The Screengrab : mel brooks

Th-Th-That's All Folks! The Best & Worst Endings Of All Time! (Part Seven)

Andrew Osborne — Thu, 28 May 2009 23:00:00 GMT

SOME LIKE IT HOT (1959)

Sometimes, bringing a movie to a transcendent stop just comes down to the right sign-off line. Take it away, Joe E... (PN)

RIDE THE HIGH COUNTRY (1962)

You might think we're double dipping here, since this same scene wound up on our list of great deaths scenes last week, but fuck it: Babe Ruth was a great hitter and a great pitcher. And when Joel McCrea, having taken what satisfaction he can from making the world a few louts shorter and knowing that his old pard (Randolph Scott) has had his trustworthiness restored to him, sinks to the bottom of the frame, and out of our world, it's a better than fitting end to both the character and the movie. Later Peckinpah films would end memorably and well, but never again would he get such a massive emotional effect so quietly. (PN)

YOUNG FRANKENSTEIN (1974)

The kind of unstructured crazy comedy that Mel Brooks (and, back then, Woody Allen) practiced in the '70s tended to collapse when time came to give the movies some kind of wrap-up. His collaboration with Gene Wilder is the best-sustained -- maybe the only sustained -- movie of Brooks' career, and part of what makes it satisfying is that he actually managed to provide a logical, happy ending that develops from the story instead of crashing through the rafters. You've got to be glad for these crazy kids. (PN)

CHINATOWN (1974)

Forget it, Jake. What did you do in Chinatown? As little as possible. One of cinema's best indictments of the corruption of power, Chinatown pulls no punches. No movie has better illustrated the brutal correlation between money and water rights in the arid climates of the Southwestern U.S., nor been quite so willing to show how the stewards of the public interest debase themselves acting as lackeys to the wealthy and powerful. This is exactly what American exceptionalism is trying to cover up, but the truth is that hiding something rotten only adds to the stench and decay. It takes a European eye, but not just any European eye, to see through the high gloss of rhetoric covering the post-War growth of the U.S. No, to get it right, you'd need a very particular European: one who had lived in the U.S. for a number of years, a person who lost his mother to Auschwitz and who himself spent his childhood surviving by wits alone while ducking Nazis and Nazi informers, a man who lost his wife, unborn child, and a bunch of his friends to the uniquely American Manson Family. That's the guy to look his audience in the eye and tell them that their cynical gumshoe is going to lose everything through his faith in the system, the monstrous Noah Cross is going to get away with rape, murder, and incest, and the femme fatale with the heart of gold is going to die for their sins. Forget it, he says, we're all in the dark, and no one knows if sticking their neck out makes things better or worse. I usually find nihilism appalling, but I'll be damned if Chinatown isn't a much-needed slap in the face. Where your run-of-the-mill misanthropes like Todd Solondz never got over being bullied in 7th grade, Polanski offers concrete reasons to assume the worst about people, especially when power and money are involved. It leaves you with a sour taste in the mouth and a queasy gut, but it leaves you wiser, too. (HC)

THE LONG GOODBYE (1973)

TERRY LENNOX: Nobody cares.

PHILIP MARLOWE: Nobody but me.

LENNOX: Yeah, well, that's you, Marlowe. And you're a born loser.

MARLOWE: Yeah; I even lost my cat.

[Reaches for his gun...]

Click Here For Part One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven & Twelve

Contributors: Phil Nugent, Hayden Childs

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.

The Best & Worst Get Rich Quick Schemes In Cinema History! (Part Two)

Andrew Osborne — Thu, 16 Apr 2009 20:30:00 GMT

RISKY BUSINESS (1983)

Sex sells...especially here on Nerve.com, which is why I included the HOT!!!! train sex clip above rather than, say, a clip of Bronson Pinchot counting money in the suburban bordello launched by Tom Cruise’s home-alone upper-middle-class teen wanker Joel and Rebecca De Mornay’s hooker with a heart of coal, Lana, the better to separate Joel’s horny friends from their virginity (not to mention their trust funds). But, in the same way Deadwood’s Machiavellian barkeep Al Swearengen realized the best way to get rich quick during the South Dakota gold rush was simply to bilk the prospectors, Joe Pantoliano -- in his breakthrough role as Guido the Killer Pimp -- is the movie's real schemer, winding up with all the money from Joel’s Young Enterpriser start-up. In a similar way, Tom Cruise wound up reaping most of the benefits from Risky Business, which launched his career into the A-list stratosphere while writer/director Paul Brickman somehow didn’t get to direct another movie until 1990’s Men Don’t Leave, by which point his once seemingly promising career had gone in the drink like Joel’s Porsche (along with the A-list dreams of Mornay and my own personal rooting interest, Curtis “Booger” Armstrong). But that’s capitalism, for ya! (AO)

LE CERCLE ROUGE (1970)

Jean-Pierre Melville’s second-to-last film finds the auteur reuniting with his Le Samouraï star Alain Delon for another romantically fatalistic, existential crime saga. The expansive plot involves Delon’s thief, who’s released from prison, promptly rips off his mob employer, and then enlists the aid of a fugitive murderer (Gian Maria Volonte) and a boozehound ex-cop (Yves Montand) for a jewelry heist. Melville’s orchestration of the robbery boasts his trademark efficiency and lucidity, though what resonates more forcefully is his loving portrait of male camaraderie, as well as his tough-guys’ adherence to male codes of honor and conduct. As in most of the director’s neo-noirs, Delon and company are defined by their professional rituals, by the scrupulousness with which they carry out their tasks. As such, they’re ideal stand-ins for Melville himself, a master of the cinematic form who – as ably illustrated by the prolonged, taut central swindle – blended formal rigorousness with off-the-cuff jazziness to create an entrancing movie’s-movie vision of hoods, dames and doom. (NS)

THE PRODUCERS (1968)

Broadway producer Max Bialystock used to live the good life. Champagne, limousines, and girls, girls, girls! But now he’s reduced to wearing a cardboard belt, avoiding his landlord, and hustling old ladies to get money to pay his bills. He’d become used to high living, and it’s an addiction he can’t shake. What’s more, he’s no spring chicken; he’s only about 20 years behind his elderly clients like “Hold Me Touch Me”. He’s the very definition of someone who needs to get rich, and quick. Lucky for him, into his life – and his office – walks nervous accountant Leo Bloom, whose nebbishy temperament and genius with figures are just what Max needs to hatch his plan: to produce a play so awful that it will close on the first night – thus allowing him to pocket all the money he intends to bilk his little old ladies into overpaying. Like most great get-rich schemes, its elegant simplicity is its appeal – and likewise its downfall. Max picks a play, a cast, and a crew so profoundly awful that there’s no way they can possibly succeed, which, naturally, they do, and watching how it all plays out is one of the great joys of 1960s comedy. (LP)

