Trash (1970)

Trash, released in 1970, was the second part of Paul Morrissey’s loose trilogy of films starring Joe Dallesandro, and produced under the aegis of Andy Warhol’s Factory. This time Joe is a junkie, living in squalor with his trash-collecting girlfriend Holly (played by transvestite Warhol superstar Holly Woodlawn). Joe really isn’t interested in anything any more, apart from heroin. He is no longer capable of satisfying Holly sexually, despite her strenuous, even frantic, efforts to arouse him. Although Joe can’t perform any more, that doesn’t stop people from trying to get into his pants, although none of them have any notable success. Joe’s attempts to get money to buy more drugs involve him in a series of escapades with some of the most outlandishly outrageous characters in the history of cinema. It’s almost impossible to pick a favourite character.

What makes Trash so fascinating is that it’s an underground movie that is genuinely funny. In fact, extremely funny. The experimental nature of the movie, the constant going in and out of focus, the improvised acting (or rather non-acting), the documentary-style approach, the deliberately amateurish camerawork – all this could so easily add up to a movie that is pretentious and cold, but Trash is monstrously entertaining.

Much has been made of Paul Morrissey’s basically conservative and moralistic approach to his material, and while that’s undoubtedly true there’s no doubt that there’s a considerable affection for this collection of misfits mixed in with that. No-one has ever portrayed the essential boredom, dreariness, banality and utter emptiness of the drug culture more effectively or more chillingly, but at the same time you can’t help falling in love with Joe and Holly. They’re pathetic, but they’re so sweet. Holly Woodlawn is simply adorable, and gives what is not only one of the finest comic performances you’ll ever see, but also a dramatic performance of considerable and surprising power. The scene in which she is reduced to pleasuring herself with a beer bottle manages to be both insanely hilarious and desperately sad. Joe Dallesandro’s acting is as minimalist as ever, but it works, and he comes cross as a weird but engaging mixture of innocence and depravity. That perhaps is the key to Morrissey’s approach – his characters are really children hopelessly out of their depth in a society that has nothing better to offer them but a soulless and barren hedonism that leaves them more empty and lost. His anger, and his wickedly barbed satire, is directed towards the society that offers its members so little of value.

Trash is a more effective piece of social criticism than much more highly praised movies like Midnight Cowboy, and it’s also very very funny.

Emmanuelle (1974)

Emmanuelle is one of those movies with a place in cinema history that has little to do with its actual merits as a film. It remains possibly the most commercially successful erotic film of all time (although accurate box office figures aren’t always easy to come by in this genre), the movie that broke down (temporarily at least) the barrier between pornography and mainstream movies, and the movie that proved there was a market for erotic movies aimed at women. Although it’s often touted as the first sex movie aimed at a female audience that’s perhaps not strictly true – Radley Metzger had been pursuing a similar aim for several years in movies such as his 1969 feature Camille 2000. But Emmanuelle was the one that broke through at the box office, a genuine softcore blockbuster. It remains one of French cinema’s biggest hits.

The DVD release is one of those instances where the extras are possibly more interesting than the movie. It contains two superb documentaries. The first is An Erotic Success: The Making of Emmanuelle and it’s a fascinating account of the utter chaos that accompanied the shooting of the movie – with first-time feature director Just Jaeckin not having a clue how to make a feature film, with lead actress Sylvia Kristel unable to speak a word of French, with male star Alain Cuny not merely disinterested but actively hostile, major problems with the authorities in Thailand where most of the shooting took place, and to cap it all off the film had to be processed in France so the crew were filming the movie without being able to see any of the footage they’d shot. Right up to the moment the film was released almost everyone concerned with the making of it was so convinced it would be a disaster that they declined the producer’s offer of shares in the profit. Now weren’t they kicking themselves when it started shattering box office records! Soft Sell: Emmanuelle in America is almost as interesting, especially the sections dealing with the promotion of the movie (one of the most successful promotional campaigns in history).

So what about the movie itself? Emmanuelle is a diplomat’s wife who arrives in Thailand to join her husband. They have an open marriage. Emmanuelle has not yet taken advantage of this arrangement, but now she decides it’s about time she did. She sets out to explore her sexuality. The exploration starts on the plane taking her to Bangkok, this being possibly the most famous scene in the movie. In Thailand the diplomat’s wives have little to do, and they deal with the boredom by bed-hopping. Emmanuelle engages in some light-hearted lesbian flirting, although her friend Ariane soon persuade her to do more than mere flirting. Emmanuelle plays at love as well as sex, with a lady archaeologist, but makes the mistake of really falling in love. She also finds herself drawn into the erotic games of a much older man, Mario, and discovers some fascinating and at time frightening pleasures.

