THE FIFTY COOLEST MOVIES EVER MADE
THE CATALOG OF COOL'S SCREEN
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The following motion pictures have been rated
T.C., and may contain elements of subzero stylishness
which have been been determined to cause cool spells
in laboratory animals.
THE FIFTY COOLEST MOVIES EVER MADE
BEACH BALL (1965). Edd Byrnes was already showing crow's feet in this wet-suit wonderama about a hungry rock band ("the Wigglers"). To their credit, Kookie's dialogue writers feed him great lines. Kook to girl who interrupts him on dance floor: "Catch me later, baby, I'm in orbit!"
THE BEAT GENERATION (1959). What do you expect when the producer of High School Confidential and LSD, I Hate You! turns his savage eye on the Beatnik movement? Jive talk, a rapecrazy psycho, Mamie Van Doren and Vampira, and such beat jazz innovators as Louis Armstrong and Ray Anthony. Wail.
BEYOND THE VALLEY OF THE DOLLS (1970). Some prefer The Immoral Mr. Teas, some get their kicks from Faster Pussycat, Kill, Kill! But all Russ Meyer fans know this is among the sleaze king's sleaziest. Member of feminist rock band (the Carrie Nations) to manager, after he's pulled a Myra Breckinridge and revealed himself as a transsexual: "Z-man, you're a chick!"
BRINGING UP BABY. Howard Hawks invents a prehistorical (1938) vision of cool as verbal thrust-and-parry between Gary Grant and Kate Hepburn. Breathless. See also Holiday (1938). D.S.
CAGED MEN (1973). Wrestling great Abdullah the Butcher and his (real life) midget manager make screen debuts, playing desperate lifers trying to grow pot in a jail greenhouse. Hammerlocks and hopheads. G.T.
CHE! (1969). Unwatchable, even within its genre (bogus "revolutionary" films of the late Sixties), but singularly brilliant for its perverse casting: Jack Palance as Fidel Castro. Arriba!
THE COOL AND THE CRAZY (1958). Scott Marlowe looks like Lou Reed, blows reefer, and walks on the jive side. Seedy pushers, flaming car crashes, and dozens of ducktailed teens "hooked on smoke." R.B.
THE COOL ONES (1967). Au go-go D.S. mania with Roddy McDowall as a flip Spector-type music mogul. Teens twist and shout from an aerial tramway, invent a dance sensation ("the Tantrum"), and bug grizzly TV exec Phil Harris. An underling catches embarrassed Harris perfecting his Tantrum, causing Philsy to stop mid-frug: "It's my underwear. My wife buys it too small and it itches." Gear.
DECOY FOR TERROR (1970). Beatnik artist murders his models ("They always move!") by freezing them. Cool climax: a power outage causes one, frozen posed with a bow and arrow, to release the arrow, killing artist who's just finished his masterpiece. Neil Sedaka sings "Do the Waterbug" ("Do the Cow/if you want it right now...").
DIRTY HARRY (1971). Detective Clint Eastwood to cringing crook: "I know what you're thinking, punk. You're thinking did I fire six shots or only five? Now to tell you the truth, I've forgotten myself in all this excitement. But being this is a forty-four magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world and it'll blow your head clean off, you could ask yourself a question, 'Do I feel lucky?' ... Well, do you, punk?"
DOCTOR STRANGELOVE (1964). The more real the madness gets these days, the hipper Southern's script and Kubrick's shots become. The mineshaft gap, the precious-bodily-fluids drain, and General "Buck" Turgidson and Lieutenant Bat Guano said it all, to say nothing of Slim Pickens' bombsight soliloquy as Captain "King" Kong. Peter Sellers' silliest.
DUEL (1971). The absolute Big Daddy of anthropomorphic auto-horror movies, beating both the alien-powered Killdozer (1974) and the Satanic limo of The Car (1977). Dennis Weaver is inexplicably pursued through four Western states by a demonic diesel. A vehicle that could only be made for TV.
EATING RAOUL (1982). Squaresviile R.S. couple with no bread (Mary Woronov, Paul Bartel) advertise for sex freaks, bop them with skillets, then sell freaks' cars. Supercool Raoul, chicano con man, spoils the party. A wiggy morality play with every "hip" attitude turned inside out.
GET CARTER (1971). Subzero cool Brit flick starring Michael Caine, who pisses off an entire railway pub by ordering his bitter "in a thin glass." After balling an overripe hotel manageress in Newcastle, Caine, naked, faces down two other hoods with a shotgun and walks them outside into a kiddie parade, making deadpan wisecracks. R.B.
