The Screengrab : dom deluise

The Screengrab's Top Ten Worst...Movies...Ever!!!! (Part One)

Andrew Osborne — Thu, 07 May 2009 20:00:00 GMT

Under normal circumstances, with Mother’s Day just around the corner, I’d probably be introducing a list of the Top Ten Best and Worst Movie Mothers of all time (hello, Stella Dallas, Edna Turnblad, Mrs. Robinson, Mrs. Bates and, uh, Mothra)!

But, sadly, these are not normal circumstances, and as your doomed pals here at the Screengrab kick off the first of our Final Four Lists of All Time, we figured we’d better get down to brass tacks with some big-time definitive statements.

And so, this week, we’ve all joined our esteemed colleague Scott Von Doviak down in the deepest depths of the cinematic junk heap to compile our own list of Cinematic Unwatchables. And judging from our picks, it seems Tolstoy was correct when he said, “Happy audiences are all alike; every miserable audience is miserable in its own way.”

In other words, our picks were all over the map, but thanks to the cutting edge calculating powers of the state-of-the-art Screengrabulator 5000, we hereby present our ultimate, irrefutable list of THE TOP TEN WORST MOVIES EVER MADE!!!!!!

10. BREAKING THE WAVES (1996)

I don't know if Lars Von Trier thinks there's something "real" buried in the contrivances and gimmicks and grabs to the crotch that he calls movies, and I don't want to know. I do know that they can do real damage when he persuades talented people who are susceptible to really bad ideas to take part in them. Unlike the auteur, his leading lady, Emily Watson, has since done enough good work to redeem herself for whatever the hell it is she thinks she was doing in this, but at the time, her performance seemed to call less for an award than an intervention, if not an exorcism. (PN)

9. THEY’RE JUST MY FRIENDS (2006)

Bad movies come in all shapes and sizes, but few approach the sheer, wholesale incompetence and awfulness of They’re Just My Friends, an autobiographical indie co-written by and starring World Super Cruiserweight boxing champ “Punchin’” Pat Nwamu that, in terms of aesthetics, narrative, and performance, redefines the very notion of a cinematic failure. It’s a master class in how not to make a movie, made all the more distasteful by the fact that, after two excruciating hours, it abruptly, randomly ends with a cliffhanger that portends a sequel. (NS)

8. WIRED (1989)

John Belushi was a funny, talented guy and a lot of people loved him and enjoyed his work, but Bob Woodward mostly accentuated the negative as he chronicled every drug the late comedian ever ingested in his 1984 exposé Wired, prompting Belushi’s brother Jim to call the Pulitzer Prize winning journalist a cocksucker a few years later in the SNL oral history Live From New York, adding that “Woodward did a really nice job of making John look like a Bluto junkie. I don’t think Woodward’s capable of understanding what love is, or compassion, or relationships,” while Dan Ackroyd noted that Woodward “painted a portrait of John that was really inaccurate.” So I can only imagine what they must have thought of Larry Peerce’s godawful adaptation of Woodward’s book, which begins with Michael Chiklis (whose career somehow survived one of the most catastrophic debuts of all time) emerging from a body bag as Belushi, post-overdose...a concept so jaw-droppingly tasteless it belongs in the Cinema Wing of the Bad Idea Hall of Fame on a shelf with The Day The Clown Cried. And then, remarkably, the maudlin, humorless fiasco gets even worse, as Chicklis’ Belushi revisits scenes from his life, like a faux-SNL skit even more endlessly, painfully unfunny than anything Charles Rocket ever cooked up, and a Second City improv class weirdly depicted as some harrowing cross between primal scream therapy and a Khmer Rouge boot camp. Like HBO’s weirdly overpraised 2004 hack job The Life and Times of Peter Sellers, Wired seems to actively despise its own main character...but not nearly as much as I fucking despise Wired. (AO)