The movie unquestionably has some major flaws. It’s slow. It has lengthy philosophical speeches rather clumsily shoe-horned into the dialogue. It’s a movie that is very self-consciously arty. And for a movie that was considered softcore porn it really doesn’t have all that much nudity and sex. On the other hand it does look magnificent. Breath-taking locations, and production values and cinematography that would never be seen again in this type of movie. And never will a movie like this be shot on 35mm film. The acting varies quite a bit. Alain Cuny as Mario (the only name actor in the production) is simply awful. Sylvia Kristel’s strangely detached performance was undoubtedly partly the result of her having to learn her lines phonetically, and often literally not knowing what she was saying. Oddly enough it works, and it makes her more intriguing and also more convincingly naïve. All the actresses look like real women, rather than silicone-enhanced walking advertisements for the cosmetic surgery industry.

Despite its flaws, it works. It works because it really does make an attempt to see sexuality from a female perspective – it’s not always successful in this, but at least the attempt was made. And it works because it really does avoid looking sleazy. The sex scenes are aesthetically pleasing. And at times it does generate some real erotic heat – the celebrated sex-on-a-plane scene is very very sexy. Not to mention the notorious girl-smoking-a-cigarette scene (a scene considered too shocking for American audiences). Unusually for this type of film, the lesbian sex scenes are not included for mere titillation – Emmanuelle’s affair with her lady archaeologist is the real thing, this is real love, it’s central to the plot, and the affair is handled with both sensitivity and passion. The rape scene is one that troubled many feminists at the time (and it troubled the British censor so much it was cut entirely for the British release). Camille Paglia argues (in the accompanying documentary) that this is actually a dream sequence, and I’m inclined to agree with her. In fact it make little sense otherwise. Paglia also argues passionately and enthusiastically that the movie is, overall, a very positive and pro-feminist film, and again I find myself agreeing with her.

Not by any means a great movie, not even close, but in its own way Emmanuelle was a landmark movie, a product of a time when it really seemed that there was a big future for well-made commercially mainstream erotic movies. Video put paid to all that, and Emmanuelle shows us what we lost thereby. And it’s one of those legendary movies that one simply has to have seen.

The Abominable Snowman (1957)

The Abominable Snowman, released in 1957, was the third of the Hammer science fiction/horror collaborations between director Val Guest and writer Nigel Kneale. While it’s not quite in the same league as The Quatermass Xperiment or Quatermass 2 it’s not far behind. Peter Cushing is a mountaineer/scientist leading an expedition into the Himalayas in search of the elusive yeti, the so-called Abominable Snowman. He wants to capture one for science, while his partner (played by Forest Tucker) sees it as a way to make his fortune.

Val Guest was determined to show as little as possible the monster itself, which not only increases the tension and the horror, it also places the focus very much on the motivations of the expedition members. While they’re hoping to encounter a yeti, in fact they find themselves face to face with their own fears and somewhat dubious motives.

Hammer must have been doing pretty well at the time, since Guest was given enough funds to spend a couple of weeks doing location in the Pyrenees. It certainly paid off. This movie has none of the cheesiness of contemporary American monster movies. It looks slick and expensive. The black-and-white Cinemascope cinematography (by Arthur Grant who was responsible for the wonderful look of so many Hammer classics) is quite breath-taking. Cushing gives a nicely understated performance.

As you’d expect from Nigel Kneale the script is intelligent and literate, posing interesting questions about both the origins and ultimate destiny of our own species, and about the relations between science and entertainment (even more relevant today). Forest Tucker wasn’t a great actor but he does a commendable job, managing to be larger-than-life without verging into mere caricature.

The picture quality on the Region 4 DVD is sensational. One of Hammer’s most underrated movies, and much more than just a monster movie. Highly recommended.

Werewolf Woman (1976)

Werewolf Woman (La Lupa mannara) starts off with every indication that it’s going to be yet another retread of a very hackneyed plot idea. It does, however, add some unexpected twists and some surprising perspectives and the end result is a rather entertaining werewolf movie.

Daniella is a young woman troubled by dreams, dreams that relate to an ancestress of hers, a woman who was executed as a werewolf. Rather than a supernatural explanation, the movie attempts a scientific (or pseudo-scientific) one. More specifically, the explanation is psychological. This young woman was brutally raped some years earlier, and has developed a sexual phobia. This sexual phobia, combined with memories of childhood stories about her werewolf ancestress, convinces her that she really is a werewolf, and her obsession is so strong that she in effect does become a werewolf. The movie is as much a rape revenge movie as a conventional werewolf movie.

