Deep Red (1975)

For some Argento's followers it's Suspiria, where he mastered his combination of hard-hitting, visual predatory and out-of-this-world plotting. But for me Deep Red stands higher a notch retaining tight script quality and deadly suspense of a classic Italian thriller. As Suspiria dips in galaxies of coloured lenses, it also loses the edge bending slightly to the realms of an absurd. In comparison Deep Red is a pure breed occult giallo, which marks high point of Argento's career as a director and a storyteller. And last but not least Deep Red carries a heavyweight soundtrack of Italian psych/prog mindbenders – Goblin, who are witnessed here in their highest form (soundtrack of Suspiria was never that convincing for me).

In Deep Red Argento keeps his usual way of telling a story through the eyes of an accidental witness – kicked off as we remember in The Bird With the Crystal Plumage (1970) – but gets deeper into occult and subconscious imagery, which is one of these things keeping the viewer busy pondering all the possible connections. But as scripts were never strong side of giallo movies – we can really count all good ones with one hand – Argento's storyline is only a little above the line of average. Intrigue is set and running when main character gets tangled up in a mysterious murder... and then obviously playing the shrills follows as everything is boiled down to one-direction whodunit plot. This is balanced by flashes of retrospection on the other hand – a really sweet ingredient of Deep Red, which at least gives us a feeling of looking at something more than stereotype cheapie.



For those, who didn't see it, Deep Red features a story of psychopathy and murder! When Marc Daly (played by David Hemmings of Blow-Up fame) – a jazz pianist – casually passes a piazza in Rome on his way home, he becomes a witness of a ferocious assasination of a German psychic in her apartament, who's been just attending a parapsychological summit, where she discovered an evil apple while scanning the public, who decides to kill her. Haunted by what he saw, Marc cannot lay all the responsiblity on local police and starts his own, private investigation instead... convinced he's seen the face of a murderer, but cannot quite recall it until the end of the movie. He soon pairs with a local journalist – Gianna, who'll be of a great help and one of Argento's red herrings as well. She'll be pointed to as a possible doer more than once, but in the end she'll become a victim too.

Freudian madness is a driving force behind the movie and although Argento grabs mainly impressionist means to unveil it, it serves as an interesting background of a character of a killer. There's no point in pointing at the loopholes – as I said before, giallo as a genre has its obvious limitations – but Deep Red definitely serves its purpose as a classy weekend night thrill. Argento is all about topping Bava's Blood & Black Lace here, but he never really manages to do it, instead left tiptoeing behind. Well, there can only be one giallo master and for me that plays out between Mario Bava and Lucio Fulci. Argento was never my favourite – too baroque on one and too funny on the other hand. But if you one wanna see his swansong, I guess you need to look down here. Otherwise, just make two steps back and go straight to the original blueprint.

Howl (2010)

The Beat Generation seems to be catching another wave of interest recently as modern filmmakers struggle to bring never directed visions to the silver screen, although it would be probably more correct to say that Beat poetry and prose never went out of style managing to carve its own niche in minds of scholars and literary rebels from around the world. I guess Howl has been made for this type of public – however you might call it: my people, our people or just these people – that appreciates Beat Generation's immortal energy and anger still rediscovering Ginsberg's greatest poem as it's been coined yesterday. And there's nothing wrong about it as some gutsy art just never gets old, in the worst case just sinking in to become a distinctive, cultural background.

Howl definitely carries the message with its vivid animation sequences by world famous, Leftist illustrator Eric Drooker, who put a lot of work to translate Ginsberg's poetic jazz into spiderweb of breathtaking images – I'd say it's the best thing about Howl, a kind of Waking Life stuff. A lot of work has been done by young James Franco as well, who plays Ginsberg in the movie treating his persona as it's been handed down on a plate with relaxed interpretation and no trace of pretentiousness (this self-conscious burden, that kills plenty of potentially great roles every year) although maybe short of some insight. Eventually we need to bow down to script writers, who cared about original trial of Lawrence Ferlinghetti so much, that they copied its words verbatim, which helped the actors to get a firm ground for character development.



The film hovers around Allen Ginsberg's personal life, his debut in The Six Gallery in San Francisco and the famous case of alleged obscenity filed against City Light Books in 1957, which originally issued Howl. The poem itself becomes a leading thread, a narration and a pretext for overlaying it with stunning animation for which the trial stands as a back story weaving in and out, either meeting it straight-on or jumping to "interview with Allen Ginsberg" and then carrying on. However we might find this concept, as fas as doing a simple portrait of one of the most important American contemporary poets is concerned it quite fits the picture. Thus we get through Ginsberg's homosexuality, his affair with Neal Cassady, his stay in mental institution and obviously his friendship with Jack Kerouac, and you won't hear a bent out note, oh no... the problem is that you won't get jerked up either.

For that reason my feeling about Howl is mixed. Film's irectors (Rob Epstein and Jeffrey Friedman) lost a big chance to come up with a bigger picture of Ginsberg's life, his significance for counterculture of the 60's, for gay movement or for American poetry/art in general. Frankly it feels like cutting corners – Howl lacks emotional depth, rarely sparkles and after all doesn't come up with a flash of brilliance (I always expect)... in other words it fails to deliver spiritual madness of Beat Generation... this element, which for me is the most important, secret ingredient of their classic writing. Too normal for me? I'd say so, this is not what you really expect from a film about a guy, who at one point wanted to load everybody with LSD and Hare Krishna chants. Couldn't they reach for a little bit more than just a simple framework of legendary crumbles – however neat it is? I guess, we'll still have to wait for a talent, who wants to fuck Beat Generation open and show its dark underbelly.

Obscene Mirror (1973) [Italian Cut]

This offbeat 70's shocker by Franco, which became cult cult mainly cause it's hard to get hold of – at least in my opinion – also known as "The Other Side Of The Mirror", has been released in three cuts: Spanish, Italian and English with first one extremely rare. Although not as good as director's earlier works like "Venus In Furs" (1967) or "Justine" (1969), the film has got interesting script and pretty protagonist, who boldly takes the story ahead. Filmed somewhere on the coast Of Italy, it features very giallo story, somehow resembling Argento's "Four Flies on The Grey Velvet" (1971) and classic for erotic movies of the era, easy listening soundtrack. Italian cut titled "Lo Specchio del Piacere" contains all juicy sex bites, which serve as a sleazy eye-candy and fill the gaps of this titillating, paranormal exploit.

When Marie (Lina Romay) – one of two beautiful daughters of famous professor of archeology – commits suicide in despair trying to prevent her younger sister's marriage with Norwegian scholar, Annette (Emma Cohen) decides to leave an island of Madeira, where she's been living since she was born and finally get a job as a professional pianist. Although of very fragile character and striking beauty – working as a magic charm for the men – she carries inside a dark call from the the other world! Her older sister's ghost is haunting her and not letting Annette make a connection with any man. Although dark messages from the other world concern mainly incest, lesbian sex fantasies, they successfully take over girl's life and make her a puppet of dark forces. Eventually she becomes an assassin with personality crisis, slashing freshly met studs in a blackout until she meets her destiny.



Although plot is silly and Franco uses it mainly to show two girls licking their pussies with occasional dick swinging, the film ticks all the boxes as a genuine 70's euro sexploitation picture landing boldly in the land of softcore due to quantity of sex scenes and great close-ups (you won't see these angles in any modern adult movie). Although ghost and spiritual possession are part of the game here, it's not a horror by any means, so followers of this genre shoud stay away. However Franco's fans should be delighted with vintage jet-set enter the world of carnal pleasures aura, which has few good moments. Definitely not an obligatory viewing, but worthwhile, pleasurable experience, that brings its reward. Still, only for weird sexploitation connoisseurs and Lina Romay completists.

Pull My Daisy (1959)

Although not even coming near to dark, surreal visions of William S. Burroughs and Anthony Balch, pictured in underground gems such as "The Cut-Ups" or "Towers Open Fire", "Pull My Daisy" is one of these obscure, experimental Beat movies, playing around with images and words to create a vision of hipster's soul. Written and narrated by Jack Kerouac it brings Robert Frank and Alfred Leslie as directors and Gregory Corso, Allen Ginsberg and Peter Orlovsky as actors (who play themselves). Moreover, we get Thelonious Monk bebop style soundtrack, which swings about as the movie goes on. Weaving on and off it supports a casual, accidental mood of the film.