THE GIRL CAN'T HELP IT (1956). Bill Reed and David Ehrenstein said it best, in Rock on Film (Delilah Books, 1981). "Jayne Mansfield is a succulent A-Bomb just waiting to explode in this satire of record industry hucksterism. And the look of the film is just right! Cinemascope, stereophonic sound and Technicolor you can eat with a spoon," Music by Gene Vincent, Little Richard, Fats Domino, Eddie Cochran.
GLEN OR GLENDA (1952). Two separate narratives for this pic "about the serious question of sex change." Lyle Talbot as the shrink, with Bela Lugosi the doddering voice of God. Plot intercut with shots of a steel mill, living room lovemaking scene (with balalaika music), buffalo and lightning bolts. At one point the camera cuts to a radiator for no discernible reason. R.M.
GODFATHER II (1974). New heights in ethno-Cool, Mediterranean division: Dons Tessio and Fanucci, Johnny Five Angels (Michael Gazzo). Arkie cool: the investigating senator who calls the GF "Don Core-lay-oh-nay." B.M.
HIGH SCHOOL CONFIDENTIAL (1958). Quick! Cut from square biz jerk behind desk doing anti-weed rap to Jerry Lee Lewis screaming the title tune from a flatbed truck. Nonstop hepcat jargon, plus surreal plot and cast (Jackie Coogan as the heroin-peddling "Mr. A"). As undercover agent Russ Tamblyn's "aunt," Mamie Van Doren points her turrets at him next to the refrigerator - "Want some milk?" R.B.
HIT LADY (1974). Women's lib comes knocking in sharp threads: Yvette Mimeux as a bikini-clad mob assassin. Groovy.
THE HORROR OF PARTY BEACH (1964). Attack of the Crab Monsters (1957) beat this one to the Three Mile Island riff (radiation as the root of all evil), but Stephen King celebrates the monster-and-surf pic for its supreme lack of a "context of reality." Party Beach, writes Steve, is "perhaps only topped by Plan Nine from Outer Space as the worst horror movie ever made." You bet.
JIGSAW (1968). Bizarro TV yarn starts with acid flashback, gets progressively weirder. Blow Up references, Hope Lange, Michael J. Pollard, and a fantabulous finale: Up on the root, paint-covered baddies pass a heating duct, ignite, and jump twelve stories to fiery deaths. Real gone. T.V.
KITTEN WITH A WHIP (1964). Ann-Margret, as a delinquent-on-the-run, holes up with Senator John Forsythe and threatens to cry rape if he chucks her. Two Ivy League psychopaths (Skip Ward and Peter Brown) fall by. An argument ensues. Ward slashes Brown's arm with a blade then apologizes. Brown: "Hey buddy, no pain. No pain at all." Yeahhh. R.B.
LOLITA (1962). Unquestionably the choicest example of post-Beat, pre-hippie esthetics on film. Peter Sellers as Claire Quilty is the personification of hip erudition, while Lolita's ultra theme is an early nod at pop trash from the intelligentsia (Kubrick). D.S.
LORD LOVE A DUCK (1965). Roddy McDowall again, in the finest satirical take on Southern California manners, mores, and architecture that an Easterner could ask for. Neal Hefti contributes inspired ersatz rock 'n' roll. Tuesday Weld gives the cinema's coolest portrayal of a teen wet dream as a starlet scoring a part in a film titled Bikini Widow. R.S.
THE LOVES OF HERCULES (1964). Jayne Mansfield goes Greek just before her untimely demise. She wears a dark wig, undulates under a loincloth, and does lots of horseback riding in what is obviously the first "jiggly." M.M.
THE MAN WITH THE X-RAY EYES (1963). Among Roger Corman's finest ninety minutes. A heavy theme decked out in triumphant B-movie ciphers. Who can forget Ray Milland ripping out his orbs at that tent revival? Old Testament sci-fi. D.S.
MEAN STREETS (1973). DeNiro, as the quintessential Cool Jerk "Johnny boy" drops cherry bombs in mail-boxes, starts fights for Harvey Keitel to finish, acts goofy and gallant ("Give dese girls a seven-and-seven"). Best use of rock In' roll in a motion picture (pool hall scene, etc.). Film introduces word Mook into contemporary lexicon.
MICKEY ONE (1965). Offbeat with a ten-point "0." The original One from the Heart and lots more: Caligari sets, schizoid cutting, and Warren Beatty as a Lenny Bruce-type comic on the brink of a big crack-up. This movie deserves a cult.