THE KILLING (1956)

Those of us who were introduced to the cinema of Stanley Kubrick through his later Baroque Period and worked our way backward may have initially felt like this tight, twisty crime picture was the work of another filmmaker entirely. Kubrick’s bleak view of humanity is already fully formed, however, in this case ably assisted by noir novelist Jim Thompson (The Killer Inside Me), and his technical proficiency – notably as it relates to the movie’s innovative and influential time-shifting structure – is unmistakable. The granddaddy of all “one last heist” movies, The Killing boasts a rock-solid cast of retro roughnecks (including Sterling Hayden, Ted de Corsia and the inimitable Timothy Carey), a well-oiled racetrack robbery that can’t possibly go wrong, and a vicious, noose-tightening sense of impending doom when it inevitably does go wrong. The final image is the essence of noir fatalism boiled down to a bitter punchline – a peerless visual representation of the get-rich-quick scheme gone awry. (SVD)

THE LAVENDER HILL MOB (1951)

Henry Holland, the London bank clerk played by Alec Guinness in this dry British heist comedy, has spent twenty years working on the slow part of his "get rich quick" scheme -- i.e., building up a supremely boring image so that his employers will trust him implicitly with the gold bullion whose transportation he regularly supervises. Holland decides that he's waited long enough when he meets Stanley Holloway, the owner of a foundry that manufactures cheap souvenirs and the last piece of his plan clicks into place: how to smuggle the gold out of the country once it's been stolen. The two melt down their swag and use it to make little Eiffel tower-shaped paperweights, then race to Paris to intersect them before they're sold in the gift shops to lucky tourists. In the end, they must pay for their dastardly deed, but at least Holland gets to meet Audrey Hepburn. (PN)

Click Here For Part One, Three, Four, Five & Six

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

April Fools: The 35 Funniest Movie Characters Of All Time (Part Eight)

Andrew Osborne — Thu, 02 Apr 2009 23:30:00 GMT

CLORIS LEACHMAN AS FRAU BLÜCHER & GENE HACKMAN AS THE BLIND MAN IN YOUNG FRANKENSTEIN (1974)

April Fool! Uh...by which I mean I apparently miscounted, and there are actually 38 great comedic performances on this list instead of 35 -- (it's been that kind of week) -- but I couldn’t bring myself to skip two of the funniest characters in the history of cinema (especially now that we know the actors who portrayed them were bonin’). Indeed, the topical bonin’ reference is pretty much the main reason I decided to single just Leach and Hack out from Young Frankenstein's perfect storm ensemble (including Gene Wilder, Marty Feldman, Teri Garr, Madeline Kahn and Peter Boyle). But as great as all the rest of the cast may be, I have to admit, Gene Hackman’s cameo in Brooks' horror parody is one of those magical movie moments that literally makes me laugh every single goddamn time I see it...and while some may be suffering from Leachman fatigue after the performer’s stint on Dancing With The Stars, I’ll always love the lady for going on TV and shaking her badonkadonk a year after being told she was “too old” to reprise her role as Frau Blücher (insert horse whinny) in the Broadway adaptation of Brooks' film. Or, as Lisa Timmons posted at Socialite Life: “...by God, if she wants to die by acting her ass off on...Broadway, then get the heck out of her way, I say. It's like refusing to let a cowboy die with his boots on. Blasphemy.” To which I say: amen, sister. (AO)

GEORGE C. SCOTT AS GENERAL BUCK TURGIDSON IN DR. STRANGELOVE, OR, HOW I LEARNED TO STOP WORRYING AND LOVE THE BOMB (1964)

Not to take anything away from Peter Sellers – who played three roles in Stanley Kubrick’s pitch-black nuclear holocaust comedy and played them to perfection – but the best comic performance in the movie came from George C. Scott, an actor not normally known for his comedic roles. And, in fact, Kubrick had to trick him into the performance: Scott was encouraged to play way over the top in what he thought were piss-takes, but which Kubrick ended up using in the film. Scott was furious and reportedly vowed not to work with the director again, but it’s that supremely hysterical overacting that sells the role. Writer Terry Southern specialized in creating authority figures whose behavior was entirely inappropriate to their station, and no one fits that role better than Turgidson: allegedly patterned on gung-ho anti-communist General Curtis LeMay, Buck seems completely incapable of treating the imminent nuclear exchange seriously. He fields calls from his mistress, starts fistfights with the Soviet ambassador, and displays a childishly enthusiastic pride at the possibility that one of his damaged planes will bust through Russian radar and trigger a doomsday bomb. Scott’s wild enthusiasm actually leads him to topple ass over teakettle in one scene, a happy accident that perfectly fits his character’s role as an egomaniacal child who has been placed in charge of unthinkable power. (LP)

Click Here For Part One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six & Seven

Contributors: Andrew Osborne, Leonard Pierce

April Fools: The 35 Funniest Movie Characters Of All Time (Part Six)

Andrew Osborne — Thu, 02 Apr 2009 22:30:00 GMT

NICOLAS CAGE AS H.I. MCDUNNOUGH IN RAISING ARIZONA (1987)

The Coen brothers have turned out some truly amazing fools over time (Ulysses Everett McGill from O Brother, Where Are Thou? is a standout), but their first full-fisted idiot, H.I. McDunnough from Raising Arizona, was their best. As the above chase sequence shows, H.I. lives in a world of blasé, gun-happy morons who easily compartmentalize the absurdity of their lives. It's cartoonish in the best way, like a live-action Merrie Melody that features lots and lots of guns and ammo and bizarre double-crossing and for some reason all the men resemble Elmer Fudd. One of the nicest touches is that the baby Nathan Jr. generally has a pacifying effect on the idiotic adults around him: H.I.'s prison buddies Gale and Evelle Snoats, the nightmarish Leonard Smalls, and even Nathan Arizona, Sr., who shows no propensity towards compassion until his baby boy comes back to him. It's ultimately a sweet movie about fools who can make a better world for themselves. Because if there's one thing that is true in every movie directed by the Coen brothers, it's that everyone in the world fools themselves and plays the idiot, and somehow, by the grace of luck and sheer numbers, the human race keeps creeping forward for better or for worse. We're all the punchlines in an elaborate joke, so we have to find some way of enjoying it. That's a very particular type of existential gallows humor, but it's my favorite type. (HC)

PETER O'TOOLE AS ALAN SWAN IN MY FAVORITE YEAR (1982)