7. FIELD OF DREAMS (1989)

The stench of aging-Boomer anxiety rises thickly from this gross hunk of whimsy. Why did national menace Kevin Costner fall out with his dad? For all Field of Dreams tells you, dad might have been a war criminal and a serial killer and a fan of Black Oak Arkansas, but of course the movie doesn't want to get into any specifics that might interfere with the effectiveness of its guilt trip warning that you must mind your elders so they'll always be there to play catch with you. (Of course, Costner, like a lot of people in the audience, just happens to start regretting how he treated his daddy once he's become a daddy himself. This is self-critical regret as a form of narcissism.) The smarmy smugness taints all that it touches: baseball, Burt Lancaster, James Earl Jones. Check out the scene where Shoeless Joe Jackson (a miscast Ray Liotta) drops Ty Cobb's name just so he can have a laugh about how much he hates the Georgia Peach for a taste of how Costner became, for a while, the movie's poster boy for politically correct claptrap. (PN)

6. CANNONBALL RUN II (1984)

I hate to even mention this one so soon after the death of Dom DeLuise, but not even Captain Chaos could salvage a fiasco of such awe-inspiring ineptitude. The first Cannonball Run was no award-winner either – even longtime Burt Reynolds pal Johnny Carson described it as “an industrial-strength laxative” – but it doesn’t come close to the pure, unadulterated shamelessness of the sequel. Once again featuring enough Burt buddies, big name cameos and Grade Z celebrities to sink The Love Boat, Cannonball Run II takes the coast-to-coast genre into daring new territory by eliminating the race altogether. A few seconds worth of squiggly Ralph Bakshi animation stands in for the actual racing, leaving plenty of time for Jamie Farr to mug in a burnoose, Shirley Maclaine to frolic around in a nun’s habit, and Frank Sinatra to phone in a sleepy cameo, looking like he couldn’t be bothered to cross the street to appear in the same frame as Reynolds and the gang. Who could blame him? (SVD)

Click Here For Part Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine & Ten

Contributors: Andrew Osborne, Phil Nugent, Nick Schager, Scott Von Doviak

Dom DeLuise, 1933 - 2009

Phil Nugent — Tue, 05 May 2009 17:00:00 GMT

The Brooklyn-born actor Dom DeLuise, who died yesterday at the age of 75, was balding and roundish even in his early thirties, when he started getting roles in movies such as Fail-Safe (1964) and The Glass Bottom Boat (1966) and on such TV series as The Girl from U.N.C.L.E. If DeLuise's career had gone in a different direction, he might have gotten typecast as an urban sad sack, of the "I dunno, what do you want to do tonight, Marty?" variety, which would have been a tragic waste. It turned out that, in comic roles, DeLuise could create his own wild man's force field, capable of tearing into a part and investing it with its own glittering, beady-eyed insanity. A skillful actor yet also a burlesque madman, he was, at the peak of his career, both a modern performer and a throwback to the vaudeville-trained character comics of early talkies. And he had an uncanny gift for taking over a scene and making it all his without coming across as pushy or oppressive. He was so wildly likable that, when Anne Bancroft cast him as the lead in her 1980 directorial debut Fatso, more than one heartless movie critic began his review by writing that he sure hoped that Dom was okay with that title.

DeLuise had two major patrons and collaborators, if that's not too grand a term for "guys he seemed to like getting paid to hang out with on the set." He first worked with Mel Brooks--Bancroft's husband--in 1970, when Brooks cast him as the villain in his period film The Twelve Chairs, playing a Russian Orthodox priest on the trail of a lost fortune in jewels. He subsequently appeared in Blazing Saddles (1974), Silent Movie (1976), History of the World--Part One (1981) (as Nero), Spaceballs (1987) (as the voice of Pizza the Hut), and Robin Hood: Men in Tights (1993). He also played a villainous opera singer in The Adventure of Sherlock Holmes' Smarter Brother (1975), a Brooks imitation directed by fellow Brooks regular Gene Wilder. (He also appeared in two other comedies directed by Wilder, The World's Greatest Lover (1977) and Haunted Honeymoon (1986), where he was cast in drag.) His other great association was with Burt Reynolds, who had contributed a cameo to Silent Movie. Reynolds then cast him in a black comedy he directed, The End (1978), in which the director-star seemed no worse than pleasantly bemused by the sight of DeLuise heading over the next hill at top speed with Reynolds's movie tucked under his arm.