"Pull My Daisy" shows Beat cohorts gathering in an usual Lower East Side apartment for couple of hours to swing, read potery, drink beer and smoke weed while they're interacting with tenants: railroad worker and his wife. Later on the party is being visted by the anonimous bishop and his partner. The only sequence shot outside the apartment is a strange street gathering, in which all characters jerk frivolously around the American flag. Narration is a goofy word spilling as Kerouac runs his jazzy overflow throughout the footage (inspiring and uplifiting our spirits). Breaking away from the linear his delivers lines more in a tonal, poetic way than tries to tie them up with logic. I'd bet they're heavily improvised anyway.

Ginsberg and Corso are dubbed by Kerouac to answer questions about buddhism and zigzag frenetically as they get tipsy. But when Peter Orlovsky finally arrives, it kicks into sort of artistic chaos. They swap bottles with booze, squeeze on the couch or play brass instruments, we know they cannot really play. Everything is innocent fun here and although straight people do not really get the meaning of this fooling around, they are embraced by the Beat wave of madness if they want it or not. Angels with dirty faces are here and they're gonna change the world (as we'd read it back then). Light-hearted, experimental short – an interesting artifact from America's important cultural and literary movement.

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Death Race (2008)

Although many tried their take on classic exploitation themes in the last couple of years, I haven't touched such miserable crap as "Death Race", even "Bitch Slap" was better. Pitching a classic story of New World Pictures, unforgettable "Death Race 200" (1975), directed by Paul Bartel, which cost $300.000 to produce, this new independent movie brought to the ground all that made the original such a cool piece of budget filmmaking. Let's recall that the oddball pruduced by Roger Corman became a sort of cult flick throughout the years bringing forward the idea of "future sports" genre (originally derived from 60's pulp science-fiction novels) and directly inspired such film masterpieces as "Mad Max" if we are to believe its creators.

The modern "version", starring Jason Statham, hunts for old school cheap thrills, but completely misses the point in a fervour of blowing up everything on the screen. This is actually one of these things putting me off modern action movies as you really need to microwave your brain first. While AIP and NWP B-flicks were low budget fantasies, which featured cheesy special effects and weird scripts, they followed so called Corman's formula embracing "action, sex and humour". Due to this peculiar mixture often involving hints of anti-establishment stance or even over the top plots involving leftist revolutionaries, embedded in context of the stories, they made the trick of operating on more than one level and survived the sad times, when drive-ins eventually became history forcing producers like Corman to go straight into VHS.



"Death Race" nicks the original story with Corman's official blessing (executive producer credit) putting it in 2012, while American economy collapses and millions of workers are laid off, which causes general havoc and provokes bloody riots. Main character, Jensen (Jason Statham) shares the pain as he's been kicked out as well and paid dime. But coming back home won't be smooth as he's wife gets brutally butchered and he appears to be framed into beaing a murderer. Convicted by the court he's transported to a corporate, maximum security prison (public prisons have been erased in favour of private prisons, operated by international corporations), where he faces inevitable death from hand of the inmates if he doesn't agree to take part in Death Race... as Frankenstein, the biggest hero of this sport, who just died after a fatal car crash.

And there it goes, folks! 95 minutes of violence, car chasing, violence, car chasing and more violence. I personally reached for this movie when saw Corman onboard, nevertheless got bored with it after half an hour. The reasons are plenty. First of all, it bears scarce to none resemblance to "Death Race 2000". Second of all, oldtimers' exploitation formula has been ditched completely. There's no nudity, sex or even occasional tits dancing, so forget about a real fun, guys. Dialogues are as dull as in the shittiest Hollywood blockbuster, this feeling of having them written by a computer program applies well. Political musings are not completely absent, but they're quickly munched by monster car chasing. In fact the only idea of pumping up the action is to bring some locomotive-car with superdestructive firepower (so fuckin' gross). Don't even bother to give it a try if you have a long watchlist to go through, it's just a waste of your precious time.

The Born Losers (1967)

One of my favourite biker movies of all times is a typical product of the golden period that opened right after Roger Corman kicked the door out with "The Wild Angels" provoking a maniacal craze of wacky B-flicks featuring rebellious, leather-clad, chopper riding brutes in every titillating scenario known to a man. Although from today's perspective biker genre was a rather mixed bag with only few off-beat productions entertaining enough to become classics and a lot of crap I wouldn't even use in a private, toilet screening, it gave a lot of water to 70's gangsploitation, passed primitivist, scruffy esethetics to post-apocalyptic movies like "Mad Max" and last but not least became a direct inspiration for "Easy Rider" (the ultimate biker movie in a way).

"The Born Losers" was supposed to be a genuine Billy Jack workout initially, but as Tom Laughlin coudn't find financing for his first draft, he decided to take AIP alley and amp it up with a bunch of nasty biker characters. As Samuel Zarkoff and Jim Nicholson were rolling high at that time, flush with cash from Corman's international success of "The Wild Angels", they wanted to see some more golden eggs – biker movie was the word of the day! The same year "Rebel Rousers" with Jack Nicholson and Bruce Dern was made (icky shit released in 1970!) and also "Devil's Angels", both for AIP. There would be at least 20 or 30 other takes on the genre, produced till the end of the 60's by all independent American film companies. Most of them as dull as it gets with joke of a script, cheapish backdrop and waiters-to-actors cast over night. However, even these dumb chunks of schlock get hugged by a bunch of biker movie aficionados.



While later films with Billy Jack are better remebered for their saucy, martial arts action, "The Born Losers" carries a real story or even two stories, roughly mingled together as it's hard to figure out which one is the main plot. Half-indian, ex green beret and survival specialist, Billy Jack just came back from Vietnam and he treks through the wilderness eating raw fish, but soon he'll have to hit L.A. to wire some dear cash... in the end he's forced to sell his jeep for a cup of piss, but that's the way it is, man! Unfortunately enough Born To Lose MC are rumbling through the hood ("getting their kicks from torture and violence" again) and they accidentally cross their dicks with Billy Jack, who takes the fuckers, but is fined by the court afterwards for using the rifle to shoot one of the brutes. Hence the message is coined: "Doing good will get you nothing, but trouble".

But the bikers will have a new challenge soon when they pull a biker girl in white bikini off two-lane blacktop by fixing the road sign and trapping her in dead end (some slapstick humour here). As they find out, she's a proper child of the social revolution and seeing a brutal rape going down any minute, she chooses to be nice and enter their pad for the official initiation. When a proposition of making it out on acid and speed cannot be met as boys are tapped out, she flees knocking out one of the bikers first. They will go after, catch and pork her, as well as three other city girls the same day. From that point it's clear, that these bikers do not obey, they piss gasoline & shit nails in your face, hijack police cars and also terrorize victims when a case is filed against them in court. They are bad motherfuckers with guns, rifles and nazi helmets flashing with lastest, fashionable outfits like black turtlenecks, native ponchos, denim cuts and badges glorifying happy life on drugs.

Stoners, dropouts, drunks and scumbags is how bikers are drawn here and their prez is played by Jeremy Slate. They have everybody by the pubes and only Billy Jack is not gonna shit his pants – that's basically the main line. The rest is a usual mixture of AIP's exploitative salt & pepper. Some social references to late 60's psychedelic culture, ridiculous, over the top acting, eclectic style of directing, which blends para-documentary realism with 300 cuts in one day Corman's quickie, mild nudity (always edited in with violence scenes) and proto-punk (or post-beatnik?) costumes. Honestly, this is a long and "elaborate" film, which calls for a good bong. Genre fans will have definitely plenty of fun checking out Born To Lose MC vs. Billy Jack and The Girl In White Bikini plot. I'm not sure if it's laid-back vibe or its salacious, roguish musings – kind of exploitation surrealism – but every new twist helps you pull through it till the end. Davie Allan & The Arrows biker sound themes are nice touch as well. You're not gonna go further up from here in the genre, at least not very often.

Getting Straight (1970)

Without any hesitation my favourite film by Richard Rush, preferred even to highly acclaimed "The Stuntman", shot ten years later. Scored after hippiesploitation classic "Psych-Out" it gets a grip on the 60's counterculture in transition... when days of love & protest suddenly exploded in wild rage and resistance never witnessed before. Stepping down the duct of intoxicating, artistic power – freshly reclaimed by New Hollywood brats like Dennis Hopper, Bert Rafelson, Mike Nichols or Peter Bogdanovich – Richard Rush finally broke away from exploitation flicks and reached to his rebellious homeground, coming up with a modern tale of love and identity crisis in a cracking American society. Apart of a vivid story "Getting Straight" is also significant for Rush joining his forces with great Laszlo Kovacs for the last time – this duo could have pulled it off like no one else in my opinion – making you raise your eyebrows when all that well-balanced, technical mastery starts popping out.