MONDO TRASHO (1969). The less (much less) precious tunes-as-soundtrack version of Scorpio Rising, this early John Waters opus uses snippets of pop songs (and stuff like "Pomp and Circumstance" totally out of context) behind Divine killing Mary Vivian Pearce in her car and trying to revive her - first asking the aid of the Blessed Virgin, then seeking out the local mad scientist, who not only revives Pearce but gives her web feet. Rape scene features "Baby Let's Play House." R.M.
MOTEL HELL (1981). Texas Chainsaw meets Oscar Mayer. Rory Calhoun outstanding as "Farmer Vincent" who cures dead folks' organs into a special recipe for home-styled cold cuts. This is a tasty little sucker. G.T.
NOT OF THIS EARTH (1957). Alien visitor must wear wraparound shades to protect alien eyes from earth's bright sunlight (ha!). Blood is sucked from earthling victims via transfusion into milk bottles! Very "cool" performances by Beverly Garland and Corman vet Dick Miller (as a vacuum cleaner salesman). G.T.
OCEAN'S ELEVEN (1960). Sinatra's Rat Pack in its first screen fling. Dino, Sammy, Angie Dickinson, and the rest ("the hipster saints of the Booze Culture," said High Times) invade Vegas armed with in-jokes and swizzle sticks. Loose, juicy, it all leads to Four for Texas, Robin and the Seven Hoods, and the ultimate dry-out. Yuks on the rocks.
OUR MAN FLINT (1966). James Coburn began his continuing exposition of the Coolest Man Alive character with this spicy James Bond spoof involving lots of skin and an espionage agency called Z.O.W.I.E. See also In Like Flint and The President's Analyst.
THE PARTY (1968). Peter Sellers, in between Strangelove and Alice B. Toklas, plays an Indian space case accidentally invited to a swingin' Hollywood soiree. Go-go boots, body paint, and a graffiti-covered elephant taking a bubble bath. "Birdy num nums." T.V.
PEEPING TOM (1959). Class director Michael Powell (Red Shoes) commits career-icide with a voyeuristic tale to end all voyeuristic tales. A weirdo films and tapes his victims' suffering just as his dad did to him. Character actor Miles Malleson enters a sweetshop-porno den, lips aquiver: "I understand you have some views for sale." R.B.
PETULIA (1968). Julie Christie at her sexy best in a saga of crumbling marriages and civilization set against the psyche-out world of Frisco'67. A young Grateful Dead grok and groove for swingers in a Telegraph Hill pad. Trip or freak.
PICKUP ON SOUTH STREET (1953). Sneering Richard Widmark ("Don't wave the flag at me!") accidentally cops some government secrets en route to the Commies, starts to feel the heat. Widmark lives in a shack in New York Harbor containing only a hammock and a rope, which he uses to haul cold beer out of the Hudson. Sexy Jean Peters bathes in bubbles with a smoke stuck in the corner of her mouth. Craazy. R.B.
PRIME CUT (1972). Totally flipsville! Gene Hackman eaten by pigs, a gangster's moll in a Louis Quinze houseboat on the Missouri, a pitchfork thrown into the side of a speeding Cadillac limo. A shotgun fight in a field of huge blackeyed Susans. A man pushed into a grinder, ground into hot dogs, and sent in a package to his wife. And more! R.B.
R.P.M. (1970). The only thing that could beat Ann-Margret playing a campus radical is Anthony Quinn as a left-leaning, motorcycle-riding professor named Taco. R.P.M. offers both.
SHACK OUT ON 101 (1955). Goofy gray paranoia from the Fifties. Lee Marvin plays Slob, a shambling short-order chef in Keenan Wynn's beachfront greasy spoon. While FBI agent Frank Lovejoy cops a cut-rate From Here to Eternity with Terry Moore on the sand (they look like cubes mating), Lee smuggles microfilm to the Reds. At one point the "story" stops dead for fifteen minutes while Marvin and Wynn hoist weights and compare lats and delts. Cheap thrills!
SHAKEDOWN (1950). Fuck-em-over news photographer Howard Duff tells a drowning man to raise his arms so it'll make a better picture, then booby-traps a mobster's car, popping his flash as the hood blows himself to bits. Editor: "How'd you get this shot?!" Duff (lighting a match with his fingernail): "Just happened to be passin' by ..." R.B.
SKI PARTY (1965). Too cool: James Brown singing I Feel Good" in a ski sweater on the slopes. T.V.
SLITHIS (1978). Not just another fishman remake, this one takes place in Venice (California) canals and features the heaviest dose yet of high school science causality ("Louis Pasteur proved in 1872 .. "); great winos and riff-raff, including one guy with a reallooking burned-up face. Monsters so-so, but film's general shoddiness (at least five distinct types of bad acting incarnate) more than carries it. R.M.