Reynolds and DeLuise also appeared together in Smokey and the Bandit II (1980), The Cannonball Run (1981), The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas (1982), Cannonball Run II (1984), the animated feature All Dogs Go to Heaven (1989), and countless TV shows, including an episode of Steven Spielberg's mid-80s anthology series Amazing Stories that Reynolds directed with DeLuise in the lead. DeLuise himself directed one movie, the 1979 crime comedy Hot Stuff, in which he starred; he used the occasion to provide the movie debuts of his three actor sons, David. Michael, and Peter DeLuise. (Their mother was the actress Carol Arthur, who was married to DeLuise from 1965 until his death.) DeLuise also directed a 1997 TV film, Boys Will Be Boys, and in later years turned up in movies and on TV (including a voice role as himself on Robot Chicken) when it seemed to amuse him to do so. A noted chef, he also wrote Italian cookbooks, as well as children's books.

My Kind of Red State: An Election Year Salute to The Best Little Whorehouse In Texas

Andrew Osborne — Thu, 18 Sep 2008 19:00:00 GMT

As a Yankee, born and bred in the heart of America’s elitist, communist, terrorist-embracing, tree-hugging sodomite wasteland (a.k.a. “Taxachusetts”), I grew up with a certain prejudiced view of the South that pretty much disappeared when I actually crossed the Mason-Dixon line for the first time. Driving cross-country with friend and Screengrab colleague (and Hick Flick scholar) Scott Von Doviak after college (and later relocating for a time to George W.’s old stomping ground of Austin, TX), I was pleasantly surprised to discover how generally nice and friendly the residents of the Confederacy seemed up close.

Now, back on the East Coast, the inescapable maelstrom of election coverage has got me shaking my fist at the Red States again on a daily basis...so I was pleasantly refreshed when my lovely Polish bride (in the midst of a recent spate of Dolly-mania) rented The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas, which reminded me again of some of the nicer parts of Southern culture, while making me wonder afresh why, to paraphrase Rodney King, we can’t all just get along. Whorehouse, for those who’ve forgotten or never had any reason to know, is the story of the Chicken Ranch, a brothel tolerated (and frequented) by the citizens of a small Texas town for decades until a sanctimonious self-appointed TV crusader decides to improve his ratings by launching a campaign to shut the place down.

The laid-back, no-nonsense charm of the eccentric locals (and the deep-fried chemistry between Southern icons Burt Reynolds and the irreplaceable Dolly Parton) is a far cry from the typical closed-minded, dimwitted, backwards, racist, homophobic, sex-fearing redneck stereotype. In the happy singing, dancing world of Whorehouse, the characters are perfectly happy to live and let live, co-existing with an establishment that may not technically match their ideas of morality or legality, but where, as Parton cheerily warbles, there’s really “nothing dirty going on.”

That is, until Dom DeLuise’s glory-seeking, opportunistic muckraker makes an issue of it, forcing people to choose between their theoretical beliefs and the common sense reality of their day-to-day lives. Frustrated by the cognitive dissonance of the situation, Reynolds attempts to save the Chicken Ranch with the power of fact and logic: i.e., prostitution has existed since the dawn of time, and Parton’s quasi-legal operation isn’t hurting anyone...in fact, he reasons, a regulated, female-run brothel is safer and healthier for both the employees and customers. But sadly, as Charles Durning’s Texas Governor elucidates in his catchy showstopper, “The Sidestep,” politicians are swayed by polls, not logic, leading to an official result that benefits absolutely no one (except, of course, DeLuise’s comically odious pundit).