But it would have never been such a great picture if not Elliott Gould with his vibrant, absolutely brilliant performance as Harry Bailey – impoverished, ex left wing activist, who wants to drop back into straight society (that's where the title comes from) by finishing his M.D. and starting new life as a school teacher. But as Harry is to gather soon: in this life it's not what you do decides about your destiny, but who you really are. He might not want to live a life of political radical anymore, but his past can be hardly shaken off in the midst of student riots on the campus, which get more nasty and brutal every day. On the top of that his girlfriend Jan (Candice Bergen) has just had enough of his intellectual, arrogant temper and starts a fling with a rich gynecologist... to decide if her middle class dreams are still there to be followed.



As Harry's final oral exam is closing in with all the odds staked against him, he slowly begins to lose his new conviction in shitstorm around. Although an excellent student for few university good ole' boys, he seems a danger for many other professors, who demand to keep rabid revolutionaries at bay. In the same time young activists cannot get over him going full front square, expecially his dropout friend Nick, who never seems off LSD or hash brownies. Hanging now between two worlds, Harry needs to choose what values he wants to stay committed to. But sometimes the most important decisions are taken as if we weren't in driver's seat at all. Zonked out or straight, you need to move forward sooner or later. But as our main character discovers in the end, we're all entangled pretty deeply in a web of emotional and spiritual relations, which determine our steps.

With countercultural vibe a la "Easy Rider" or "The Graduate", dashing photography by Kovacs and spirited script by Bob Kaufman (based on a contemporary novel by Ken Kolb), Elliott Gould shows his horns in a classic, theatrical manner, rarely seen in American cinema. His acting energy waves high as he utters charged, badass bits on the screen involved in verbal duels with either his girlfriend or stodgy professors. Although not without a certain comedy edge, the movie is more of an artistic commentary on the late 60's with a hearty layer of anti-establishment musings and rather intellectual, slow-pacing action. It's not one of those later silly comedies screwing around with cliches of hippie naivete to pass revolutionary stance as a drug fueled fad, which in the end turns economy into making more money on alternative lifestyle and products... it stays true to it's time and it watches today as good as it did 42 years ago.

Constructed around two weeks of real time, narration of Rush's film might seem truly obsessed with details and monologues, but it sneaks away from a trap of barely scratching a surface of the topic on the other hand. "Getting Straight" should be treated as an obligatory viewing for auteur cinema aficionados and also a precious jewel for those having a soft spot for counterculture related works. I'd say it's main value lays in smart perspective of 60's revolution as that one of profound social, cultural and individual change with interesting take on the evolution of main character and looking down on both sides of the baricade... as a curiosity Harrison Ford plays here an episodic role. Followers of Richard Rush's film career should definitely give it a go as well. They won't be disappointed, I promise.

Cheech & Chong's Up In Smoke (1978)

Wherever you are in terms of weed smoking, this cult flick was a huge box office blast in 1978, which seems like ages ago now. Can you imagine it done nowadays? No way! Defnitely could have only happened in the 70's as at the time it was as close to legalizing weed in USA as it gets. In fact Jimmy Carter won the ticket to the White House two years before officially backing it up and even Hunter S. Thompson swallowed the bug. It's a real pity it never happened as Carter's aide was busted with a big load of snowflake and his progressive, liberal agenda was promptly flushed in the toilet when media caught wind of the scandal. In a way late 70's – although driven by everlasting, cocaine high – were the highest mark of countercultural dreams gone big – if we measure them purely in media and entertainment pitch. Cheech Martin & Tommy Chong could have never found a better time to pop up with their homegrown comedy style.

For many people "Up In Smoke" is the best one in whole Cheech & Chong's series and although it worked for me I have to say I personally found "Nice Dreams" to be much more of an inventive oddball, just dripping with this peculiar, stoner aura. Still, we cannot really go through Cheech & Chong's astonishing film career without bumping on their first, groundbreaking picture. It's cool, it's hilarious and it's definitely baked! How many times it's been ripped off afterwards it's hard to count and that includes recent lame, stoner shit. What makes "Up In Smoke" a wild card and prevents it from aging though is a genuine vocation behind it... this feel of auteur's loco so much buried in the 80's by the big studios cashing on countless clones of "Star Wars", "Jaws" and "The Exorcist". Even if decade under influence was almost over by the time Cheech & Chong caught up, few great movies have been made even as late as 1980-1981.



A plot of "Up In Smoke" is obviously as loose as high mind can be. Two amateur musicians meet casually somewhere around Los Angeles – one just crawled up from a ditch by the beach actually – and they immediately hit it by sharing a gigantic joint (packed partly with Mauie Wowie and partly with labradorian shit). Shortly they get so stoned that driving is impossible anymore and while cult line "I think we're parked, man" comes off of a screen we surely know this bender's gonna last and it does! But the adventures of two dropouts – Pedro de Pacas and Anthony, are not really addressed to any straight viewers, so beware! However, if you've reached for your dear bong or just finished a phat one, they'll leave you spaced out in no time. Among many silly scenes you'll witness a weird music rehearsal and you'll meet wasted Vietnam veteran, who unfortunately flips out while guys want to score some dope from him. You're also gonna drown in some very bizarre ideas like crossing USA-Mexico border in a car made out of liquid marijuana.

In the end you'll have to face a struggle between our anti-heroes and local police forces led by unforgettable sergeant Sedenko, always alert to bust the hipsters as key personalities of a drug-dealing network... and you'll see their gig on young talents night at The Roxy, including obscure californian New Wave and punk rock acts. A cool cat Chicano-black-street speak adds to the flavour making it one of the least pretentious picture of all times and while it contains some lightweight, countercultural agenda it should be watched mainly for these mythical 10 lbs of hysterical giggle. If you have the right attitude and give it a first try, it will definitely blow your mind with it's off-beat pacing and revised version of Marx Brothers humour. You need to know, that only few 60's/70's movies have gained such a cult following with time and while comedies among them are scarce, this is the top. A fantastic trip in glorious past of a truly entertaining cinema, which will grab every serious toker "by the boo boo".

Cockfighter (1974)

One of the most uncommon New World Pictures projects was exclusively Roger Corman's idea, adapted from a rather obscure novel by Charles Willeford. And though it was meant to be someting of an artistic provocation – I reckon, a replay of "The Intruder" – it became an instant disaster and flopped miserably. "Cockfighter" has been given to Monte Hellman, one of the oldest Corman's pupils, who came back around after directing "Two-Lane Blacktop" for Universal (till this day his most famous film), which never scored bigtime against it's powerful vision and raving press reviews. Nestor Almendros was hired as a cinematographer for the picture (later Academy Award winner for Days Of Heaven in 1978) and was paid to fly from Paris to USA – it was his first American movie. The only problem was Monte Hellman, who he felt like passing on this project when he saw a scouted dirt pit in Georgia with smashed Southerners around, betting heavily on blood-thirsty cocks.

"Cockfighter" has irrevocably retained this split. A strange picture, expressed in quick cuts, bloody close-ups and out of blue voice-over – it didn't manage to develop characters' potential either. Although definitely an artist's alley, it got dominated by second unit shots of Lewis Teague in an editing stage – film's editor, who volunteered to fill it with rough, shocking footage, demanded by Corman. Unfortunately this move cut it's legs totally, boiling it down to a vague half-way runner between typical New World exploitation product and a possible, multi-layered tale of love and passion in a violent world, which as we might only presume was something closer to Hellman's spirit. Inside screening uncovered a sheer brutality of the rough cut and it must've been really repulsive one as even Corman turned away from releasing it with so much chicken blood and guts flying around. As an effect the final cut was something of a compromise between Corman's salesman drill and director's artistic vision, but it satisfied nobody



"Cockfighter" is a story of Frank Mansfield acted by Warren Oates. Although he's a top cockfighting coach, he loses opportunity to win MVP of the year award when shooting his mouth off and getting his favourite rooster slaughtered in a hotel room before the big day... his love for whiskey is only part of the problem as there's alsoa girl, who loves him madly and is repelled by his unconditional blood lust. Shaken by the loss he takes an oath to keep his mouth shut untill he finally takes the trophy. That makes Warren Oates' performance a mute one for most of the time (which might as well be the best thing here) and his inner dialogues externalized by mentioned, bizarre voice-over. But shaping up is not that easy and Frank needs to hit the bottom before getting a grip again. Short on cash he sells his parents' house – which gets tolled away – and comes back to the game with a new partner (Omar Baradansky - weird Polish-American countryside businessman), who provides him with fresh chickens. Together they take on the toughest competitors of this southern sport step by step and eventually get down to the beat.