When her sister arrives at the family home with her new boyfriend, thing start to unravel for Daniella. She watches them having sex, and her horror of the sexual act triggers a major psychotic episode leading to tragic consequences. Daniella roams the countryside, cycling constantly between a confused state of sanity and a severe delusional state. She finds men who try to take advantage of her, but she also finds a good man, a man she can love. But she is not destined to enjoy the simple pleasures of love, and once again she finds that violence and tragedy are stalking her.

Annik Borel is genuinely scary as Daniella. In fact she apparently got into the role so much that it took her quite a while after a take to snap out of character (according to the interview with the director included on the DVD). I wouldn’t say she’s a good actress but it’s a weirdly effective performance. There’s considerable gore, and sleaze aplenty. This is very much an exploitation flick, delightfully trashy, although with a few interesting ideas as well. The werewolf make-up (which we only see fairly briefly) works surprisingly well. There’s also a very strange scene with a lizard. Rino Di Silvestro directs with a certain amount of panache.

If you approach it as a fun feast of sleaze and (moderate) gore then there’s much to enjoy. It’s trash, but it’s fun trash.

The Curse of the Crying Woman (1963)

Rafael Baledón’s The Curse of the Crying Woman (La Maldición de la Llorona) starts off with a scene taken almost directly from Mario Bava’s Black Sunday, released a year or so earlier. The twist here is that in Bava’s film the evil witch-looking woman turns out not to be what you expect, whereas in Baledón’s movie she most certainly is a witch, and a particularly malevolent one. She has the usual plans to gain immense powers, and she also intends to restore to life one of her ancestresses, the finder of a line of witches. To do this she needs the help, willing or unwilling, of the dead witch’s youngest female descendant, Amelia. She summons Amelia and her new husband to her very gothic mansion. It doesn’t take Amelia too long to figure out that her aunt (who looks much younger than she has any right to look) is up to something sinister, but can she thwart her diabolical plot?

Like the other Mexican horror movies I’ve seen, The Curse of the Crying Woman is absolutely dripping with gothic atmosphere – there’s the house itself, there are the spiderwebs, there are the three enormous dogs looking like hounds from Hell, there’s the physically deformed servant who looks exactly like the sort of henchman that a horror movie villain would employ, there’s the ever-present fog, in fact there’s every gothic horror cliché you can think of.

The sheer excessiveness of the atmosphere actually works, aided by some rather nice black-and-white cinematography courtesy of José Ortiz Ramos. The special effects are mostly crude, but fortunately Baledón doesn’t overdo them. The acting is fairly impressive, with Rita Macedo making a wonderful villainess, while Rosita Arenas makes a spirited heroine. It does have a few rather nice touches – the floating eyeballs provide an impressive visual effect. And Baledón keeps the action moving along at a cracking pace.

The Casa Negra DVD release looks superb, which is what we’ve come to expect from this company, and there’s also a commentary track. It’s not quite in the same league as the other Mexican horror movies I’ve seen, The Black Pit of Dr M and The Witch’s Mirror, but it’s a competent and thoroughly entertaining little movie.

Targets (1968)

Targets is a strange little movie that had its genesis in a typical Roger Corman idea - since Boris Karloff owed him a couple of days’ work, and since he had footage available of Karloff from an earlier horror movie (The Terror), why not get his protege Peter Bogdanovich to shoot an hour or so of additional footage and combine this with the new and old footage of Karloff, and hey presto you have a really cheap feature film starring Boris Karloff! Like so many of Corman’s ideas, it actually worked.

It’s actually two completely different and essentially unconnected plotlines that can’t possibly be successfully combined, but somehow they do connect. Karloff is an ageing horror actor disillusioned by the growing horrors of the real-life world that make the horrors of his own movies seem old-fashioned and irrelevant. So he decides to retire, but is persuaded to make one last public appearance at a drive-on theatre in LA.

The second plotline is based on the real-life case of Charles Whitman, a clean-cut all-American boy from Texas who one day climbed up a tower at the University of Texas and started shooting people. In the movie the character ends his shooting spree at a drive-on theatre in Los Angeles.

Had Bogdanovich simply made a movie about a spree killer the results might well have been merely bleak and depressing, and pointlessly violent. But combined with a rather bitter-sweet story of an elderly actor, and with Karloff’s masterfully sensitive and subtle performance, it becomes a much more moving and effective picture. And the sheer oddness of the movie makes it weirdly fascinating. It also becomes an interesting commentary on movies and real life.

In the accompanying (and very entertaining) commentary track Bogdanovich reveals that his own script was actually completely rewritten by legendary cult movie director Sam Fuller, but that Fuller insisted that Bogdanovich take the writing credit. Most of the ideas that make the film work were in fact apparently Fuller’s ideas, which Bogdanovich generously acknowledges. Bogdanovich also has some interesting comments on the use of colour for emotional effect, and some amusing anecdotes about the guerilla film-making techniques he learned from Corman.