SOLDIER IN THE RAIN (1963). Two decades have not made this existential Army pic any less strange, which is perfect. Sergeant Jackie Gleason drinks Cokes, philosophizes. Corporal Steve McQueen watches, listens. Tuesday Weld calls Gleason "Jellybelly."
SWEET SMELL OF SUCCESS (1957). Tony Curtis, a Brylcreemed weasel in a continental suit, and Burt Lancaster, a brush cut paranoiac in bifocals, trade hot riffs like Basie sidemen - "The cat's in the bag and the bag's in the river!" "Here's your head, what's your hurry?" "Who could love a man," asks Burt's sis (Susan Harrison), "who makes you jump through burning hoops like a trained poodle?" R.B.
THUNDER ROAD (1958). Flickdom's granddaddy of cool, bad Bob Mitchum in a barbiturate-soaked performance with equally zoned-out love interest R. B. Keely Smith. When some creep tries running moonshiner Mitch off the road, Mr. Heavylids coolly removes the old cig from his lip and flicks it across his car, out the window, and into the creep's car. It lands in his lap and he drives screaming to his death over an embankment. Mitchum never changes his expression! R.B.
THE TREASURE OF SIERRA MADRE (1948). Not only does bandito Alfonso Bedoya "don't have to show you any stinkin' badges," he gets to reprimand Bogie himself - "Why don' you try to be a lettle more polite?"
WILD ANGELS (1966). The bikes start here in an epic cycle-drama starring Peter Fonda and his obsessively cool pals (Bruce Dern, Michael J. Pollard, and a leatherbound Nancy Sinatra). An idealized Blank Generation waltzes and wheelies to "Blues' Theme."
WINCHESTER '73 (1950). Rock Hud R.B. son plays an Injun ("Young Calf"), and Dan Duryea gleefully upholds his reputation as the baddest bad-ass in the Old West, "Waco Johnny Dean." When a female admirer tells Duryea, "Waco Johnny, you're the meanest man in Texas," he replies, "Lady, don't limit me." R.B.
AND FROM TOO COOL...
FROSTED FLICKS
ABSOLUTE
BEGINNERS (1986; HBO/Cannon Video). Fast, if
flawed, musical on the (late Fifties) coming-of-age of Brit
teen culture, with visual-din art direction straight out of
early Mad. Bop saint Slim Gaillard revs a wild party with
"I'm Selling Out." D. Bowie, as ad-man Vendice Partners,
resembles Edd Byrnes' evil twin and does a mean Gene Kelly
on giant typewriter keys. Sounds: EMI's original soundtrack
(Gil Evans, Sade's "Killer Blow"). Ink link: Colin MacInnes'
original novel (1959, available as Penguin paperback).
BABY
DOLL (1956; Warner Home Video). Down in the Delta,
frustrated Karl Malden (hot 'n' sweaty) and vengeful Eli
Wallich (cool 'n' greasy) both put the moves on airhead
Carroll Baker (blonde 'n' sexy). Penned by Tenn. Wms,
directed by Elia Kazan. Amazing soundtrack by Kenyon
Hopkins with New Orleans great Smiley Lewis rockin' out on
"Shame, Shame, Shame." Addled value: Mildred Dunnock
as
bird-brained Aunt Rose Comfort. D.B.
BEDLAM (1946; Fox Hills Video, Image Video). Producer Val
Lewton's best. Sinister Boris Karloff runs the madhouse &
supplies loonies for a lord's party. Inmates portray various
qualities. Due to Goldfinger type gilding, "Reason"
expires
at film's start, in a tub of jelly. D.B.
THE
BIG PICTURE (1989; RCA/Columbia Home Video). Small,
supersharp satire on the movie biz from some of the same
folks who gave you Spinal Tap. When his student flick cops
the film school prize, Kevin Bacon rises high, falls hard.
Heights: the head of a cheapo studio suggests Kev revise his
script into a buddy pic about a Civil War president and a
baseball legend, and we actually see a clip from Abe And The
Babe; Martin Short as Bac's superfey agent, J.T. Walsh as
the delectably smarmy film exec who greenlights his film.
BIRD
(1988; Warner Home Video). As Charlie Parker's long-
suffering wife Chan, Diane Venora is a pixie-cut dream Beat
Girl. Hers is the coolest pronunciation of the word "man"
in a major motion picture. "I don't want to make anybody
peaceful, maaan."