Flipping out and in the throes of an attack of stage fright, Alan Swan declares, "I'm not an actor, I'm a movie star!" Both terms seem inadequate for whatever the hell he really is. Broken down, bankrupt, and alcoholic, Swan is both a coward who plays heroes and a universal object of adoration who despises himself; he works as hard as he does to live up to people's romantic image of him because he's always disappointed in himself, and he'd hate to have other people feel as bad about how pathetic he is as he does himself. The paradox is that the effort to conceal what a wreck he is really does make him a romantic hero. To see this performance when you're young is to be filled with the desire to be middle-aged and dissolute as quickly as possible, so that you can be worth a damn. (PN)

ANTONIO FARGAS AS THE ARAB IN PUTNEY SWOPE (1969)

Robert Downey, Sr.'s feature-length put-on about a subversively "honest" advertising agency is all over the place, but it has one strong center of focus in Fargas, playing a character so far-out that nobody had the guts to name him: ranting at top speed and top volume in a burnoose, he's just called "the Arab." Everybody in the movie is out for himself, but Fargas is the one who manages to make this seem not just hip but enlightened. Brandishing his cane and alternating haranguing people and reaching out to them by telling them how impressed he is that they have the sense to see things his way, he's funny, threatening, insane, philosophical, and irresistible, all at the same time. If you've ever wondered just what the hell it is that Flavor Flav thinks he's doing, here's what it looks like when somebody actually pulls it off. (PN)

PETER SELLERS AS HRUNDI V. BAKSHI IN THE PARTY (1968)

Of all the subtly anti-establishment movies to come out of Hollywood in the late '60s and early '70s, The Party may be one of the best. Why wouldn't you want to watch film extra Hrundi V. Bakshi (Peter Sellers — in brown-face no less *ahem*) methodically fuck up the glitzy party of a Bizniz hot shot. (With nothing but the best of intentions, of course.) Hrundi ensures that the party becomes infinitely better than it ever would have uninterrupted. By the end of it all, the face-lifted fat-deprived Hollywood wives are dancing with abandon amidst soap suds gone amok while the maid who demurely opened the door in the first scene gets down to the band. Let the revolution begin. (SCS)

ZERO MOSTEL AS MAX BIALYSTOCK IN THE PRODUCERS (1968)

Generally speaking, the best comic performances have at least some element of subtlety to them. When all you have is shouting and playing to the balcony, like as not, you come off as obnoxious instead of funny. Zero Mostel’s gargantuan overacting as failing show producer Max Bialystock in Mel Brooks’ debut feature puts that generality to its most severe test. From the first moment we see him, putting on outrageous airs to seduce the rich widows who finance his rapidly decaying lifestyle, he’s so far over the top that he’s coming back at it from beneath. When he hatches a scheme to make millions by luring investors to a play (Springtime for Hitler) that he knows will be a flop, he essentially terrorizes nervous accountant Leo Bloom (played by a fragile Gene Wilder) into going along with it – and when Leo isn’t being intimidated by Max’s bellicose bellowing, he’s being seduced by his insanely unrealistic lust for life. Mostel and Brooks apparently didn’t get along well during filming (possibly because they shared a similarly vulgar and explosive sense of showmanship, and there wasn’t room enough on the set for two such rampaging egos), but Brooks didn’t dare fire him – he knew he’d caught pure comedic lightning when he saw what Mostel was capable of. Brooks’ script has such great one-liners that almost anyone could make them funny, but Mostel’s Hindenburg-going-down style lent genius even to shouted throwaway lines like “I’m wearing a cardboard belt!” (LP)

Click Here For Part One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Seven & Eight

Contributors: Hayden Childs, Phil Nugent, Sarah Clyne Sundberg, Leonard Pierce

Honorable Mention: The Top Leading Ladies of All Time (Part Six)

Andrew Osborne — Thu, 16 Oct 2008 22:30:00 GMT

PAM GRIER (1949 - )

She was the undisputed queen of black '70s cinema. In tight pants, high heels and with razor blades in her Afro, Pam Grier burned up the screen in movies like Foxy Brown and Coffy. Independent black cinema fell on hard times by the end of that decade and she did not make the leap over to the Hollywood mainstream. For years she worked smaller film roles and TV here and there. That is, until Quentin Tarantino cast her in what might have been his — and her — best film ever, Jackie Brown. There Pam plays a middle-aged woman, a struggling air-hostess, slightly frayed at the edges but tough as nails...and what a sight to see.

SOPHIA LOREN (1934 - )

In pure feminine power and deliciousness, few can rival Sophia Loren in her glory years. It is hard to believe now, but the first lady of Italian film actually made her way onto the screen after fellow Italian bombshell Gina Lollobrigida. In fact she was discovered by (and subsequently married, then split with) Carlo Ponti, who also launched Lollobrigida's carreer. While works of Talmudic length could be written on Loren's looks, she's no mean actress. Get thee to a video store for Two Women or El Cid to appreciate her in the fullest.

ANNE BANCROFT (1931-2005)

Born Anna Maria Italiano in the Bronx, she followed that age-old tradition of taking a more WASPy sounding stage name. Anne Bancroft will, however, always be Mrs. Robinson to us. There are more prolific actresses out there, but you can't deny the power of her performance as a beautiful, sad, alcoholic older woman to Dustin Hoffman's younger man in The Graduate. Now that we are sniffing thirty ourselves we realize that (A) Mrs. Robinson wasn't supposed to be particularly old in the movie and (B) at 36, Anne Bancroft was only a few years older than Hoffman. In any case, leopard print never looked so good. And never did a lady lead with so much out-of-control control. It isn't easy to top one of the best movies of all time and nothing Bancroft did after that (no, not even being the voice of the Queen in Antz) made the same splash. Mel Brooks married her, though, so you know she was special.

SHIRLEY MACLAINE (1934 - )

My first Shirley MacLaine memory: sitting in front of my parents' stereo (approximately the size of the desk I'm sitting at now), playing my mother's copy of the Sweet Charity soundtrack and staring intently at the redhead on the album cover. I may have only been six or seven years old, but I had good taste. I lost track of Shirley after that, until she resurfaced as the kook on Larry King talking about her past lives in Atlantis and her UFO frequent-flier miles, just another Hollywood punchline. What a cad I was, forgetting what a beautiful thing we had there in front of the stereo all those years ago. But it all came back to me when I finally got around to seeing the work that made her famous in the first place. In her trademark roles – The Apartment, Irma la Douce, Sweet Charity and especially Some Came Running, she's pixie-cute, charming, funny, sometimes annoying and ultimately heartbreaking. She was nominated for the Academy Award for Best Actress five times, finally winning for Terms of Endearment. In 1993, I saw her open for Frank Sinatra at the Worcester Centrum; her show-stopper was, of course, "If My Friends Could See Me Now." I'd be lying if I said she looked like she'd stepped right off that long-ago album cover, but I will tell you she still had the gams.