Election year politics can be maddeningly nasty and manipulative, but The Best Little Whorehouse In Texas (the top-grossing movie musical of the ‘80s, according to Wikipedia, and much better than I remembered) is a charming corrective, offering a pleasant vision of a world where Red State values are represented by sensible, positive, loving and loveable uniters like Parton rather than certain divisive barracudas I could mention.

Jerry Reed, 1937--2008

Phil Nugent — Wed, 03 Sep 2008 14:00:00 GMT

Jerry Reed has died of complications from emphysema at the age of 71. Reed, who was born in Atlanta in 1937, spent two years in the military before moving to Nashville in the early 1960s to pursue a career in the country music industry. A guitar picker with a unique style, he quickly earned a place in the fraternity of working, sought-after studio musicians while honing his songwriting on the side. His rise to solo stardom was abetted by two legendary figures: Chet Atkins, who produced one of Reed's early singles in the mid-'60s and later teamed up with him for a pair of award-winning albums in the early 1970s, and Elvis Presley, who recorded a couple of Reed compositions, "Guitar Man" and "U.S. Male", while plotting his own late-'60s comeback. (Legend has it that Elvis, who decided to do "Guitar Man" after hearing Reed's own recorded version, decreed that Reed was to be brought in to play on the sessions after finding that nobody else could recreate the self-taught guitarist's "weird tunings.") Reed's own biggest hit, the 1971 Grammy-winning "When You're Hot, You're Hot", established him as an unexpected master of the demented redneck comedy routine set to music, a field that he also plowed in the Elvis tribute "Tupelo Mississippi Flash" and the great, rabid Cajun epic "Amos Moses." During this period, he was becoming a familiar face on TV, thanks to recurring appearances on musical-variety programs hosted by Glen Campbell and Dean Martin. (Reed had his own short-lived series--The Jerry Reed When You're Hot You're Hot Hour--in 1972.) He also slipped into animated (as in cartoon) form to appear on an episode of The New Scooby-Doo Movies, calling in Shaggy, Scooby, and the other personnel of the Mystery Machine to help him find his lost guitar.

In 1975, Reed made his movie acting debut in the redneck classic W. W. and the Dixie Dancekings, starring Burt Reynolds. His movie career, which would displace his music career for several years, became inextricably tied to that of Reynolds's, with whom he co-starred in Gator (which Reynolds directed), Smokey and the Bandit and its first sequel, and Stroker Ace, where his brief appearance was uncredited, a hint that Reynolds probably wishes he'd picked up on. Reed also turned up on Reynolds's TV series B. L. Stryker and Evening Shade; acted in the comedy Hot Stuff, which was directed by its star, fellow Reynolds sidekick Dom DeLuise; and displaced ol' Burt in the 1983 Smokey and the Bandit Part 3, which Reynolds couldn't be bothered with. He also co-starred with Peter Fonda in High-Ballin', part of the trucker-as-modern-American-hero drive-in movie cycle that the Smokey and the Bandit movies (and Reed's own contribution to its soundtrack, "East Bound and Down") helped midwife, went head to head with Robin Williams and Walter Matthau in the 1983 comedy The Survivors, and played an officer in the Gene Hackman-Danny Glover Vietnam drama Bat 21 (1988), on which he was also the executive producer. After contributing redneck authenticity to the Adam Sandler vehicle The Waterboy in 1998, Reed officially abandoned movies to spend the rest of his life concentrating on his music. At that time, he expressed something close to disdain for his acting ability ("When people ask me what my motivation is, I have a simple answer: Money."), but in fact he was an easy, natural presence on-screen, and brought energy and likability to many roles that might have defeated a better-trained but stiffer performer. If the secret to his success in movies was partly that he recognized his own limitations and never strayed to far outside his comfortable range, that at least makes him smarter than say, Kris Kristofferson. Reed is survived by his wife Priscilla, with whom he would have celebrated a fiftieth wedding anniversary next year.

Don’t Tug on Superman's Cape – Buy It Instead!