THE CHASE (1946). Fractured film noir based on Cornell
Woolrich's typically paranoiac Forties novel The Black Path
of Fear. An abstracted, comic-book nightmare. Rich hood
Steve Cochran gets his kicks beating up his manicurist and
racing trains -- goosing the speed of his chaffeur-driven
car by a hidden gas pedal in the back seat. Confidant Pete
Lorre scores big as a bummed-out psycho-hipster. Haunted
Bob Cummings and Michelle Morgan stumble through dark-as-
death photography desperately trying to wake up. Available
through Sinister Cinema in a less-than-perfect but better-
than-average print. D.B.
THE COBWEB (1955; no-rent). Supreme Fifties Technicolor
neurotica from Vince Minelli. The plot? A power struggle
to choose the curtains in a nuthouse. For real. With Oscar
Levant singing "M-O-T-H-E-R" in wetpack, sensitive John
Kerr
obsessed with Van Gogh, and Charles Boyer as a washed-up
dipso shrink trying to bed unhappily married Gloria Grahame:
"Boat Veecky, I taught we would 'ave ahn ah-ffair!"
Nervous.
D.B.
COOGAN'S BLUFF (1968; Vestron Home Video). Stalking bad
acidhead Don Stroud in Manhattan, Arizona deputy Clint E
goes to a go-go discotheque. On the floor, crowds frug to
"The Pigeon Toed Orange Peel," performed by The Pigeon
Toed
Orange Peel. -Tim Hathaway
DANCE HALL RACKET (1956; see "The Fang" in Shop Around
guide). Lenny Bruce wrote, produced and acted in this
exploito oddity that features his mother Sally Marr lectur-
ing his wife Honey Harlow on how to strip. As giggling
killer Vinnie, Len tries to turn the page of a stroke mag a
thug is perusing while being talked to by his boss. "Hey!
I ain't finished reading this!" "What's to read, stupid?"
replies the future comickaze, "it's only pictures!"
D.B.
DEMON (originally GOD
TOLD ME TO; 1977). Blasphemy, anyone?
The inimitable Larry Cohen (Q, Maniac Cop) outdoes himself
with the tale of a scary alien invader who presents himself
as J. Christ. He fools eminent businessmen ("He wants to
deal with the leaders of society this time") and Superfly
pimps alike. Final confrontation between false messiah and
tough cop Tony LoBianco who proves to have alien blood
himself (his mom was raped by a flying saucer) is worth the
price of admission. J.T.
EASY
MONEY (1983; Orion Home Video). In the ultimate
wiseguy nightmare, pot-head baby photographer Rodney
Dangerfield is forced into sobriety and clean living for a
solid year by his undead mother-in-law. From the depths of
his despair, Rod creates "the Regular Guy" fashion look
and
is magically transformed into the Coco Chanel of the
pizza-'n'-poker set. Highlight: at the track, he and Joe
Pesci wait behind an interminably slow first-time bettor at
the ticket window. "What're ya doin'," Pesci finally
bursts
out, "buyin' a fuckin' house?" D.W.
FANTASTIC
PLANET (1977; Embassy Entertainment). Tiny
humanoid Ohms rebel against their zomboid Drog masters in a
surreal landscape full of scissor plants, winged monsters
and waltzing statues. Smart script, spacy music, Roland
Topor's unique graphics triumph decisively over limited
animation. D.B.
FAT
CITY (1972; RCA/Columbia Home Video). John Huston's
d-a-r-k screen adapt of Leonard Gardner's novel about
Stockton (Calif.) tankers on the ropes. Even if you win,
you lose. Wild acting by wild cast: Stacey Keach, Jeff
Bridges, Susan Tyrell as stone alky. Last line: "As soon
as
you're born, your life makes a beeline for the drain." D.B.
FLAMINGO
KID (1984; Vestron Home Video). Matt Dillon shleps
for seaside swinger Dick Crenna at his Long Island resort,
ca. 1963. Beachside, Crenna puffs Panatellas, checks out
Janet Jones' one-piece, plays gin with old duffers. The
summer wind blows. The sun melts highball ice. The look on
duffer Ron McClarty's face says it all: It doesn't get much
better than this. B.M., G.S.
HAIRSPRAY
(1988; RCA Columbia Home Video). Winner of the
accuracy-in-media award for truthfully exposing the secrets
of pre-Beatle cool, namely hair and dances. Watch your
steps: Madison, Pony, Roach, Bug. Director John Waters
outshines an all-star cast (Divine, Jerry Stiller) as psycho
shrink Dr. Frederickson. Must-have soundtrack (MCA). B.M.