CLAUDIA JENNINGS (1949-1979)

If such redneck romps as Gator Bait, Truck Stop Women and Moonshine County Express aren't part of your cinematic education, you may not have even heard of Claudia Jennings, but in the mid-1970s she was the queen of the drive-in, the ultimate hick chick. Born Mary Eileen Chesterson in St. Paul, Minnesota, Jennings studied dramatic arts as a child and performed with the Hull House theater company in Chicago after graduating high school. She took a day job as a receptionist for Playboy magazine, where her knockout looks did not go unnoticed. She posed for the magazine in 1969 and again in 1970, when she was named Playmate of the Year. Moving to Los Angeles to pursue acting, she landed a supporting role in the 1972 roller derby flick Unholy Rollers. Her role in 1974's Truck Stop Woman, in which she hijacked trucks using sex as her primary weapon, became the model for the rest of Jennings' leading roles: drop-dead gorgeous, sexually uninhibited and tough enough to take on the big boys. Long before Thelma and Louise hit the road, Jennings and Jocelyn Jones played a sexy pair of bank-robbing outlaws in The Great Texas Dynamite Chase. In Gator Bait, Jennings is a bayou woman turned Death Wish-style vigilante after her little sister is murdered by depraved hillbillies. A decade before Sigourney Weaver's supposedly groundbreaking turn in Aliens, Jennings was already kicking ass and taking names – and doing it in the tightest, tiniest pair of Daisy Dukes possible. Her final performance came in David Cronenberg's little-seen 1979 racing picture, Fast Company – ironic, in that Jennings was killed in an auto accident on the Pacific Coast Highway that year, a couple of months shy of her thirtieth birthday. Her cinematic legacy may be a minor one, but in the realm of the hick flick, Claudia Jennings still reigns.

MICHELLE PFEIFFER (1958 - )

Although it wasn't her first movie, most filmgoers got their first good gawk at Pfeiffer in the 1983 Scarface. Although opinions were mixed (and would remain so for a while) about whether she could act, the camera loved her, and the way she embraced the role of the world's surliest cokehead gangster's moll established that she wasn't persnickety about wanting to be liked. Any doubts about her acting had been pretty much cleared up by the time of Dangerous Liasons, in which she was excellent in one of the film's major roles that was probably the least fun to play. That movie and her other 1988 releases, Married to the Mob and Tequila Sunrise, made it clear that likability itself was comfortably within her range. Her singing sexpot in The Fabulous Baker Boys was pure starshine, her alienated early '60s runaway housewife in Love Field a terrific stretch, and with all due respect to Julie Newmar, her Catwoman gave the most insouciant reading of the line "Meow!" on record. Her movies have gotten worse, and her last one, I Could Never Be Your Man. ended up going straight to DVD. But she remains a welcome presence on-screen.

ANNA MAGNANI (1908-1973)

If Sophia Loren could have taken out a patent on the movie image of the Italian woman as lusty, ripe, and sensual, Magnani embodied the idea of the Italian as a woman who might have stepped off an opera stage, made of common clay but transcendently beautiful in a way that represents what people used to call "a force of nature." She had been acting in movies (and also singing and performing in cabaret and nightclubs) since the earliest days of sound pictures, but it was Roberto Rossellini's 1945 Open City, and in particular her death scene, that made her an international star. She continued to work in Europe with such directors as Vittorio De Sica, Luchino Visconti (Bellissima), and Jean Renoir, who after using her in The Golden Coach proclaimed her the greatest actress he'd ever worked with. Hollywood never quite knew just what to do with her, but she did find something of a patron in Tennessee Williams, and she won an Oscar for the film version of The Rose Tattoo. Magnani once said that "Women like me can only submit to men capable of dominating them, and I have never found anyone capable of dominating me," and in that movie you can see what she meant: she looks at her co-star, Burt Lancaster, as if he were Arnold Stang. (She was apparently perceived as a bit much even by her co-star in The Fugitive Kind -- the ill-fated screen version of Williams' Orpheus Descending -- a shy, retiring fellow named Marlon Brando. "Every time I play a scene with her," Brando is supposed to have said, "I'm gonna have a rock in each hand.") Her death in Rome, at the age of 65 from pancreatic cancer, occasioned a public funeral ceremony rumored to have made the Pope jealous.

Click Here for Part One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Seven & Eight

Contributors: Sarah Sundberg, Scott Von Doviak, Phil Nugent

Cartoon Fever: The World’s Greatest Animated Shorts (Part Three)

Andrew Osborne — Thu, 28 Aug 2008 21:00:00 GMT

QUASI AT THE QUACKADERO (1975)

I can't say for certain whether or not I first encountered the work of Sally Cruikshank in general (or Quasi at the Quackadero in particular) on the USA Network's 1980s stoner staple Night Flight, but either way, I'm pretty sure I wasn't entirely in a legal frame of mind at the time. Not that psychedelic substances are required to appreciate Quasi's dreamy, stream-of-consciousness groove: Cruikshank's anarchic style is a mind-altering substance all by itself, a subterranean version of the (relatively) clean, orderly mainstream Disney/Looney Tune style of animation with all the color, personality, wisecracking animals and fairy tale fancy reflected in a funhouse mirror of surrealistic Id.

NEIGHBOURS (1952)

You wouldn’t get very far in a discussion of great animated shorts without mentioning the National Film Board of Canada. Since 1941, the NFB has supported and funded important and groundbreaking works from some of Canada’s most important animators, beginning with the great Norman McLaren. McLaren experimented with a number of animation techniques throughout his career including pixellation and even scratching and painting on the film stock itself. But today, his most famous work is Neighbours, a hybrid of stop motion animation and live action photography. The film -- an allegory for the Cold War -- finds McLaren using his human subjects not as actors, but as mannequins to be literally manipulated in the service of his story (somewhere, Robert Bresson must have swooned). Stylistically playful yet thematically serious, Neighbours became one of the most feted animated shorts of its day, yet it’s a testament to its topicality that it ended up taking home not the Best Animated Short Oscar, but rather the Academy Award for Best Documentary Short Subject.

MIRACLE OF FLIGHT (1974)

Terry Gilliam made this five minute film after the original Monty Python's Flying Circus TV series had completed its final season but before Python caught on in the United States, a development that, along with the success of Monty Python and the Holy Grail, made it clear that the troupe would remain a going concern for years to come. Gilliam would later develop his own voice as a live-action filmmaker, but this cartoon is basically a stray Python skit that's developed at greater length than most of the animated bits that Gilliam contributed to the TV shows. Not that there's a goddamn thing wrong with that.