Apparently cockfighting was still a country entertainment in the South when the film was made, but in the same time it was a public embarassment and the topic hadn't a slightest chance to storm the box office. Tabooed at least, but most likely totally disgusting event for drive-in crowd, hardened by exploitation roughies – if it was made today, animalists would get a heart attack – it screened for a very short time. After expected wows didn't exactly come as a wave, it got yanked off by Corman, recut and reissued as Born To Kill. Joe Dante has done another oddball trailer with famous helicopter explosion – used in almost all New World Pictures teasers – but even these desperate gimmicks couldn't save the picture and it was shelved eventually. Somehow it survived underneath the surface and became a minor cult movie afterwards, considered a second, most important work of Monte Hellman. Although pacing is kind of wonky, Corman's influence overwhelming and it doesn't reach weirdness of "Two-Lane Blacktop", it's an interesting example of digesting the southern mystique by one of the most interesting American directors of the golden era. 70's curious zone!

Danger: Diabolik (1968)

Lured by the success of Batman's and Fantomas's film versions – classic comic strip and criminal fiction heroes – Dino de Laurentiis decided to spin two projects in late 1967. One of these creations eventually became Roger Vadim's "Barbarella" while the other one – cashing on a great popularity of Italian fumetto about supervillain Diabolik – was assigned to Mario Bava and dubbed simply "Danger: Diabolik". Although it was the most expensive movie Bava ever directed, flashing with stylish sets or classy designer costumes and it made a huge blast in Europe, it didn't manage to break through in United States, where after limited theatrical release it went down to circulating as a 16 mm print. But with time it gained a large following, today being considered one of the best comic book adaptations ever made linking pulp frivolousness with a sense of underground sensitivity, very appealing to the counterculture of the late 60's.

As the movie was based on an established comic strip series, it had a pile of volumes to exploit and in fact Bava just cut'n'pasted Diabolik's most interesting adventures rewriting them into a tight script. Known by his gothic horror, fantasy & giallo versatility, he was a perfect match for a movie, which demanded weird imagination, tension building and certain equivocality from a director. As an effect Bava came up with a humorous, luscious vision bridging pop cultural light weight with genre parody and anti-establishment winks towards political revolutionaries of the psychedelic era. In the end his figure of Diabolik (acted by John Phillip Law) is an ambiguous one, coming down as a sort of witty, technology-savvy superthief, who robs from filthy rich, but not for the profit... for pure fun and satisfaction exclusively. Although he likes to surround himself with top of the line decor and drives pricey Jaguar, he wouldn't have a sense of purpose without his gorgeous girlfriend Eva, who's more important than all the gold and jewels of this world.



He's introduced while nicking a car carrying $10 mln, smoking the escort out and lifting it with a crane. But as he comes home to his lady luck Eva (played by beautiful Marisa Mell), he simply tosses the money on a bed and they're promptly drowning in the heat of a love act using it as a spectacular fetish. But the government will soon have enough and will grant chief of police new prerogatives to get Diabolik by any means. Importantly, there is another bad guy in this story, Valmont – boss of the powerful syndicate, whose operations are being busted one by one in order to force him into a deal. He'll be the criminal mind to deliver Diabolik. Knowing his ways far better than police, he's gonna pick the right bait to catch him. Although this plan initially pans out, Diabolik hides more aces and throws them on a table eventually, slipping away from the hands of law being officially dead... and blowing up all tax and financial centres afterwards in an act of absurd revenge. Facing all these futile efforts the prime minister becomes edgy and orders another desperate trap set. Will Diabolik finally slip?

This fast-paced caper by Mario Bava is much different from his other genre works, mostly as he had much bigger budget at his disposal and didn't hesitate to spend it on lurid sets, which perfectly mirror the spirit of the epoch – sci-fi ideas of the late 60's meet current Italian interior design. Then there are Marisa Mell's designer clothes, who's dripping with sex herself as always (one of the reasons to see this movie). Yes, it does have a dash of exploitation, but Bava's eye is still there with his famous close-ups (mimicked at large by later giallo and horror artists), long, full frame shots, giving viewer a sense of depth or his dynamic car chase sequences, definitely ahead of it's time. It's all nicely combined by a streamline action, exactly like in comic books – one scene goes after another without any psychological sit-downs as development of the characters is pretty unnecessary here – they are as we see them. Over the top acting and psychedelic musings like zapping press conference with laughing gas or busting Valmont's pad filled with joint puffing hippies add to a general sense of playful romp, which didn't lose anything with time. On the top you get ravishing Ennio Morricone's soundtrack, so don't hesitate and just go for it!

The Doll Of Satan (1969)

A middle class couple (Jack & Eizabeth) arrives to the old French castle to partake in a reading of the last will of young lady's uncle, just to find out he left her these ancient premises in inheritance. Overwhelmed by castle's bizarre aura they rather choose to enjoy themeselves in a beautiful countryside casually staring to discover it's striking nicety. Soon enough they are to find out, that their new home has been an object of a pending purchase offer, made by a local businessman. When they encounter this gentleman during a walk through the forest, he mentions that a deal is still on the table, waiting to be reconsidered by the new owner. Suddenly strange things start to happen with a young lady being a centre of the brutal game, whose puppet masters are nearer than she expects.

Although very appealing, the title of this rare giallo flick has nothing to do with the plot as satan's horns are virtually absent. Instead, the movie carries a strong resemblance to Roger Corman's gothic horrors, especially as set production is concerned. While plot evolves, it's gothic wings are being cut down a little in favour of a cheesy espionage spoof. In comparison with other gialli of the late 60's, that one has minor interest in exploiting middle class games, nudity or even Italian alta moda. Acting is not it's strongest side either, but that's at least counterweighted by light fetish touch to scenes of morbid visions, where main character is involved. We even get a short peek at her nipples and they're not too bad. Only magnet here is a dressed, female beauty – blonde one is a victim while brunette one is the crook and on the top we get another one, brown-haired daredevil – a secret agent.

What can I say about Ferruccio Casapinta's "The Doll Of Satan" in the end? It can barely provoke a grimace on your face and it's definitely not funny in a bad way other cult B-movies are. Nothing more than a full-length eurospy gibberish dressed in gothic trimmings with subpar script and action as askew as it's practically possible. That's true it's rare and you won't find an official release, but I wouldn't mind not having it in my collection as it's value is next to none. A dull pot boiler I'm afraid, blinking dramatically at the seekers of rare Italian gialli. But if you're really into the genre, there are other yummy rarities worth grabbing and only if you are the most adamant completist, you might consider giving it a go. Otherwise, stay clear of this movie, cause you're gonna curse the producers and the place, where you've bought it.

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One On The Top Of The Other (1969)

If there's one Lucio Fulci's film you cannot afford not to watch, it's "One On The Top Of The Other" aka. "Perversion Story" (Italian title: "Una sull'altra"). Inspired by Hitchcock's famous "Vertigo" with James Stewart and Kim Novak, it uses giallo rails to spice up classic thriller frame by exploiting what Hitchcock was never able to come through with – sex and erotic passion. While for my money it's a much better picture, I need to mention I was never big fan of Hitchcock appreciating "Psycho" and nothing more. Partly cause I personally hate Old Hollywood romance cliches and partly cause his style is very repetitive and too self-conscious for my taste. Fulci on the other hand had roaring 60's past him, standing on the shoulders of the cultural revolution, which changed a lot in the cinema – from 1959 to 1969 it was like light years ahead! That gave the movie a distinctive flavour, but also let him boil up the story to a sensual orgy.

In fact, it's one of these maestro's genre flicks so flapped around eroticism, that pratically void of violence, which is very often paired with his style by gore fans if not forcefully superimposed. However we have to remeber, that Fulci was suave and smart director, who didn't jump on stage just to say: "Let's do this zombie movie, filled with sex and violence. It'll sell". He evolved like every other great director, shaping his workshop and developing his interests with time through many movies, which included sword & sandals flicks, comedies, documentaries, spaghetti westerns and even musicals. In the end of 60's shaken by suicide of his wife, tired with comedies and spaghetti westerns he suddenly discovered giallo – invented single-handedly by Mario Bava in his two early 60's movies: "The Girl Who Knew Too Much" (1963) and "Blood and Black Lace" (1964). That definitely changed Fulci's artistic route giving him new means of expression, which is best exemplified by "One On The Top Of The Other".