Bogdanovich acts in the movie as well, plying a young up-and-coming writer-director! Tim O’Kelly as wonderfully creepy as the shooter, but this is Karloff’s movie and he’s superb. An intriguing little movie.

Caligula (1979)

Today’s review subject is one of the most notorious movies of all time, a movie widely regarded as one of the worst ever made. Yes, the infamous Caligula. Produced by Bob Guccione, publisher of Penthouse magazine. The conventional wisdom is that it’s simply the most expensive porn film ever made. It’s a movie that has been so savaged by mainstream film critics and subjected to so much vitriol that it’s difficult to approach it without being prejudiced. Reading the various reviews that can be found online it’s evident that very few people have even tried to approach it with an open mind. So extreme is the bias against the movie that many do not like to admit the unpalatable truth that it was a major box office success.

The problem has been compounded by the fact that the two cuts of the movie that have been available have been an R-rated version that was hacked to pieces, and an unrated version that is in effect the Guccione version, complete with extra hardcore scenes shot by Guccione himself that have very little relevance to the film. These additional hardcore scenes have been a gift for those wishing to dismiss the movie as porn. The situation has been improved by the release of the three-disc Imperial Edition. This includes the unrated version, but it also includes the previously unavailable so-called pre-release cut, which is claimed to be the closest in spirit to director Tinto Brass’s original vision. This pre-release cut is the version I watched, and it’s the version I’m reviewing.

Apart from being accused of excessive naughtiness and violence, most reviewers will also tell you that the movie is boring, incoherent and badly made, and a waste of superb acting talent. Perhaps this is true of the other versions, but it certainly isn’t true of the version I watched. And the accusation that the movie is nothing but porn is simply absurd. It’s not only an attempt to bring to the screen the Roman Empire in all its debauched glory, exactly as the historian of the time such as Suetonius described it, it’s also offers a highly original interpretation of the character of the notorious emperor Caligula. Malcolm MacDowell, in the charming, amusing and totally delightful commentary track he contributes to the DVD, says he was determined not to play Caligula as a mere madman because it would have been boring, and that director Tinto Brass agreed with him. Although he doesn’t say this I suspect he was also anxious not to merely reproduce John Hurt’s wonderful performance from I, Claudius.

MacDowell decided to play the character as an anarchist, a man in rebellion against, well against practically everything. Especially the governing classes of Rome. At one point he laments of the Senate, “I just don’t know what else I can do to provoke them.” MacDowell also brings to the role that mix of cruelty, capriciousness and cravenness that only he could bring to a performance. He also makes Caligula a surprisingly human monster, often vulnerable (in fact at times he’s still a scared little boy in a terrifyingly insane world), and showing genuine and quite moving grief at the death of his sister and lover Drusilla. By not making Caligula a madman MacDowell is able to turn him into a symbol of the corrupting influence of power.

Tinto Brass was primarily interested in making a movie about power, absolute power taken to the ultimate extreme, and I think he largely succeeds. The atmosphere of fear and paranoia of the latter days of Tiberius’s reign, when death could come to anyone at any moment for any reason, is conveyed extremely well. And Caligula himself shares this terror. It’s not only a movie about individual power and its corrupting influence, but also about a state that has achieved power beyond imagining and has been fatally corrupted by it. It’s unfortunate that while both the director and the screenwriter, Gore Vidal, were artists with a genuine vision for this movie, their visions were hopelessly incompatible. This led to a falling out, and that falling out made it easier for Guccione to take control and make unfortunate changes. Vidal wanted a naturalistic and ultra-realistic treatment of the subject; Brass was more interested in making a satire with a hefty dose of the surreal. somewhat in the style of Fellini’s Satyricon. It was Brass’ vision that won out, and the movie is visually both stunning and bizarre and does achieve a genuinely Fellini-esque feel. The imperial bordello in the shape of huge and completely land-bound ship is particularly memorable. There are some very Busby Berkeley moments as well. The sets are magnificent, and (despite the claims of many reviewers) it’s beautifully photographed.

MacDowell today has no regrets about doing the movie, and as his commentary track progresses he becomes more and more enthusiastic. Helen Mirren gives an excellent performance as his wife Caesonia, reputedly the most promiscuous woman in Rome. Mirren memorably described the film as “an irresistible mix of art and genitals.” The get great support from Peter O’Toole as Tiberius and John Gielgud (who adored the movie) as Nerva. John Steiner is deliciously sinister as Longinus. While it is a flawed movie, I’m inclined to agree with Malcolm MacDowell’s assessment that it was almost a great movie, and that at times it does go close to achieving that greatness. Even with its flaws it’s well worth watching. I recommend it.