CREATURE COMFORTS (1989)

Nick Park, the co-founder of Aardman Animation (and the creator of Wallace and Gromit) had a weirdly accomplished triumph with this award-winning short, which attaches the thoughts expressed by man-on-the-street interview subjects to animals doing time in a zoo. The success of the film led to a series of TV commercials in a similar style and then, in 2003, to a brilliant TV series that ran for two seasons in Britain. (CBS commissioned an American version for a summer series last year but pulled the plug after broadcasting three of seven completed episodes.)

THE CRITIC (1963)

Pauline Kael once wrote that "the best way" that Mel Brooks "could be employed on any movie" would be for him to "hang around on a cloud" during shooting, "with permission to replace any actor at any point." Nice image, Pauline, but Ernest Pintoff trumped you when he made this parody of an arty animated short, and then put the icing on the gravy by asking Brooks to assume the persona of an old Jewish man -- this was back when Brooks was still a young Jewish man -- and record this worthy's baffled responses to what the hell his eyeballs were being subjected to as punishment for having dared to venture into a movie theater with an expectation of being entertained. It's too bad that Brooks doesn't still have a way of getting in touch with that cranky old guy; we'd love to sit next to him at Young Frankenstein on Broadway.

FRANK FILM (1973)

Frank Mouris wrote, directed, edited, and narrates this autobiographical collage, which aims to sum up the artist's life as best he can through nine minutes of words and images. Mouris talks about his experiences and impressions on the soundtrack while pictures of things important or just pleasing to him crowd onto the frame. The total effect is of an amazingly cool, elegant fever dream.

Click Here for Part One, Part Two, Part Four & Part Five

Contributors: Andrew Osborne, Paul Clark, Phil Nugent

The Top Ten Great Scenes From Not So Great Movies (Part Three)

Andrew Osborne — Thu, 31 Jul 2008 21:00:00 GMT

A few gags and the “The Inquisition” sequence from HISTORY OF THE WORLD: PART 1 (1981)

Mel Brooks’ hit-to-miss ratio was never lower than in this comedic ode to the Roman Empire, the French Revolution and other funny-outfitted periods from humanity’s first dozen or so centuries on Earth. For every short, funny line or gag (i.e., “It’s good to be the king,” “The Lord Jehovah has given unto you these fifteen...oy! Ten! Ten commandments” and the Jews In Space coming attractions trailer) there’s some embarrassingly lame poopy and/or booby joke or some interminable exposition about a plot point nobody cares about. But for eight continuous minutes in the middle of the movie, Brooks nearly tops his beloved “Springtime For Hitler” sequence from all the various incarnations of The Producers with his insanely catchy take-down of another of history’s great tragedies, the Spanish Inquisition, thus foreshadowing the iconic funnyman’s welcome focus on Broadway in recent years (which, despite generating the unnecessary 2005 Producers remake, has at least prevented Brooks from tarnishing his legacy with more unfunny late period cinematic dreck like Dracula: Dead and Loving It).

The reveal of the villain from THE PRESIDENT'S ANALYST (1967)

This satirical comedy about the title character (James Coburn) and how he becomes targeted for abduction or assassination by the secret agencies of virtually all the world's governments, including his own, because of what he knows about his most famous patient, was written and directed by Theodore J. Flicker, a clever but erratic jokester otherwise best known as the creator of the TV series Barney Miller. The movie has a long-standing cult reputation that it may deserve just on the basis of its brilliant premise, but most of it is actually shrill and underbaked, and Flicker's sweaty determination to make it a swingin' affair leave much of it looking as dated as strobe lights and brown acid. But the climactic revelation of the true villain and the villain's master plan is so choice that it's easy to believe that Flicker forged ahead with the whole thing just because he couldn't bear to throw away that punch line.

The balloon-globe bit and Jack Oakie from THE GREAT DICTATOR (1940)

Charles Chaplin dug in his heels and resisted the coming of sound like a sumbitch, and his satire on Hitler and the Nazis was his first real talkie. (His previous feature, Modern Times, had sound but no actual spoken dialogue.) Some people clung to it gratefully at the time of its release, but time has not been kind to it: it's overlong, with lots of dead spaces, and given what we now know about what the Nazis were doing, the dreamily idealistic ending (in which Chaplin's hero is able to snap the country out of its fascist spell by commandeering a microphone and telling them about "brotherhood") can leave you feeling sad at the inadequacy of well-meaning satire to deal with true evil. And Chaplin was right to worry about sound affecting his career: the cultivated-gentleman speaking voice that he probably took a great deal of pride in having developed off-screen didn't match up with the lowdown comic effects he was best at producing as a performer. The movie's high point is the purely physical routine he does with a balloon-globe: relieved of the necessity of dealing with language, he's enough in control of what he's doing to make it funny, beautiful, and scary all at once, which must have been what he was aiming for with the rest of the film. The other high point is Jack Oakie's guest appearance: his burlesque impersonation of Mussolini packs enough energy to lift the movie to the clouds. Given that Chaplin notoriously took the scissors to Buster Keaton's performance in Limelight after he realized that Keaton had upstaged him, it probably says a lot about Chaplin's hopes for this movie that he was willing to put up with letting Oakie steal every scene they had.

The Roscoe's commercial from TAPEHEADS (1988)

This slapdash attempt at an instant midnight movie classic herniates itself in its attempt to be hip and outrageous, but it does have its glory moment in the TV commercial for Roscoe's House of Chicken and Waffles -- a real place, don'tcha know -- complete with a rapping King Cotton and a trio of fly girls cooing, "Waffles're just pancakes with little squares on 'em!" Part of the joke -- the part the filmmakers may not have been fully in on -- is that, with its attempt to bathe a banal product in a salable coating of trendy weirdness, the sequence deftly parodies what most of Tapeheads itself embodies. It's also pretty funny that, a decade or so later, Kentucky Fried Chicken actually tried to reach out to the "urban market" with a TV ad campaign in which a cartoon Colonel Sanders danced ("Go, Colonel, go, Colonel!") and jive-talked to the accompaniment of made-for-TV-hip-hop music, thus rendering this scene almost as prescient in its way as Network.

Click here for Part One & Part Two

Contributors: Andrew Osborne, Phil Nugent

Summer of ’78: “The Cheap Detective”

Scott Von Doviak — Thu, 19 Jun 2008 16:00:00 GMT

Each Thursday this summer we’ll hop in the Screengrab time machine and jump back thirty years to see what was new and exciting at the neighborhood moviehouse this week in…The Summer of ’78!