HEAD
(1968; RCA/Columbia Video). After Vic Mature (who
plays The Big Victor, a 40-foot matinee idol) read the
script, he remarked, "I can't figure it out. All I know is
that it makes me laugh." America didn't share Mature's
singular sense of humor, and this gobbler bit big at the
b.o. But time's been kind to this Jack Nicholson-penned
Monkees vehicle. What once could have been dismissed as
another wrong-headed youthie might now be dug as an idiosyn-
cratic celluloid curiosity. With Frank Zappa, Tim Carey,
Sonny Liston, Annette. R.S.
THE
HONEYMOON KILLERS (1964; Vestron Video). Cinematic
equivalent of Fifties True Crime mag, based on the real life
1949 case of "the Lonely Hearts Killers." Unctuous Raymond
Fernandez (Tony LoBianco) cons irritating/funny/sad spin-
sters & widows out of their bread, but falls in lust with
one intended pigeon: fat, obsessive ex-nurse Martha Beck
(Shirley Stoller). Posing as his sister, she decides on a
"no witnesses" policy, which turns their scam homicidal.
Comedy comes no blacker than this. Original director M.
Scorsese was replaced by scripter Leonard Kastle who never
made another movie. D.B.
JFK (1991) Oliver Stone's three-hour paranoi-epic is so grounded by straight-arrow K. Costner that it permits a whole flock of N'Awlins loonybirds to fly around its edges. To wit: Joe Pesci (in sub-Hair Club frightwig and grease pencil eyebrows), Kevin Bacon (a psychopathic racist right wing male hustler), Tommy Lee Jones (a low-camp Jeff Chandler) and, coolest of all, grand John Candy: a tanned, Ray-banned hipster hedonist spouting the most baroque jive rap this side of N.O dejays Dr. Daddy-o, Poppa Stoppa and Jack the Cat. As soon as he opens his mouth, you're already miles behind. D.B.
THE
KILLERS (1964; MCA Video). Hard
to tell who shines brightest here, the star (Dutch Reagan as
a mail-robbin' hood in a '59 Ford), or the suits (hitman Lee
Marvin in a two-piece aqua-metallic diddybop). Or maybe
it's Angie Dickinson, Dutch's moll with eyes for wheelman
John Cassa- vetes. Method head: Marv's pard Clu Gulager
sips carrot juice, gargles hooch, and polishes his Raybans
on Norman Fell's head. Don Siegel directs.
THE
KILLING (1956; MGM/UA Home Video). Amid an embarrasment
of riches (the imponderable marriage of Elisha Cook and
Marie Windsor, Jim Thompson's dialogue), Tim Carey steals
the show in Kubrick's tale of a racetrack heist. Approached
on his farm by mysterioso hood Sterling Hayden about doing a
"job," ex-con sharpshooter T.C. pets his puppy, squints
and
grits. "What kinda money, pops?" Hayden: "$5000."
Carey:
"Who do I hafta kill?" Saintly sighting: in the corner
of
an exterior shot, a club wall advertises "Burlesque. Lenny
Bruce." -Tim Hathaway.
THE
KILLING OF A CHINESE BOOKIE (1976; no-rent). This small
flipped flick stars Ben Gazzarra as Cosmo, a Sunset strip-
club owner forced to carry out a mob hit. Direc-tor John
Cassavetes was practically hit by a mob of riled fans for
making it. A queasy showbiz freakshow that makes David
Lynch look like Disney in short pants. D.W.
KISS
ME DEADLY (1955; MGM/U.A.). Mutant Fifties film noir as
Mike Hammer (Ralph Meeker) seeks a metal box which contains
nothing less than fire stolen from the gods. No one will be
admitted during the last 5 minutes' box-opening scene; the
sound alone will give you nightmares. Spillane hates this
movie - he'd better! J.T.
LES
VAMPIRES (1916; no-rent). This eight-hour Louis
Feuillade serial from the teens was a monstro influence on
the Surre-alists (esp. Magritte). Mystery lady in tights
slith-ers over Parisian rooftops & down chimney with secret
message. Poison dart inside glove gives lethal handshake.
Library wall slides up, cannon rolls out, fires through open
window, destroying watchtower. Almost as boss: Franju's '63
Judex, a b & w sound hommage shot like a silent. D.B.
MAD
MAX (1979; Vestron). Forget Bladerunner and its modish
image of the future. This is Sid Vicious' version of the
by-and-by. Grim, gritty, grease and gas-soaked, a low-
budget masterpiece that'll leave rubber all over what little
optimism you may foolishly cling to. R.S.