But Fulci would never lower himself to a blatant rip-off, instead he was gonna offer one of the most complex, criminal stories ever featured on the screen. His first take on giallo is definitely one of the best of the genre and starts a completely new offshoot – erotic criminal, which tracks a bust up of marriage. But that's not all of it! Considering, that this amazing movies, starring Jean Sorel, Marisa Mell and Elsa Martinelli was an international co-production, it was released in four different cuts (American, French, Spanish and Italian) of which two (Spanish and Italian) are considered very rare today. Although differences between the cuts are not crucial for the intrigue, they accentuate diverse tones and expose or delete erotic scenes. American version is the most stripped one as far as carnal heat is concerned, while Italian and French one are the most passionate showing all of it. Italian version is the longest one, running approximately 105 min., but it drops initial bird's eye shots of San Francisco apparent in French cut, released as "Perversion Story" on DVD. On the other hand it contains full dialogue lines making this version most elaborate and detailed one.



Italian cut presents full, sophisticated script based on a story of a San Francisco upper middle class marriage. Doctor George Dumurrier (Jean Sorel) is exposed as a character finding himself in a difficult situation, between a falling relationship and his private clinic drowning in serious financial troubles... but his affair with a sexy photographer Jane (Elsa Martinelli) is fortunately flourishing while he's daydreaming about getting rid of the wife, Susan (Marisa Mell) to make his life complete. This somehow happens without his intervention as she soon dies of dramatic asthma attack. Not being able to grieve as he's heart is jumping to start over with Jane, he surprisingly finds out, that his wife's kept a valid life policy worth $1 mln, which makes him instantly rich.

He's able to save the clinic now... and pursue his erotic desires as he's just met a new hottie in a local strip club, Roaring Twenties – Monica Weston, whose beauty is a mirror reflection of his dead wife. Only she's blonde, has deep green eyes and her line of work includes paid sex – in the end she seems nothing more than a witless hooker. But after spending night with her, he accidentally finds out, that she needs to take the same anti-asthmatic drug as his dead wife and that's just the beginning of a long mystery-solving run as he promptly becomes arrested by police and accused of murdering Susan to profit from her insurance policy. Hitting with red herrings, hazardous passions, double-crossing, unexpected twists and dark underbelly, film finally leads to slightly crude, but still surprising ending. As Fulci plays the suspense very well, it becomes a very effective challenge for the imagination.

Maestro's picture is visually stunning, spiked with absolutely amazing shots of Alejandro Ulloa, including fast close-ups, slow panoramic shots and off-beat dolly outs. My favourite one captures Jean Sorel and Elsa Martinelli making love through a veil of thin fabric with red lens – very psychedelic indeed. This Fulci owes undoubtedly to European New Wave masters like Godard or Antonioni. But his vision of working with a camera is not worse than these established auteurs, Fulci is just more after genre's exploitation possibilities and doesn't want to be pretentious. On the top the movie is supported by a breath-taking jazz soundtrack by Riz Ortolani ("Mondo Cane"), clearly one of the best 60's soundtracks I happened to hear. Ortolani's main theme with rich bass notes, counterpointed by a flurry of high-pitched brass licks is an intrisic element of many pivotal points of the movie and often left me breathless.

As far as acting is concerned Jean Sorel is not bad in his role, but feminine creations rule here with gorgeous Merisa Mell playing two sides of the coin and Elsa Martinelli capturing the spirit of strong, sexy, self-made woman. Well-chosen sets and locations add another layer to this cult movie as well as high fashion costumes, which will make vintage orientated designers scream. Although this is one of the rarest Fulci's movies, it's more than worthy tracking down and a must-see for maestro's fans. In my shortlist it occupies a second position after "Don't Torture a Duckling" (1972) and before "Lizard in Woman's Skin" (1971), starting the most creative period of Fulci's career. The only thing I really don't like about it is the ending, suddenly bringing para-documentary style onboard. And while it couldn't meet any more experimental touch in order to sell worldwide, I feel that going down that road it could have made a real masterpiece. Nevertheless, divorced from "what if he..." wondering, I reckon it's still one of the best B-movies or at least gialli ever made, which can be hardly pigeonholed after all. It needs very careful watching, but it won't disappoint Fulci's ardent followers.

Five Easy Pieces (1970)

One of my all-time personal favourites, "Five Easy Pieces" is an absolutely electrifying drama perfectly summing up bittersweetness of the 60's – a period of irreversible cultural transformation, which changed societies, but individuals even more. This great vision of Bob Rafelson, photographed by Laszlo Kovacs, played out by Jack Nicholson and Karen Black is one of the best, that American auteur cinema has had to offer. Emotionally exuberant picture featuring verbatim acting creations and surprisingly simple story flows high due to masterminded narration, transgressive pacing and spot-on shoots, utilizing non-ordinary angles. It's quasi antic connotations make it a little bit more than just a social critique and it's enigmatic ending embodies all, that truly timeless cinema should be associated with. While this is just one nugget in the epoch's pile of gold, only few 70's artistic flicks matched it with their passion and genuine storytelling qualities.

Bob Rafelson was one of these crucial forces in the late 60's and early 70's American cinema, which later lost their impact and were forgotten, covered up with other names like Francis Ford Coppola or Martin Scorsese. Still, he remains one of the most original auteurs and producers, who managed to inject new blood into the Hollywood system. In fact his "Head" (1968) besides casting The Monkees comes as one of the most original, surrealistic romps made in the 60's and although initially flopped, became the ultimate cult movie later on. That's where his collaboration with Jack Nicholson has started, who co-wrote this yummy flick. With "Five Easy Pieces" Rafelson was nominated for Oscar as a director and script writer – he took the first one in glory together with New York Critics Award. This on the other hand leaves me upset about Academy Awards today, won by pictures, which wouldn't probably even take a nomination 30 years before – for which I don't even bother watching them usually – but every time has it's "spirit" and the golden years will rather not come back.

"Five Easy Pieces" is a story of Robert Eroica Dupea, impersonated by Jack Nicholson – a romantic dropout from upper middle class nest of anything but average, classical musicians. Bobby – as we get to know him in the beginning – severed ties with his family and has gone down South to live a life of a physical labourer, moving from job to job, from town to town. Although at some point he's refused to pursue his family's artistic heritage (as his brother and sister did without a blink of an eye), he cannot find peace as a "class refugee", working in the oil fields, bowling, fucking girls and downing beers with his pal. But his girfriend Rayette (Karen Black) seems a perfect symbol of what he desperately struggles to embrace. She's easygoing, warm-hearted and pretty in a way, but brainless and lacking any wider horizons. Confused about his past Bobby plays along, but mixed emotions and guilt of losing the higher ground eventually provoke a fight with his buddy and then with Rayette. In the end he's just a non-committed drifter, who can only keep fear at bay for so long.



One of these days he doesn't want to take it anymore and visits her sister Tita in a recording studio. Narration makes clear, that she's a subpar pianist, but leaving a question about Bobby's talent open. Although she's very happy to see him, she needs to lay a very sad news on her brother. Their father had two strokes recently and doesn't seem to be feeling well. Jerked around by guilt and melancholy, Bobby decides to drive up the country to Washington, to visit his old home and check on his father. Making it a bundle, he decides to leave his girlfriend, but she makes a scene and thus they carry on together. However, he doesn't want to bring Rayette down, ashamed over her working class, non-educated background. Instead he forces her to stay in a cheap motel not far from the island, on which his family's been living.

As Bobby finally arrives, he finds his father terminal and a new tenant at home – a young pianist and his brother's girlfriend. That wakes up a yearning for a new affair as well as natural, musical talent. When he plays beautiful notes of Chopin – while camera rolls over family photos showing him next to his father – his status as the most talented one becomes obvious, explaining uneasy family tension around the life he chose. Although his savage nature and very unpredictable character will be more than a girl can take, Bobby beds her in the course of an action just to find out afterwards, that he's still not a good fit for quiet, classical pianist lifestyle and eventually leave home with Rayette. That leads to an unexpected, beautiful ending, which becomes the most precise depiction of Bobby's hasty, rebelious personality.

Rafelson's work is one of the most important American films ever made, paving the way for Jack Nicholson to the stardom. In "Five Easy Pieces" actor continues, what he started in "Easy Rider" finally breaking free from a burden of secondary roles. Although, we're gonna see Jack Nicholson doing even better (in "Last Detail", "Carnal Knowledge", "King Of Marvin Gardens" or "One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest"), this is the role to be acknowledged and remembered as it's here, where his pure hysterical energy and talent for bringing out character's metamorphosis got revealed in a raving streak of confrontations. But this masterpiece would never reach this level if not Laszlo Kovacs with his cameraman virtuosity – his total eye is just amazing. Obviously, top-notch screenplay by Rafelson and his clear, artistic vision come on the top, creating a perfectly structured tale with spontaneous narrative curves, invoking profound conflicts of the human nature as well as basic dilemmas of free thinking individuals in a modern, mobile society. This is an obligatory viewing for any serious film buff!