The Cheap Detective

Release Date: June 23, 1978

Cast: Peter Falk, Madeline Kahn, Ann-Margret, Eileen Brennan, Dom DeLuise

The Buzz: If you loved Murder by Death, perhaps you’ll tolerate The Cheap Detective.

Keywords: Sequel, Second Part, Detective

The Plot: Apparently The Cheap Detective doesn’t have much of a following, seeing as it only has three IMDb keywords and two of them are wrong. This is not actually a sequel to Murder by Death, in which Peter Falk played the Sam Spade-ish detective Sam Diamond. Here Falk plays the Sam Spade-ish detective Lou Peckinpaugh. See – totally different thing. It is true that both films were written by Neil Simon in his wacky mode (as opposed to his more popular treacly mode), and Detective is clearly intended to capitalize on the success of the earlier movie. A mash-up spoof of both The Maltese Falcon and Casablanca, it’s set in San Francisco on the eve of World War II. Peckinpaugh is a private eye whose partner has been murdered, along with a bunch of innocent bystanders. Since Peckinpaugh had been carrying on an affair with his partner’s wife Georgia (Marsha Mason), he’s immediately a suspect. Georgia is only the first in a string of unlikely femmes fatale who get Peckinpaugh in and out of trouble through the course of the movie. There’s also Eileen Brennan as sultry saloon singer Betty DeBoop, Louise Fletcher as the stand-in for Ingrid Bergman’s Ilsa from Casablanca, and Madeline Kahn as the ludicrously evasive Mrs. Montenegro. Somewhere in the convoluted tangle of events, Peckinpaugh also gets involved with John Houseman and Dom DeLuise as a Sydney Greenstreet/Peter Lorre pair looking for a dozen valuable diamond eggs.

The Test of Time: Compared to the typical zany comedy of today, The Cheap Detective is far less crude – but that’s not the same as saying it’s more sophisticated. What passed for a shocking sight gag in 1978 – like Kahn accidentally flushing her husband’s ashes down the toilet – wouldn’t raise an eyebrow in the age of the execrable The Love Guru, in which grown men do battle with urine-soaked mops. Simon is taking his own shot at his Your Show of Shows colleague Mel Brooks’s brand of lowbrow parody, but seems unwilling to really get down and dirty. He and director Robert Moore assembled a month’s worth of Hollywood Squares stars for the supporting cast, including Abe Vigoda, Vic Tayback, Paul Williams, Scatman Crothers, David Ogden Stiers and James Coco, but to no avail. The Cheap Detective settles for cheap laughs, from a Chinese character named “Won Fat Ching” to groaners like “Oh, Georgia, I had you on my mind.” Falk does his best Bogart impression, which sounds a lot like Columbo.

Quotable Quote: “I wasn't talking to you, Schnell, I was telling him to go faster.”

2008 Equivalent: A spoofy spy story that really did originate with Mel Brooks, Get Smart.

Previously on Summer of '78: Jaws 2

Taverns on the Screen: The Top Ten Barroom Scenes of Cinema (Part Deux)

Andrew Osborne — Thu, 05 Jun 2008 20:30:00 GMT

RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK (1981)

Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull is a fine example of the way lazy, excessive reliance on ridiculous CGI (and CGI monkeys) can ruin an otherwise passable movie. And there’s no finer argument for the good ol’ fashioned non-CGI pleasures of real world filmmaking than the Nepalese bar sequence in the original Raiders of the Lost Ark. To recap: winsome badass Karen Allen (oh, Hollywood, HOW did you ever let her get away?) drinks a yak-herder under the table, then her flaky ex-boyfriend shows up while she’s all full o’ rotgut and she slaps him in the face and sends him on his way. And THEN, creepy Nazi torturer Toht (a.k.a. Mr. Melty-Face) shows up with a bunch of evil minions and things really get interesting. What follows is a master class in cinematic action, pacing, camera placement, stuntwork, pyrotechnics, performance and editing...all without a bluescreen (or hangover) in sight.

ON_LINE (2002)

Okay, so maybe I’m biased, given that I co-wrote this one (with director Jed Weintrob), but I’ve always had a soft spot for the scene in this under-the-radar internet sex comedy where neurotic shut-in John (Josh Hamilton) goes to an odious, overpriced Manhattan nightclub on a disastrous double-date with Jordan (Vanessa Ferlito), the wild cybersex enthusiast he picked up on the internet, his oversexed roommate, Moe (Harold Perrineau, Jr.) and Moe’s pill-popping, manic-depressive girlfriend (Isabel Gillies). But don’t take my word for it: in a Salon review that (almost but not quite) made up for any number of really quite nasty reviews of the film, the extremely cultured and discerning Andrew O'Hehir summed up the appeal of the scene thusly: “John's nightclub internal monologue, as he watches Jordan dance and reflects on how hot she is, how shallow he is for thinking that and how little chance he has of actually getting in her pants in the off-line world, is probably the movie's high point.” Thanks, Mr. O’Hehir...I couldn’ t have said it better myself!

BLAZING SADDLES (1974)

Before that dastardly Hedley Lamar (played with nefarious gusto by the late Harvey Korman) decided to run the railroad through it, the hamlet of Rock Ridge in Mel Brooks’ Blazing Saddles had everything an Old West town needed: a church, a hoosegow for when Mongo came to town, and proximity to the Hollywood Hills. And, of course, it had its own saloon. But unlike most of the filthy, rowdy joints in the history of westerns, this particular saloon was always kept nice and clean, thanks to the stewardship of the unfortunately named Anal Johnson. All that came to an end, however, with the arrival of the Teutonic songbird Lili von Shtupp, played with Dietrichian élan by the Oscar-nominated Madeline Kahn. Lili’s world-weary act, sweet set of curves, and foul-mouthed stage patter (“Why don’t you get your friggin’ feet off the stage?”) brings every rough rider in the county, but it’s her love of that delicious schnitzengruben that leads Lamar to hire her to seduce and abandon Bart, the new sheriff in town. In one of the most memorable scenes ever set in an Old West saloon, Lili sighs out “I’m Tired” before being carried off, James Brown-style, by her backup dancers and deposited in the arms of Sheriff Bart – who, it turns out, has more schnitzengruben than she can handle.