MANDINGO (1975; Paramount). Ultra-lurid, ante-bellum
mellerdrama from the novel by one Kyle Oscott, a pseudonym
supposedly hiding the identity of a French Quarter black
queen. Everything needed to give any old-line Dixiecrat a
massive coronary. Slaves can't hardly work a run-down
plantation - they're too busy being whupped, shtupped and
pitted 'gainst one another. Owner James Mason uses
pickaninnies as footstools to cure his rheumatism. Susannah
York swigs sherry and lusts after Ken Norton. Subtle climax
involves being pitchforked 'n' boiled alive. Rating: 5
juelps. D.B.
MARTIAN CRIME WAVE (1955; no-rent). Super grade-Z laugh-fest
from first (and only) time writer-star-director Bill
Dennison ("Ace") and his real-life girlfriend Kathy Moran
("Mitzi"). Skull-capped martians, led by Tor Johnson,
impersonate a highschool car club in order to pull crimes.
Supposedly yanked due to an implied alien-human gangbang in
the girls' locker room. Extras: only screen appearance of
rockabilly cult-cat Portuguese Joe, who belts his "Teenage
Riot," and Nick Adams, almost unrecognizable as the
bespectacled, jive- talking gang member "Bebop." -T.H.
MURDER BY CONTRACT (1958; no-rent). Sort of a Yank version
of Jean-Pierre Melville's Le Samourai. College student
hit-man Vince Edwards waits in hotel rooms, meets his
contact (Herschell Bernardi), checks out the target, waits
some more, kicks out a hooker, waits, beats up the contact,
waits some more. Sometimes he speaks. It isn't pretty.
D.B.
MYSTERY
TRAIN (1988; Orion Home Video). Jarmusch's
trifurcated tribute to Memphis includes a cameo by Rufus
Thomas, the plum role of Screamin' Jay Hawkins' career, and
more dead space than the great Gobi. Japanese tourists
debate Presley vs. Perkins, and decide "Memphis is just like
Yokohama with 60% of the buildings gone." B.M.
NUDE
ON THE MOON (1960; Strand VCI). Don't know much about
history, but I do know Doris Wishman's lunar probe is the
crucial link between late Fifties volleyball voyeurism and
Russ Meyer's pioneering softcore. The first sci-fi nudie
concerns a young scientist who uses his uncle's inheritance
("He made a fortune in the fur business") to build a
rocket
and do a Desafinado with his partner, a jump-suited silver
fox known only as The Professor. Up there where the air's
rare, they uncover a topless-oriented civilization big on
collective bathing and Frisbee-tossing. Ralph Young sings
the theme "I Lost My Heart To A Moon Doll." T.H.
PENN & TELLER GET KILLED (1989; Warner Home Video). Smart-
ass magicians unmask reality as a series of cheap tricks
with high-ticket consequences. The sick, sick plot against
Penn involves Teller, a Rupert Pupkin type psycho killer,
and a lady cop who puts the intended victim into protective
custody aboard her houseboat. There, he digs the Velvets'
"Femme Fatale" while guzzling diet cola and watching
the
Three Stooges ("Is this the one where they're plumbers?").
The Bee Gees close the show with "I Started A Joke."
THE PLOT AGAINST HARRY (1969; New Yorker Video 1990). Harry
is just out of prison, ready to resume his numbers-running
operation. But he's been in stir a long time, and the nabe's
changed. There's desertion in his ranks, a gov't rackets
inquiry, tough competition. Worse, his doc diagnoses a
"swollen heart," compelling him to swear off sex with
the
bee-hived call girls who might be his only solace. Despon-
dent, Harry hangs a sharkskin-suited spiritual U-turn and
tries to reintegrate into his ex-wife's stereotypical Jewish
family. Martin Priest's masterly performance as the satur-
nine Harry Plotkin should have established him as one of the
preeminent character actors, but this witty, beauti-fully
photographed masterpiece sat in the can for 20 years. R.S.
POINT
BLANK (1967). Lee Marvin metamorphos-es from the
corporeal hitman of The Killers into an avenging appari-tion
out to reclaim money owed him by the mob. Great wit and
cathartic action, plus the film approaches sci-fi & meta-
physics through its skewed time scheme. Marvin has been
propelled obliquely through the continuum while everyone
else can live only one moment at a time. Finally, it seems
as if the cosmos itself is crooked. J.T.
THE PORNOGRAPHERS (1966 Connoisseur Video Collection).
Japanese director Shohei Imamura's cool black humor is still
too chilled for the chamber. Goofball plot concerns
sleazoid small-timer who, lacking yen to make prints, straps
five Bolexes together and shoots skinflicks. Somehow he
winds up in a boat drifting out to sea with most of the
audience. D.B.
