When Giddy Drunks Were Amusing

In a certain vague sense, I was “there” when this Arthur scene was shot on Fifth Avenue and 59th Street. It was the summer of ’80 and I was anxious and under-employed. I was standing across the street with several other onlookers, and I recall watching Liza Minnelli, Dudley Moore and John Gielgud performing this scene two or three times. I can still hear Minnelli yelling “get me a cop!”, over and over….the clapper, “cut”, etc.

I remember staring at Gielgud between takes, parked on a canvas chair, and wondering why he was sitting so stiffly…motionless, like a sphinx. Then I saw the film a year later, and Gielgud’s snooty putdown riffs were hilarious. He and Minnelli had the funniest lines.

Minnelli was 34, Moore was 45, Gielgud was 77.

Posted on 2.18.06, roughly six years before I embraced sobriety:

Dudley Moore‘s drunken playboy was funny in 1981’s Arthur, but less so in 1988’s Arthur 2: On The Rocks. Arthur was a fresher film, of course, with a kind of champagne-fizz attitude. The sequel was boozier and more “real.” Moore was obviously older in ’88, his career wasn’t going quite as well, the performance felt desperate and the mood wasn’t the same.

“Drunks aren’t funny in real life unless you’re 19 and hanging with your drunken friends and as drunk as they are. You have to be fairly young and unsullied.

“True story: I was staying with some friends at a beach house on the Jersey shore when we were all 17 or thereabouts, and there was this big guy named Richard Harris who was half-sitting and half-lying on the living-room couch and about to throw up from too much vodka. I was coming down the stairs and Harris was suddenly on his feet and making for the bathroom (or at least the kitchen sink), but he wasn’t fast enough.

Read more

Bass Was Enough

In the good old Times Square of the ‘50s and ’60s, the movie marquee sell — the visual presentation of the theme or tone of the film — made a big impression. It conveyed attitude and confidence. It meant a lot.

In the case of Otto Preminger‘s Anatomy of a Murder, it’s noteworthy that Columbia distribution execs felt that Saul Bass‘s austere, monochrome logo for this 1959 film (opened on July 2nd) was the way to go.

Frank Capra‘s A Hole in the Head, playing one block to the north at Leow’s State, opened two weeks later (July 15th).

“Marquee Swagger”, posted on 12.16.19:

You also have to admire the marketing chutzpah of the distribution executive who calculated that a visually concise Saul Bass logo (is there any other kind?) would be more than sufficient to attract Times Square passers-by. You have to admire the certainty and the confidence. The applicable term is “balls.”

The point was that the distribution guys were so confident that Saul Bass’s twisted arm logo had penetrated the marketplace that they figured they didn’t need to spell out the title to sidewalk traffic. Yes, the east-facing front of the Victoria marquee spelled it out, but that side wasn’t seen as much as the north and south facers.

>

Fair Shake for Eastwood’s “Breezy”

In A.O. Scott‘s N.Y. Times review of Shawn Levy‘s “Clint“, he notes that Levy’s judgments “mostly follow the critical consensus, but the mini-reviews embedded in the narrative are among the most amusing and illuminating parts of the book.

“Levy can be witheringly succinct: ‘Ew. Just ew’ sums up his view of Breezy (’73), Eastwood’s little remembered third feature as a director. (It’s about a middle-aged man’s sexual awakening with a 17-year-old flower child).”

Correction #1: Scott is dead wrong. Breezy is about a middle-aged man’s (William Holden) spiritual awakening by way of a relationship with a 17-year-old hippie chick (Kay Lenz). They eventually become lovers in Act Two, yes, but Eastwood gently de-emphasizes the sexual aspects of their relationship. It’s a story about emotionally opening up.

Correction #2: Breezy isn’t even a slight “ew” — it’s modest and character-driven and entirely effective for what it is. I hate Holden’s ’70s wardrobe (orange sweaters, checked pants, elephant collars) and his real-estate hustler scowls a lot (Lenz’s hippie-chick calls him “dark cloud”) but it’s an honestly felt, medium-range thing, and a better-than-decent effort on Eastwood’s part.

The pacing is natural and unhurried, and the dialogue is nicely sculpted for the most part. It was also the first film Clint directed in which he didn’t star.

Holden’s performance as Frank Harmon, a cynical real-estate agent, radiates a solid gravity force in every one of his scenes. I’m particularly fond of a moment in which Harmon and a real-estate colleague are discussing some hippie kids who are frolicking nearby. Harmon offers a sardonic two-word assessment: “Low tide.”

Read more

Fair Play for George Hickenlooper

With a dynamically enhanced, 4K-scanned and restored Hearts of Darkness opening at the Film Forum tomorrow, it’s an opportune time to remind the HE readership that while this 1991 doc about the making of Apocalypse Now uses the late Eleanor Coppola‘s footage and narration, the heavy lifting in most senses of the term was done by the late George Hickenlooper, whom I regarded as a friend, and Fax Bahr.

Here’s what Hickenlooper told me on 8.26.10:

“I think the more appropriate way to look at it is that Hearts of Darkness is Eleanor Coppola‘s story, but it’s not her film. Hardly. It’s her story. But that’s because I decided to make it her story.

“When I got involved with this project 20 years ago, Showtime was going to make it a one-hour TV special called Apocalypse Now Revisited. It was going to be basically an hour-long special about how they did the war pyrotechnics. It was going to be dull and stupid.

“At the time I told Steve Hewitt and my partner Fax Bahr. ‘Nobody cares about a making-of movie, especially one that is 14 years old.’ I argued that the film had to have an emotional component. At the time, no one was familiar with Eleanor’s diary ‘Notes.’ My father had purchased it for me on my 16th birthday [in 1979]. I devoured it up.

