorcist, died in 1976). Jason Miller also makes an appearance as Patient X (with the insinuation that he is Father Karras, a studio alteration). Reportedly, the footage that Blatty originally shot has since been lost, which has been blamed on Morgan Creek Productions. The same year as The Exorcist III, the Exorcist parody Repossessed, starring Blair and go-to funnyman Leslie Nielsen, was released.

In 2003, Paul Schrader was fired as director of an Exorcist prequel (he had replaced John Frankenheimer, who had died in 2002 before filming had started). Schrader’s work was completely revamped by director Renny Harlin, and the movie was released in 2004 as Exorcist: The Beginning. After a poor reception of Harlin’s movie, Schrader was given additional funds to finish his nearly completed film. The movie, title Dominion: Prequel to the Exorcist, received limited theatrical showings and subsequent video/DVD release in 2005. Although the film likewise was not well received, it’s generally preferred by fans of the series. Blatty publicly supported Schrader’s film, while expressing discontent for the 2004 version.

In 1980, Blatty wrote and directed The Ninth Configuration, an adaptation of his 1978 novel of the same name, itself a reworking of his own 1966 book Twinkle, Twinkle, “Killer” Kane (also an alternate title for the film). The author reputedly considered it a sequel to The Exorcist. A notable connection between the two films is Capt. Capshaw (Scott Wilson, who was nominated for a Golden Globe), an astronaut with a fear of dying in outer space, and it was supposedly Capshaw to whom Regan is referring when she speaks her famous line: “You’re going to die up there.” In addition to Wilson, the film was nominated for a Golden Globe for Best Drama and Blatty won for adapted screenplay. Several cast members, including Wilson, Miller, Flanders, and Nicol Williamson, would also star in Blatty’s The Exorcist III. The Ninth Configuration was not a success at the time of its theatrical release but has since gone on to achieve cult status.

Friedkin has boasted that he originally edited The Exorcist at the New York office building located at 666 5th Avenue. Radio and film actress Mercedes McCambridge provided Regan’s raspy voice during the young girl’s possession but did not initially receive a promised screen credit. She (and the Screen Actors Guild) were able to get her name added to the credits. The film’s original trailer, consisting of black and white flashes of a demonic face and a possessed Regan coupled with ear-piercing music, was supposedly banned by executives as it was deemed too frightening to play in theaters.

The film was nominated for 10 Academy Awards, winning for sound and adapted screenplay. It won a Golden Globe for Best Picture, with Golden Globes awarded to Friedkin, Blair and Blatty.

Recently, Warner Bros. released The Exorcist on Blu-ray, presented in a “book” format with details of the film and trivia. The two-disc set includes the original theatrical version and the director’s cut (released in 2000 as “The Version You’ve Never Seen”), as well as previously available and brand new features.

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Wu Du (Five Deadly Venoms) 1978 **

(This article is from guest contributor Sarkoffagus and first appeared at http://classic-film-tv.blogspot.com/.  The rating in the title is my own.)

In the 1978 cult kung fu film, The Five Deadly Venoms (aka The Five Venoms), a dying sifu ("master" or "teacher" in Chinese) tells his pupil of a "Poison Clan" consisting of five students. The sifu had taught each member of the clan a very specific and deadly technique: the Centipede, the Snake, the Scorpion, the Lizard and the Toad. The clan had long ago disbanded, but since the students hid their identities (even from one another, always wearing masks), their master does not know their whereabouts. He asks his pupil to ensure that the former students are not utilizing their skills for evil deeds. The young fighter has been taught each of the five techniques, but since he has not focused on a single one, he will only be able to defeat an opponent if he aligns with another.

When I was younger, there was a local cable channel that often ran obscure movies, typically of the horror variety. But if it was not a horror film, chances are it was a '70s Hong Kong kung fu action pic. I saw The Five Deadly Venoms many years ago, and for the longest time, I could not recall the title. There were three distinguishing characteristics of the film that I never forgot: different men with unique styles, one in particular with his hands posed like snake fangs (and yes, it was the Snake); a villain boasting of killing someone without anyone knowing it was murder (he simply drove a hook up the nose and... well, you get the picture); and one of the fighters was seemingly indestructible, and his opponents continually tried to find his weakness.

I was happy that I eventually discovered the film again and enjoyed it immensely. The fight sequences are outstanding. By the time this film was released, director Chang Cheh had mastered the kung fu film. He was one of the most prolific directors at Shaw Bros. Studio in Hong Kong, having also helmed the classic 1967 One-Armed Swordsman, which made a star out of Jimmy Wang Yu (one of the biggest actors in Hong Kong before that Bruce Lee guy came along). What also makes The Five Deadly Venoms great is an undeniably strong story. The fact that the young pupil has to first identify each former student adds an element of mystery to the action film. It's not just a movie about kung fu fighters in combat. It's about loyalty and trust, two attributes which prove necessary for survival in a world of poison clans.

The year of 1978 also saw the release of Crippled Avengers, which was released in the U.S. as Return of the Five Deadly Venoms. It was certainly not a sequel to Five Deadly Venoms, but a few of the actors appear in each film, and, not surprisingly, Chang had his directorial hand in both. In Crippled Avengers, a man discovers his wife killed and his son crippled (his arms have been severed). Years later, father and son (now with deadly arms made of iron!) seek to harm whomever they so desire. Four of the men crippled by the two vengeance-minded villains band together to stop the familial rein of terror. Though the two films are connected only by (U.S.) titles, they make a terrific double feature.

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