RAT RACE (1960). Central casts Tony Curtis as a hot sax
cat new to the Apple and eager to blow, and Debbie Reynolds
as a tiny Beat dancer with a pad to let. The unscrupulous
agent: Don Rickles. Playing in the combo that cons Ton' out
of his last greenback: Sam Butera. Very sharp title theme
by Elmer B.
SERIE NOIRE (1979; no-rent). Alain Corneau just shades
Steven Frears' Grifters with the best Jim Thompson adapta-
tion. Only Couzot's Les Diaboliques is as sordid. Fantas-
tic seedy, near-psychotic perf by Patrick Dewaere who kicks
shit out of a phonebooth, gets french-kissed by a biker and
succumbs to an old whore pimping her niece as rain runs down
the window and the Melodians croon "Rivers of Babylon."
From the novel A Hell Of A Woman. D.B.
THE
SEVENTH CURSE (1986). One of Hong Kong's hippest, this
fantasy-horror action-adventure set in the jungles of
Southeast Asia is from a novel by Ni Kuang, HK's most
popular pulpist. Goodies include flying-killer-alien-baby-
monsters, a spinal cord-eating walking skeleton, some
startling nudity, and Chow Yun-fat, as the globe-trotting
filthy-rich hero Wisley, puffing a pipe and wasting a giant
lizard with a bazooka. Also, Hong out with Wong Kar-wei's
fiendishly cool DAYS OF BEING WILD (1986). Set in the
Sixties and effortlessly evoking the languid, aimless mood
of its youthful characters, this is one of the most insinu-
ating and powerful "lost generation" movies ever made.
And
I mean anywhere. -David Chute. (See Shop Around.)
SO FINE (1981; Warner Home Video). Shmata freakout! Ryan
O'Neal accidentally invents deigners jeans with plexiglass
bubbles over the ass. Producer Michael Lobell used to work
for his dad in Smart-Tee Tee Shirts, and knew whereof he
spoke. Cool comedy sunk by its lame trailer. D.B.
STRAIGHT TIME (1978; Warner Home Video). Dustin Hoffman's
best, leasty shtiky performance, as ex-con Max Dembo fight-
ing a heavy recidivist jones. Edward Bunker adapted from
his tuff novel No Beast So Fierce. Bad-ass cast: cool
Theresa Russell (her first film), slobnik Gary Busey, and
Mr. Nasty himself, E. Emmett Walsh, before he turned into a
cartoon. Superscene: wife of ex-crime partner Harry Dean
Stanton serving grilled burgers on cramped suburban-hell
patio. Wife goes inside. Stanton takes a bite, whispers to
Max, "Get me outa here!" He does. All the way. D.B.
STATION SIX SAHARA (1964; no-rent). A bunch of bent charac-
ter actors including Ian Bannen, Peter Van Eyck and the
great Denham Elliott pass the time psychically tortur-ing
each other while working an oil rig in the middle of no-
where. Carroll Baker crashes into the carefully con-trolled
b & w photography driving a Caddy convert and the camp comes
permanently unglued. Faucet drips sound like bowling balls.
Like, super tense. D.B.
TIN
MEN (1987; Touchstone Home Video). Barry Levinson's
study of Baltimore siding-salesmen reveals scams (the Life
magazine "photo shoot," "fivespot-on-the-carpet"),
and
revels in small talk. As Danny DeVito's "closer" Sam,
Jackie Gayle explains Bonanza's success: "It's a 50-year
old
father with three 47-year old sons. You know why they all
get along so good? They're all the same age."
WILD IN THE STREETS (Orion Home Video). In '68, it was the
squares' most paranoid fantasy about the impending Baby Boom
takeover. In the 90s, Right revisionists swear this is what
the 60s were really like. Teen star Max Frost runs for prez
with a campaign that pushes the vote for 14-year olds and
LSD camps for anyone over 30. Dig Dick Pryor as Stanley X,
drummer, psychedelic Congressman and cannibal cook. D.W.
THE WORLD'S GREATEST SINNER (1958). Longtime cinema villain
Carey was a leering unforgettable presence in many fine
films (East Of Eden, One Eyed Jacks, The Wild One), but
his longest screen appearance was in this hitherto
unreleased gem he financed himself. The story, about a man
who decides to enter politics using the name God, lurches
and turns, peaking when God stars in an unbelievable rock
concert. Carey, in a gold-lame suit, with a goatee and a
guitar, fronts an out of tune, unrehearsed Mexican band in a
show that shames Michael Jackson in a trice. Down on his
knees bellowing "please, please, please!" in the best
sincerity he can mimic, Carey is the ultimate cracked actor
plying his trade. Shot in El Monte and orchestrated by local
musician Frank Zappa. The world will never see the likes ot
it again. A.F.
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