Scott Von Doviak — Tue, 04 Mar 2008 16:30:00 GMT

Here's your chance to show up at your next fancy social engagement wearing Odd Job's bowler hat from Goldfinger, a genuine Liberace mink coat and John Candy's pants from Canadian Bacon. (You may need a belt with those.) Or if you really want to make a lasting impression, how about attending your sister's wedding clad in the jacket Brandon Lee was wearing when he was killed on the set of The Crow, topped off with a genuine Mr. Freeze helmet from the '60s Batman series? You'll be the talk of the reception for sure, although you may have trouble getting someone to dance with you.

All of these items will be available when the Pugliese Pop Culture Collection goes up for auction on March 15th. It's billed as "the finest collection focusing on 20th Century pop culture ever privately assembled," featuring some "850 of the most extraordinary objects imaginable from the worlds of motion pictures, popular music, magic, television and politics."

Even if you have no use for Wilma Flintstone's dress or a genuine Gangs of New York battle axe, the auction may have some items of interest. According to Toronto's CityNews, the gun Jack Ruby used to kill Lee Harvey Oswald will also be up for bids. "The biggest prize is what the hypesters are calling 'the most famous gun in the world.' The Colt Cobra Ruby used to work his way into history by killing the suspected U.S. presidential assassin has the initials of all the detectives who handled it carved into the weapon."

"The whole world saw that unfold live and here's the very gun and the hat that Jack Ruby was wearing," notes Arlan Ettinger of auction house Guernsey's, adding that Oswald's toe tag is also available. That's nice, but here at the Screengrab we're pooling our money for Dom DeLuise's Captain Chaos costume from The Cannonball Run. Outbid us if you dare!

The Rep Report (January 23 - 30)

Phil Nugent — Tue, 22 Jan 2008 17:00:00 GMT

SAN FRANCISCO: The 6th Annual Noir City Film Festival at the Castro is jam-packed with seamy rarities and not-available-on-DVD obscurities. It opens on January 25 with a tribute to actress Joan Leslie, who'll be interviewed onstage between screenings of the 1947 Repeat Performance and the striking 1943 backstage drama The Hard Way. There are also tributes to Dalton Trumbo — the Trumbo-scripted Joseph Losey film The Prowler will be introduced by modern noir master James Ellroy, and they'll even show the movie if ever stops talking — actress Gail Russell, and the granite-jawed Charles McGraw, who appears in Anthony Mann's Border Incident and Reign of Terror (sometimes known as The Black Book, and starring Richard Basehart as that least likely of noir villains, Maximilien Robespierre. ("Don't call me Max!")

LOS ANGELES: Your obedient Jew, Mel Brooks, will be on hand fora festival of his films at the American Cinematheque from January 23 through the 30th. Brooks will kick things off by introducing his little-seen sophomore effort, the 1970 The Twelve Chairs, based on an Ilf and Petrov novel and starring the young Frank Langella, Dom DeLuise, and the criminally underutilized British actor Ron Moody. On Saturday, he'll participate in a discussion between films during a double fill of his first big hit, the 1974 Blazing Saddles, and perhaps his most underappreciated comedy, the 1981 centuries-spanning vaudeville show The History of the World — Part 1. Given Brooks's legendary reputation as one of the funniest talkers of the age, this event might be of interest even to comedy aficionados who already have the movies themselves well memorized.

NEW YORK: The Film Society of Lincoln Center's "Envisioning Russia: A Century of Filmmaking" (January 25 – February 14) is a big, ambitious program that concentrates on the output of Mosfilm, "the largest and most productive film studio during the Soviet era, which remains Russia’s most important film institution even today." Included are such chestnuts as Potemkin and the post-Stalin The Cranes Are Flying, as well as Tarkovsky's Mirror and other, lesser-known films such as Karen Shakhnazarov's1983 Jazzman, about a musician whose tastes run counter to those officially sanctioned by Moscow, and the more recent Happiness and Cargo 200.