THE NINTH CONFIGURATION (1980)

It’s a scene we’ve watch play out a million times in a million action movies: a nameless bar in the middle of nowhere is taken over by a generic group of bikers, who wreak havoc in the place until they push the wrong guy just a little bit too far. But William Peter Blatty’s disturbing cult hit The Ninth Configuration is no typical action movie, and the bar fight won’t play out in a typical way. The set-up to the scene is more complex than it seems: mentally disturbed former astronaut Billy Cutshaw (Scott Wilson), disillusioned that sensitive psychiatrist Col. Vincent Kane (Stacy Keach) has turned out to be a blood-soaked Marine Corps commando, escapes from an asylum and seeks refuge in liquor at the nameless biker bar. A combination of booze, despair and a smart mouth enrages the boss bikers (the unstable brute Stanley and the cunning, sadistic Richard, played by the gaunt, devil-faced Richard Lynch), who abuse Cutshaw until Kane arrives to rescue him. Kane, who has forsaken violence and taken up the mantle of the caring, well-meaning shrink in order to bury his own murderous past, attempts to come to a peaceful resolution, but finally he can take no more. The scene that follows is one of the most stunning bar fights every captured on film – although to call it a fight ignores what truly happens: Kane utterly annihilates the biker gang in a matter of seconds, killing a number of them. It’s an astonishing scene, and even more astonishing is the fact that it’s not even the climax of The Ninth Configuration.

THE FRENCH CONNECTION (1971)

In an audio commentary track recorded for the French Connection DVD, Gene Hackman described Eddie Egan, the real-life model for Hackman's obsessed narc "Popeye" Doyle, as having been "flippant" to a degree that he'd never encountered before in a human being. It's easy to imagine the conversation among the patrons of the Harlem bar that Popeye raids after he's stormed in and out like a hurricane: "That fellow was certainly flippant, wasn't he? I'm a fervent supporter of our boys in blue, but speaking as an amateur observer of the law enforcement process, I can't help feeling that some of that flippancy was unwarranted! Here, help me tie off this tourniquet?" The raid, which is actually a cover for a meeting in the men's room between Popeye and an informant, establishes Popeye's adversarial relationship to the city's civilian population, his casual racism, and the gleefully sadistic tinge to his brutality. (Obliged to rough up his informant so that no one will suspect the guy is a rat, Popeye asks him, "Where do you want it?" The man thinks about it for a second and points to his right cheek, and Popeye slugs him on his left. The blow looks hard enough to crack the guy's jaw, but this is Popeye when he's just playing.) In a recent interview in Reason, Ed Burns, the twenty-year veteran of the Baltimore Police Department turned TV writer whose HBO series The Wire dismantled the logic behind the nation's "war on drugs", called the scene "iconic" and blamed it for instilling the wrong mindset in a generation of cops by "put[ting] out the idea of this guy who cracks heads," Popeye set police work back by reinforcing the idea that cops should act like swaggering badasses instead of establishing a functional relationship with their communities. So if you're a fan of The Wire -- a not uncommon condition among Screengrab writers -- then give it up for Popeye Doyle; without him, The Wire might not have been necessary.

Related Stories:

Tavern On The Screens - The Top Ten Barroom Scenes of Cinema (Part One)

CGI Must Die: Five Reasons Why

Harvey Korman, 1927--2008

Screengrab Pub Crawl - The Top 15 Bars of Cinema (Part One)

Screengrab Pub Crawl - The Top 15 Bars of Cinema (Part Two)

Screengrab Pub Crawl - The Top 15 Bars of Cinema (Part Three)

Contributors: Andrew Osborne, Leonard Pierce, Phil Nugent

Harvey Korman, 1927--2008

Phil Nugent — Fri, 30 May 2008 13:30:00 GMT

Harvey Korman has died at UCLA Medical Center, at age 81. He had been recuperating after an abdominal aortic aneurysm four months ago. At six foot four and with easy access to an attitude of sneering, haughty disdain for what was going on around him, he sometimes seemed to be demonstrating the answer to a question that nobody asked: what if John Cleese were American and joined the Shriners to get away from his wife? After a stint in the navy, Korman studied theater in Chicago before going to New York hoping to make it as an actor. He didn't have any luck and, he said later, he finally decided to move to Hollywood so that "at least I'd feel warm and comfortable while I failed." For three years he grabbed whatever work he could get while selling cars and performing other odd jobs to get by, until he became a regular on Danny Kaye's TV series in 1963. That led to plenty of work guesting on other shows, including his iconic voice work as the Great Gazoo on The Flintstones. As a movie actor, he appeared in Lord Love a Duck (1966), The April Fools (1969), Americathon (1979), and Radioland Murders (2004), but found his steadiest employment in films as part of Mel Brooks's stock company. He first worked for Brooks in Blazing Saddles, playing the villainous Hedley Lamarr, then returned in High Anxiety, The History of the World, Part I and Dracula: Dead and Loving It.

It was in TV that Korman really made his mark, especially playing second banana to Carol Burnett for ten years, beginning with the first season of her CBS variety show in 1967, where he used his size and air of deadhead exasperation to parody classic movie stars and represent the soul of defeated Middle America in the classic "Family" sketches. "We were an ensemble," he said later, "and Carol had the most incredible attitude. I've never worked with a star of that magnitude who was willing to give so much away." Korman left the show after ABC offered him his own series, which was pulled from the air after three episodes; none of his subsequent attempts at a series of his own (including the 1989n flop The Nutt House, which Mel Brooks had a hand in) fared any better, and though he kept coming back, often in tandem with Burnett or his Carol Burnett Show sidekick Tim Conway, he was not above publicly airing his feelings that the best days of his career were behind him. On a 1990 late night talk show appearance with Bob Costas, Costas became so uncomfortable listening to Korman slag himself as a has-been that he jumped at a mention of the comedian's small daughter watching reruns of The Flintstones; did she, Costas asked, seem surprised at how much the Great Gazoo sounded like her father? Yes, Korman said, very surprised: "Daddy used to work!?"

Screengrab Predicts: The Top 5 Bombs of Summer 2008

Andrew Osborne — Thu, 01 May 2008 20:30:00 GMT

And now, The Screengrab’s predictions for the Top 5 box office disappointments and/or outright disastrous flops of Summer 2008!

(Want to play along at home? Let us know your Top 5 picks for upcoming Summer Bombs, and compare them to our collective and individual predictions. Whoever scores the most correct answers WINS AN IMAGINARY FANTASY DATE WITH MIKE MYERS AND/OR SARAH JESSICA PARKER!)