“When I got involved with Hearts of Darkness, I advocated using her diary as the narrative thread. I got incredible resistance from Showtime, and I got initial resistance from Eleanor. Not much, but some.

“Once I was able to convince everyone that the film would best be told through her narrative voice, it was then and only then it became HER STORY.

“Eleanor did shoot the footage in the Philippines back in 1976, but she only stepped twice into our cutting room on the back lot of Universal. Twice. For a total of eight hours.

“I was there for a year, 15-18 hours a day. So it’s not a film by Eleanor, but I guess it’s sexier from a marketing angle to make it look that way.”

Hickenlooper elaborated upon the Hearts of Darkness history in a 2007 interview with laist correspondent Josh Tate.

In an 8.27.10 HE followup Hickenlooper stated that “the reality is that Fax Bahr hardly had anything to do with HOD. He was writing for the show In Living Color at the time. He spent a total of about three weeks out of the entire year in the editing room. Eleanor spent two days. It was me and the two editors for an entire year.”

James Mockowski, Film Archivist and Restoration Supervisor at American Zoetrope: “For the past 30 years, Eleanor’s 16mm behind-the-scenes footage has been three to four generations removed from the original elements. For this new release and restoration of the documentary, Francis decided to scan the original sources in 4K. The extensive excerpts from the feature are now presented in their original 2.39:1 aspect ratio, rather than being letterboxed into a 4×3 frame.”

Mistah Blonde, He Dead

The great Michael Madsen has been found dead in his Malibu home, and at age 67 and not cancer-ridden (or even if he was) how can the authorities say his death was due to “natural causes”?

Way too soon, man. Madsen could have played a few Lawrence Tierney-ish roles (crusty old criminal) into his 80s or beyond. Very sorry that it’s already over for the poor fella. Respect.

I’m not even going to say that Madsen peaked in the ’90s (Thelma and Louise, Reservoir Dogs, The Getaway, Wyatt Earp, Donnie Brasco), although that’s how it played out. But man, Madsen kept working ever since.

HE-posted on 11.13.06: John Travolta and Michael Madsen as the twin brothers of Vic and Vincent Vega descending upon Los Angeles to avenge the deaths of Vic (drilled by Tim Roth‘s Mr. Orange in Reservoir Dogs) and Vincent (grease-gunned by Bruce Willis in Pulp Fiction) in a new Vega Brothers movie? That”s the dumbiest sequel set-up I’ve ever heard in my life. Tarantino must be losing his mind.

But you know what? Fuck what happened in Dogs and Fiction…really. To hell with who got killed story or whaever. Just bring the brothers back and put them into some heavy-shit situations and just do it. Did anybody give a damn when Travolta and Samuel L. Jackson didn’t fall down bleeding when that dope-dealer kid ran out of the bathroom and started blasting? Of course not. Was it logical? No, and it doesn’t matter.

Read more

Dino Formula, Dino Drain

[SPOILERS HEREIN] Jurassic World Rebirth is a competent diversion, but I was bored. No awe or shock left in this 32-year-old franchise. Same old chain-jerkings, reptilian jolts and snarls, CG crap. You can’t go home again.

Well, you can if your audience is young enough and gripped by primitive expectations. My three and a half year old granddaughter would be wowed by Rebirth.

The predicting game we all play is “which characters will be eaten?” It’s understood, of course, that the proverbial white yuppie hardhead (Rupert Friend) will be chomped. And don’t you dare call this a spoiler! Bottom-line shitheads always end up in dino stomachs.

We know that 40-year-old Scarlett Johansson (talented veteran, no longer young and peachy but in good shape, looks great in her tight T-shirts) will survive to the end. Ditto the kindly, saintly Mahershala Ali.

But we’ve all been trained by the woke playbook to expect that the other significant black dude, Bechir Sylvain (good looking, buff, smooth manner), will survive also because POCs don’t die in these films — only venal scumbag whiteys. So it’s quite a surprise when Sylvain is swallowed. HE to movie: “Wait, wait…did you just kill a handsome, muscle-bound black dude? That’s not right!”

We know the Mexican / LatinX family (dopey dad, two pretty daughters, dumb-as-a-rock boyfriend) won’t get eaten, even though it would be shocking (and therefore perversely satisfying) if one of the pretty daughters were to die howling and shrieking. Or at least the dumbshit boyfriend.

But no — despite this family’s rank stupidity they aren’t consumed. I really wanted the moronic dad to be ripped apart and chewed to death…(“die! Eat that stupid fucker!…die!!”)…but no.

Okay, there’s one quiet, pastoral scene in which the scientific explorers on the proverbial dino island (the natural settings are in Krabi, Thailand) stand next to and stare at a pair of towering, passive, cow-like brontos with absurdly long skinny tails — this is the only majesty-of-dinos scene that really grabs you.**

But they’ve simply gone to this well too many times.

The people in the theatre were “tee-hee”-ing, chuckling and “hoo-hoo”-ing like it was a comedy.

Sick to death of hearing John Williams’ “Jurassic Park” theme, which is dutifully adapted and recycled by Alexandre Desplat.

Excellent CG, but I didn’t believe a frame of any of it. Fake acting, the feigning of extreme fear, stupid or reckless behavior. Go fug yourselves.

A team of scientists (led by Johansson and Friend) are looking to extract blood vials from three species because their blood has properties that can combat or eradicate heart disease, blah blah.

** But director Gareth Edwards ruins this scene by craning upwards a couple of hundred feet to show that these two brontos are part of a huge grazing herd…dozens! HE to Edwards: Why not hundreds? More is better, right?