The Girl Who Knew Too Much (1963)

Hailed by critics and movie buffs as the first giallo movie in cinema history, Mario Bava's "The Girl Who Knew Too Much" (or "La ragazza che sapeva troppo") takes it's title from critically acclaimed Hitchcock's thriller "The Man Who Knew Too Much". Beyond any doubt Bava was inspired by Hitchcock's movies praising mainly "Psycho" as a genre breakthrough, which set it's print on many 60's thrillers and horrors – American and European ones. This legendary film was also his fourth and final movie shot in black & white as one year later he'd go fully Technicolor with another exuberant giallo classic – "Blood & Black Lace", where he'd pull out all the stops creating genre history. But it's here, where he made a giallo statement juggling with pulp fiction sleaze in order to reinvent the art of screen terror and setting a blueprint for the next 300 Italian productions. From this perspective "The Girl Who Knew Too Much" is a really exceptional achievement.

The girl's name is Nora Davis (Leticia Roman) and she's just flying over to Rome from United States, flipping through pages of another giallo novel. Her auntie is sick and she's looking forward to meeting her, unfortunately she dies shortly after Nora's arrival, in the middle of the night. Shocked by this sudden occurence, she tries desperately to get a doctor on the phone and then runs to the hospital stomping on spiral stairs of Piazza di Spagna, but she gets knocked by a thief and lands unconscious on the pavement. When she finally comes to her senses a weird murder is being committed right before her eyes. But when she reports it to the police, they cannot investigate as apparently no harm was done... at least as far as they know. Driven by viral giallo fantasies she goes after the mystery herself and forces her auntie's personal doctor, Marcello Bassi (John Saxon) to help her out. That leads to a series of unexpected events and final encounter with malevolent Alphabet Murderer.



Emotionally vibrant with carefully paced, oniristic narration, "The Girl Who Knew Too Much" is an extraordinary film calling for multiple viewing. Many can be said about Bava's inventive camerawork, master shadow play catch and stunning photography. Even Furore – movie's main theme, sung by Adriano Celentano, helps to lay a roaring vibe on Bava's story from a first frame, which shows an aeroplane high in the clouds. All the elements and licks play along just fine smoothly carrying the action ahead. Acting performances are strong and certainly well caught on camera. As John Saxon couldn't speak Italian, this is also first giallo featuring full Italian dubbing and first giallo to bring drugs to the screen. A puff of marijuana cigarette and Nora is high, confused about what is real and what is a fantasy, which serves Bava as an opening bracket of the story and as a closing one too. After the climax she conceives in her mind, that it all could have been just a weed dream. Stoner movie? Well, let's not get that far.

As the first giallo, Bava's movie was actually paving the way, but as this step on the moon was promptly overturned by "Blood & Black Lace", it never got ripped off by director's devotees such as Dario Argento, Lucio Fulci, Sergio Martini or the others. Paradoxically, the structure of the latter one was grabbed, successfully tweaked and polished, eventually evolving into a point of occult thriller or satanic slasher (depends on the artist), where a form became everything, pushing sound screenplay aside. While "The Girl Who Knew Too Much" seems a fairytale in par to later attainments of Italians, it's much closer to European New Wave in terms of film expression than Bava's later works. Especially exterior shots resemble Fellini's and Antonioni's hunt for catching the nature of the game. A truly artistic B-movie, which skillfuly balances taste and thrills. Definitely a must-see for giallo greenies and completists, who somehow missed it.

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Hunter S. Thompson – His Final Hours (2006)

One of these minor documentaries, that only die-hard fans can dig. Directed by William Hicklin for Cineflix International (Canadian TV production company) it makes an interesting effort to uncover last 24 hours of Hunter S. Thompson's life as a part of Final 24 biography series. While most of the classic and modern documentaries on Hunter have covered him on a current time basis or in retrospective – coming up with personal interviews and live/archival footage – this stuff goes down a little bit weirder patch favoring his last day as a TV play. We get a bunch of actors impersonating Thompson, his son, wife and befriended video camera operator – Ben Fee, who's been invited over at that time to shoot the family reunion. Obviously, it's been made after writer's suicide, so nobody was able to interview him anymore, but a drama take itself – known well from many criminal or historical documentaries – works here as well.

However, director had also ambition to map Hunter's long way to fame, thus he interviewed his ex-wife, few old Rolling Stones editors and his neigbours. There's even a psychiatrist and one minor book biographer in this bunch, but both without a real muscle. Overall His Final Hours is a nice collage of acted reconstruction and Hunter's back-story, which weaves in and out as the countdown to an end is getting nearer. All threads are linked, all explanations are given and all known facts are unveiled as we watch the actors giving their performance on a snowy-white set (as Thomspon took his life in February) in a country house, carrying a forced resemblance to Owl Farm. For those of you, who've read two or three biographies about Thompson, there won't be probably any new crack on the writer, but this material is consistent enough to serve as an expanding pill for the readers, who are after obnoxious or shocking details, which in Hunter's case seem more than easy to catch. He proclaimed himself the last public drug fiend anyway.

Thompson's twisted, double nature and persona playing comes first as an explanation for his mythical drive towards drugs, alcohol and wild non-conformism. Although portraited as a juvenile delinquent in Louisville, who nevertheless aspired high and then bitter journalist for many years (two books rejected, being limited to smalltime press writing for a long time), who suddenly broke through with Hell's Angels in 1966 and then just winged ahead to better deals, there's never any doubt about his great writing talent. This is confirmed by everybody in the movie, can hardly be questioned and happens only when another frustrated crappy writer sweats out some adolescent bunk in order to get his five minutes. But more interesting is digging in Hunter's closet, which is done with a surprising dose of competence. Sandra (ex-wife) doesn't take his charm away, but speaks of his dark temper as well.

Respectively his former Rolling Stone editor – Alan Rinzler, takes us back to the early 70's recounting anectdotes how Hunter must've got loaded with everything he could have laid his paws on (usually coke, weed and whiskey) in order to crystalize the angelic vision out of thin air. Otherwise he couldn't write. If he was zonked out like a space monkey, he coudn't write either. Apparently, a delicate balance was necessary. That – as it's stated here – was a good line in a short run, but in the late 70's or early 80's started taking it's toll as an integral part of Hunter's lifestyle and ultimately as a destructive fix. The most detectable result was a crashing level of his writing as imaginative started becoming real (a prisoner of his own narration theory). In fact, between 1973-1983 he didn't write anything new – The Great Shark Hunt (1979) was brilliant stuff, but only a retrospective collection of previously written materials – with Curse Of Lono (1983) opening another period. But even this book would have never been published if not Douglas Brinkley's intervention, who had to put it together virtually by himself!

Then we eventually come to fin de siecle, 2003-2005, when Hunter underwent two hip surgeries, suffered broken leg pain and started getting weary and depressed from daily mixture of painkillers and Chivas Regal. At that point it wasn't mystery for anyone, that he was a hard drinking alcoholic, although most of the people interviewed in the movie prefer to speak of "a professional drinker". Whatever, diplomacy was never Hunter's strong line and he wouldn't mind in-your-face anyway. Moreover, he's been spreading the word about his suicidal mood at least two years before he's actually done it as well, so nobody could have been genuinely surprised (covered in the movie). The way he's done it? Hemingway way? Stashing almost 30 guns loaded around the house? The only option really. And the word he left on a paper: "Counselor"? Probably an ultimate gonzo joke... but we'll never know, cause he's dead now sniffing heavenly coke. Good filler for detail hunters, but you need to be Hunter's lover to really appreciate it!

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The Terror (1963)

Among many Corman's cult classics "The Terror" occupies a very particular space as the only picture, which took more than three weeks to wrap up. In fact, it took nine months before any editing might have taken place as the story kept missing and missing from the reels, even if five directors were busy closing in on Corman's wacky idea. Have you ever seen a low-budget picture, which can hardly pull off any storyline? Well, meet "The Terror", which doesn't have any plot at all. Basic concept of this legendary gibberish, heavily outlined by the cast, critics and Corman's fans invaded director's brain when he's been finishing the shoot of „The Raven” (1962). He mentions looking at the beautiful, gothic set and feeling kind of upset from a necessity to tear it all down a day after. Thus he got touched by a genie and came up with another movie, which could have been shot over two days, without any need to cut between the scenes to save time by keeping the camera on!

Although one thing he still missed was the screenplay, Corman solved it quickly by calling his fastest writer, Leo Gordon, who eventually agreed to write some loosely linked pages in few days. Director now had a set, very basic story and a cast brought up in a jiffy. Jack Nicholson agreed to play a French Army officer – Duvalier, who wandered off of his regiment along Baltic Sea shoreline during Napoleon's military campaign. Sandra Knight (Jack Nicholson's wife) played Helene, a mysterious ghost dragging him into... that's the problem as nobody knew what exactly. Then there was Boris Karloff as Baron von Leppe, who got paid $30,000 by AIP to commit two more days to next Corman's movie. Finally, the role of his servant was filled by Dick Miller. Eventually it proved to be a rather poor triangle for a thrilling, gothic romp, hence two other characters were created to buzz it up – mysterious mute named Gustav and The Witch. The roles were grabbed by Jonathan Haze and Dorothy Neumann respectively.



As nobody really knew initially what the story was about and what the motivations of their characters were, Jack Nicholson and Boris Karloff were forced to stroll around the props for two days occasionally exchanging nonsense lines. After two days shooting Corman had to leave to Europe in a rush, where he was planning to make another quickie, "The Young Racers" (1963). Thus a task of finishing the movie was laid on Francis Ford Coppola, who was to direct exterior scenes linking the castle sequences with another part of the story or more precisely he just had to work up it's foundations. He manged to improve the story though by bringing Duvalier and Helene outside and making them interact, which unfortunately bent it out a little bit, leaving retarded "castle plot" even more problematic.

Confronted with an obvious gap in a storyline and missing more footage Corman gave a camera and some film to his assistant Dennis Jakob – fresh UCLA graduate. But Dennis shot his own movie about a Civil War in three days instead leaving Corman in a real despair. This time Monte Hellman was picked and asked to shoot additional scenes on the cliffs of Palos Verdes. He was happy to do it and filmed everything he was told to, but felt that the scipt should have been changed even more, so promptly rewrote an already messed up story overlapping it with another absurd twist, which made The Witch look for revenge and Gustav talk... but at least he was able now to explain the mystery of this movie to a beat up viewer. While Corman was pondering his long over time project, he figured he needed another man to round up the story by shooting some more footage.

Jack Hill jumped onboard and carried on for a bit, but Corman still needed one more day of filming and this time Jack Nicholson persuaded him he'd do it if everybody was doing it anyway. As the story didn't sparkle anyway – it definitely missed a beat – Corman decided to go for the ultimate twist. Baron was not a Baron, but Eric, witch's son, who took his place long time before by killing him in a duel. Bad news was, the witch didn't know that and tried to kill him all this time by using Duvalier and Helene to drive him completely crazy! As Jack Nicholson said: They don't make movies like The Terror anymore. The movie has become a cult trash since and was featured as a tribute by Corman's pupils in such movies as: "Mean Streets", "Targets" or "Hollywood Boulevard". A real chunk of low-budget movies history, where the movie itself is the least important thing!

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Corman's World: Exploits of a Hollywood Rebel (2011)

One of these documentaries for which many of us have been sharpening their teeth and ticking days off as DVD release date was coming closer. Although it premiered on Sundance Festival a year ago, not all folks from around the globe could have attended, so instead they were forced to sit on their asses impatiently! As a big fan of Corman I need to say it's value lays mainly in high rollers of Hollywood uttering words of praise for the man, who let them literally be... who's been often their lifeblood. You have to check out Jack Nicholson, Bruce Dern or Martin Scorsese who finally confirm, what we've all known but very rarely got admitted loud – Corman's film school has been the main link between 60's exploitation cinema and 70's auteur fireworks being the ground of new artistic forms developed in family environment.

As far as Corman's career is concerned, Alex Stapleton's movie speaks of few facts I wasn't aware. Documentary builds at large upon the story comprehensively told by Corman himself in his great book How I Made Hundred Movies In Hollywood and Never Lost A Dime, which tells you everything you need to know, hence those ones, who've read the book, might find a history of his career (revealed once again) a bit boring. But let's not forget, that there is still a lot of people outside the fandom, who've never heard of Corman or they've just drifted once or twice toward these regions and never really bothered to grab any solid book about the exploitation pope! "Corman's World..." seems to serve this purpose just fine mixing a biographical side with New Horizons office footage and very inspiring interviews with mentioned above and many others like David Carradine, Ron Howard, Joe Dante, Allan Arkush, Polly Platt, Peter Bogdanovich, Robert De Niro, Peter Fonda and many more. This list is very impressive itself!

On technical side it's a good job – maybe not ravishing, but all right – and it ticks all the boxes of modern documentary. Posters, trailers and press clipppings are being mixed with cinematic part and laid in simple manner, while narration heads toward tension build-up and eventually brings a climax. The movie seems longer than it really is, but that's due to compact construction. Corman's professional and private life in a pill was definitely a challenge, that's why screen time needed to be sped up multiple times, which reasonably trimmed his legendary 380 productions to 50 essential ones in a flash. Director also opted for leaving off Filipino chapter as that's been nicely exposed in another recent documentary - "Machete Maidens" (2010). Apart of that, we get basic treatment, from Corman's mythical schlock entries like "The Monster From the Ocean Floor" and "The Fast and the Furious", through unforgettable Poe flicks like "House Of Usher" or "Tomb Of Ligeia" (favourite Poe movie of Martin Scorsese) and then "The Terror", "The Wild Angels", "The Trip", and finally to New World Pictures period, when Corman made a fortune on such exploitation classics like "Big Doll House", "Grand Theft Auto", "White Line Fever" or "Death Race 2000" (to name only few).



But it wasn't exactly simplest task to do – covering a story of the guy, who has had three production/distribution companies, discovered 50% of Hollywood's biggest names, totally revolutionized production side of filmmaking, invented a new way of budgeting it, created dozen of exploitation sub-genres from a scratch giving a root to the modern action movie, improved and mastered the art of entertainment marketing (including these famous sticky trailers), took over distribution of European art films on US market in the 70's with profits and on the top directed more than 300 movies himself! Not all of these achievements have been discussed in "Corman's World...", but the most important were licked with clear sense of understanding, many to the credit of former Corman's collaborators and workers.

Saying that we need to stress once again, that Total Documentary on any topic is virtually impossible to score – the more extensive the subject, the more you need to shave it off as pedantic exploration of every single pocket carries a danger of down-playing or even losing the storyline completely. Grabbing all these threads together is hard enough and still it rarely happens on the screen! Making of an excellent documentary is very difficult as it needs a perfect insight! Besides, I'm deeply convinced, that no documentary can match a biography book as the latter one doesn't have time limitations and as a verbal medium cuts the distance to the analytical, left side of your brain. A film is a magic powder and it either turns you on or not – connection is more crucial than fishing it all out!

However, "Corman's World..." does one thing nicely. It creates a sense of slight disappointment in viewer's consciousness by picking the bits of actors talk as far as Corman's critical acclaim is concerned. Above all histories of life with their tutor, they spontaneously come up with one justified question, why he never got Lifetime Achievement Academy Award? And then it goes, smoke disperses while director shows Roger Corman tying his bow tie and heading to the L.A. ceremony, where Quentin Tarantino thanks him in the name of fans from around the world for making such a lot of great movies. He finally gets his official recognition, which he maybe didn't give a shit about, but it instantly cements his life-of-film-art status lifting him up from an underground phenomenon to acknowledged filmmaker of undeniable prestige. The thing is, he never chased for awards as money from his operations was smoothly flowing in, but in the end there are not many guys in this business with similar film score and such a massive worldwide cult. Along the line, this documentary should be treated as a cherry on the top!

Machete (2010)

Undeniably Robert Rodriguez's biggest hit in years, which resonated well in his fan base and helped to spread the word futher to the outside world, that exploitation was indeed back on the block and kicked butts exactly like it had done in the golden years of drive-in and grindhouse cinema (we're saying late 60's and early 70's). While it didn't hit my guts as strongly as a preceding take on the convention – "Planet Terror", it definitely managed to come down with whole lotta fun, recalling all these sleazy stirs of Corman's New World Pictures exploitation products – to name the biggest shop of the time. As the idea of a smashing trailer evolved into a feature movie, the action was developed into a shitstorm of badass skull-ripping, high octane explosions, sex mini-adventures and borderline notoriety. The character of Machete himself draws largely upon the lines of jungle movies black revolutionaries like mythical Jim Haygood from "Savage!" (1973), classic underground vindicators like Billy Jack ("The Born Losers") or you name it.

When Machete (Danny Trejo) gets accidentally framed looking for justice on a self-driven mission to capture a ruthless drug baron Rogelio Torrez (Steven Seagal), he barely makes his way out of the deepest shit he ever stepped in, losing his wife and daughter. After crossing the US border, he eventually anchors in Texas, where he's gonna desperately look for a regular job, but instead the fate will lead him into the eye of a spiderweb political affair with dark underbelly. Failing to accomplish his mission – which occurs to be another set-up – he becomes a wanted fugitive and again needs to run for his life... but this time he wields his dear machete like a fuckin' angel of death. Not that he particularly likes the violence, but he just doesn't have any choice. Fortunately, he'll get a hand from a stunning immigration agent (Jessica Alba), who's initial aim is to bust a revolutionary Mexican organization known as The Network, but soon she'll stand arm in arm with Machete taking down shadow secretaries and corrupted kings of Texas politics – senator John McLaughlin (Robert De Niro) and his pervert aide – Michael Booth (Jeff Fahey), who struck a deal with Torrez himself to put their paws on the sources of political power.



Bold and swingin' like a doberman on speed, "Machete" does it's job! How on earth Rodriguez cast such an overspill of prime Hollywood playeres, I don't really know cause I'm not his casting director, but that was definitely an important factor in translating to box office success. The script is not as wildly entertaining as "Planet Terror" with few unnecessary licks and could have been polished better, but it's in-your-face simplicty with action and no mercy build-up lands a decent brainfuck with only slight excess of form – parody edge spoils it a bit in my opinion. First half rocks, while second one comes a bit short and the ending lacks a well constructed climax – Rodriguez could have made better and we know it! I guess it was partly intentional – let's not forget that the original classics, shot in a week and edited in two, didn't always make a home run either – but as we got used to the smoothest products, that Troublemaker Studios' dream machine could offer, my brain didn't tick to the full fulfilment beat.

But what the hell, man! The character of Machete is raving! Danny Trejo really broke through with it. Being obsessively cast as a Mexican outlaw/gangster in all TV series possible, he's become a genuine embodiment of the role – a cliche he got stuck with in a way, most recently in "Sons Of Anarchy" and "Breaking Bad". I suppose this made an easier choice for Robert Rodriguez... but why did he have to put on a full-blown Latino showdown??? I have to admit, I really suffered storming the Alamo of vigilantes with low-riders and California choppers in clear spirit of "Mad Max". That was way too much for me, but probably good for teenager market, if you get my point. Nevertheless, I enjoyed watching "Machete" for all these neat cues like Robert de Niro (not exactly ma favourite actor) sort of playing back to his old days in Corman's film school ("Bloody Mama") or great Cheech Martin puffing joints on the screen in tribute to his glorious days of Cheech & Chong stoner flicks, or even Steven Seagal showing off his ken-do and ai-ki-do techniques, this time on the other side of the force. We're all waiting for "Machete Kills" and hope it's gonna beat the original!

Psych-Out (1968)

Right after he wrapped up his biker classic "Hells Angels On Wheels", Richard Rush rushed to the streets of San Francisco to shoot another picture for AIP. This time he was to roll over Height Ashbury district withering counterculture and come up with "Psych-Out" – a cult hippiesploitation flick featuring restless bunch of actors, who at some point jumped onboard and have become AIP regulars due to Roger Corman's talent-spotting eye. It's here, where Rush finally broke through with his underground sensitivity and good nose for subtleties of the counterculture and youth revolution. He is fortunately in debt to the amazing creations he called up to the screen when cast all the best that AIP could have offered. Jack Nicholson, Adam Roarke, Susan Strasberg, Bruce Dern, Dean Stockwell and Max Julien were soon about to become respectable actors with few of these young guns making their way up to the top. We're not gonna exaggerate at all dubbing some of them New Hollywood trademarks. But here all these future stars were still spacing out for nickel'n'dime while being caught by the camera of great Laszlo Kovacs.

A movie was shot in San Francisco with a lot of scenes being filmed at the location, in Height Ashbury or in Golden Gate Park. Although by 1968 Summer Of Love vibe was already gone, the feeling of cosmic change coming has dried and revolutionary heat has given up to the rising depression, it was a perfect time for AIP to cash on hippie-related products, while media was still digesting countercultural agenda, stripping and washing it down for the palate of middle class America. This was a moment when the revolution has slowly, but irreversibly moved toward selling out and all psychedelic groups were suddenly signing to big recording companies like RCA, MGM, Columbia, Capitol or their small, alternative subsidiaries and only few hard liners stayed unaffected. In fact a lot of old hipsters and activists started moving out of Height Ashbury going up the country – mostly to Northern California, where they soon laid a foundation for the biggest, illegal industry in United States – the cannabis growing business! This wave made easier for AIP to pull two classy acts into the movie, a young psychedelic rock group, The Strawberry Alarm Clock and successful garage rock band, The Seeds, thus we watch them both performing on the screen.



Jack Nicholson plays Stoney, a leader and a guitarist of aspiring Height Ashbury garage/psych band – Mumblin' Jim. Kicking back with his buddies (played by Adam Roarke and Max Julien) in a local cafe he accidentally bumps on a deaf girl, Jenny (Susan Strasberg) – a runaway searched by police. While lads provoke a brawl to help her slide off the eyes of the cops, Stoney won't let his one night stand opportunity slip away again when they meet her on the street going around with gig posters. Jenny is a girl with rules though and the most important thing for her is to find the older brother – Steve (Bruce Dern), who's just sent her a postcard with LSD inspired message ("God is well and alive in a sugar cube"). Mumblin' Jim guys will help her out by bringing to the free shop, so she can shake off the remnants of a square life, introducing her to the communal living and the psychedelic scene. Luckily, they'll trace her brother's pad eventually through the acid guru named Dave (Dean Stockwell), who lives in a compact box on the top of the roof, but is apparently into girl's charms. As they find out pretty soon, her brother's nickname is The Seeker and he occurs to be a local mystic, experimental sculptor and a drug burnout... to accomplish the mission they'll need to rumble around with God-loving Americans, meditate on their hang-outs and get through the psychedelic jungle of multiple inner truths.

"Psych-Out" has a general quirky stream dragging on scene after scene and it does follow a simple script saving it from too many loop-holes. Runaway girl, a band rising to local fame, crazy brother hiding around the corner – it all makes sens solely if actors know their lines verbatim, creations are believable and director knows what he's doing. The movie is sort of exploitation with an insight as it borrows from both worlds of cinema – a cheap, slanderous, pass the buck land of cashing on any emerging underground phenomenon there is and emotionally rich, smart driven slope of auteur cinema. Besides top directing by Rush, the movie is soaked in brilliant, electrifying examples of B-movie acting. It's hard to point at a winner here. Dean Stockwell as Dave – an enlightened recluse and acid guru, who doesn't lose any opportunity to clue Stoney in on his square hang-outs and materialistic doings, but still will keep his affinity for the girls... or Jack Nicholson as Stoney himself – a low-down musician with a big heart, driven by his street smarts and psychedelic hip, but boling with rage... or maybe Bruce Dern as The Seeker (Steve) – a down and out acid burnout, usually running around tripping his brain out or ranting insanely in the Golden Gate Park about the need of making love not war. Who knows, man?

Since it's release "Psych-Out" has joined a cult circuit gaining worldwide recognition. There are certain reasons for that as the movie is a hectic romp from beginning till the last cut. It offers some unique, psychedelic camera work by Laszlo Kovacs with his famous lens flare, vision blurring and brilliant close-ups, which kind of invoke the Height Ashbury experience. One of many movies, he definitely lifted up with his original style of photography. This is also fantastic opportunity to check the mentioned cream of a talented breed, who's been wading through AIP many low-budget productions to eventually hit the spot in the late 60's and 70's with classic auteur movies like "Easy Rider", "King Of Marvin Gardens", "The Last Movie", "Coming Home" and many others. Moreover, you get to see Jack Nicholson with a pony tail, playing cover of "Purple Haze", sharing the stage with loud rockin' bands such as The Seeds and The Strawberry Alarm Clock, bashing out their psych/garage hits – both outstanding examples of West Coast late 60's sound, they left some far out albums like "Incense and Peppermints" (1968) and "Web Of Sound" (1966). Undoubtedly a valuable proposition for rabid AIP, Richard Rush or Jack Nicholson followers!