5. SEX AND THE CITY

I guess I shouldn't exactly say that I'm confident this movie will be a huge failure. More like I'm praying to any god that will listen that it will be. (LP)

What kind of sick, twisted, topsy-turvy world do we live in where the promised Deadwood TV movies have never materialized, yet Sex and the City gets the full-fledged big screen treatment? No sort of world for me, I know that much. As hard as it is for me to believe that anyone on the planet still cares about the sex lives of Sarah Jessica Parker and her pals, I'm sure there are a few fans left out there. But they'll all see this on the first weekend and then it will sink like a stone. (SV)

Yes, the show has a built-in fan base, but will it be enough? The fact is, this is opening the week after Indiana Jones, and there are many more women who will buy a ticket for Indy than there are men who'll pay to see Carrie and Company on the big screen. Perhaps an early-fall release would have been a better idea? (PC)

4. SPEED RACER

Who was this movie made for? Everyone's heard of the show, but who remembers it all that well? Looks too kiddish for most adults, and too hyperkinetic for the family audience. Factor in the film's release date- the second week in May, historically a bum weekend- and the outlook here isn't promising. (PC)

Dissenting Opinion: Intersecting that demographic sweet spot where NASCAR fans, nostalgic hipsters, Japanese animation buffs, and people with nothing better to do on a hot afternoon meet, this cartoon revival will score big, and drive up sales of Steve Albini records and pet monkeys. (LP)

3. THE HAPPENING

It's not happening anymore for M. Night Shyamalan, who has seen his stock drop from Hitchcock heir to 21st century Ed Wood with each successive release. (SV)

Five years ago, the M. Night Shyamalan name would have been enough to guarantee box office. However, after The Village and Lady In the Water, the studio is going to have to step up their game to recoup their investment here. And without a Bruce Willis in the lead role, it's going to be that much harder. (PC)

DISSENTING OPINION: While I am on record as a LeBeouf hater, I’m an ardent Shyamalan apologist. For me, even his stinkers are interesting (or at least amusing), and I’m apparently the only guy in America who actually enjoyed Lady In The Water enough to put it on my year-end Top Ten List. Oh, sure, it SEEMS like it’s going to bomb...but the SHOCKING TWIST ENDING is that, y’know, it might not be a TOTAL fiasco. (AO)

2. THE LOVE GURU

Is there anyone out there who doesn't think this looks like total shit? Mike Myers appears onscreen for the first time in five years, but let's not forget that his last leading-man role was- UGH- THE CAT IN THE HAT. (PC)

Coroners examining the bomb crater will have trouble separating the remains of The Love Guru from the remains of Heather Graham’s The Guru in an adjacent crater, and will thus bury them together in the Tomb of the Unseen Faux-Indian Musical Comedy. (AO)

1. THE INCREDIBLE HULK

Taking a movie, based on a very hard-sell Marvel character (whose entire existence is predicated on violence and stupidity), which was one of the few recent superhero movies to totally bomb and remaking it only a few years later with a much worse director? Now that's a formula for success! (LP)

Marvel Studios has gone out of their way to sell this film as a completely different creature than the last movie. But will people get the message? I think they underestimate how much people disliked the last Hulk, and it's going to take a lot of good press to make audiences believe they won't get fooled again. (PC)

By the way...does anyone else think a giant green ‘roid-ragin’ CGI depiction of Ed Norton is inherently hilarious? What’s next, Sean Penn as Martian Manhunter? (AO)

Memorandum Opinion: I don't want to say I'm rooting against The Incredible Hulk exactly, but as one of the few defenders of Ang Lee's version, I would feel some satisfaction if the presumably louder, faster, dumber sequel/remake/whatever-it-is met with an even worse box office fate. (SV)

DISHONORABLE MENTION:

HANCOCK

Recent presidential elections have shown us time and again that America has no tolerance for poor moral values, like this movie with 'cock' in the title and which features Will Smith, and yet does not have a single occurrence of the phrase "Aw hell naw". (LP)

GET SMART

The appeal of the old TV show -- a number of episodes of which were written by Mel Brooks and Buck Henry -- wasn't its spy satire; it was its smart, character-driven comedy. The movie looks to go for cheap retro thrills and ultra-broad laughs, and America's love affair with Steve Carrell may have peaked. (LP)

People like Steve Carell on TV, but after last summer's Evan Almighty, his box-office clout is pretty questionable. This uninspired-looking TV spinoff probably won't counter that. (PC)

THE MUMMY: TOMB OF THE DRAGON EMPEROR

Does anyone still actually care? (PC)

WANTED/HELLBOY II: THE GOLDEN ARMY

2008 is the summer of comic book movies, but there's such a thing as overkill. Without the name recognition of Batman or the marketing push of Iron Man, these will probably be lost in the shuffle. (PC)

**************

The above list reflects the combined, weighted picks of four of our resident Screengrab know-it-alls. Below, our original ballots:

Leonard Pierce

1. Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull

2. The Incredible Hulk

3. Hancock

4. Get Smart

5. Sex and the City

Scott Von Doviak

1. The Happening

2. Sex and the City

3. You Don’t Mess With the Zohan

4. The Love Guru

5. The Incredible Hulk

Paul Clark

1. Speed Racer

2. The Incredible Hulk

3. The Love Guru

4. Get Smart

5. Wanted/Hellboy II: The Golden Army

Andrew Osborne

1. The Love Guru

2. The Incredible Hulk

3. Speed Racer

4. Wall*E

5. Hancock

-- Contributors: Andrew Osborne, Paul Clark, Scott Von Doviak, Leonard Pierce

Yesterday's Hits: It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad World (1963, Stanley Kramer)

Paul Clark — Tue, 08 Apr 2008 19:00:00 GMT

There’s an old critical truism that states that comedy isn’t debatable. In other words, funny is funny. However, like any other genre, big-screen comedy has always been subject to popular taste. Silent comedies were (necessarily) full of physical humor and slapstick. In the thirties, screwball comedy added the element of witty dialogue, often delivered in a rapid-fire style. By the time the sixties rolled around, audiences liked their comedies big. And It’s a Mad Mad Mad Mad World was the biggest comedy of all.

What made It’s a Mad Mad Mad Mad World a hit?: Beginning in the 1950s, the movie industry was forced to compete with the immensely popular upstart medium of television. The studios’ most dependable solution was to give moviegoing audiences what they couldn’t get at home. It’s a Mad Mad Mad Mad World had it all- glorious Technicolor! Ultra Panavision! Outrageous gags! And stars? You bet! Sure, you could see Milton Berle, Sid Caesar and Phil Silvers on your television set, but if you wanted to see them all together you had to go to the movies. Add into the mix popular stars like Ethel Merman, Mickey Rooney, and Buddy Hackett, plus a bona fide acting legend in Spencer Tracy, and, to quote another hit of the period, the movie promised “something for everyone- a comedy tonight!” Audiences turned out in droves, making It’s a Mad Mad Mad Mad World the #2 box office hit of 1963, trailing only Cleopatra, proving that a raft full of stars wasn’t enough to torpedo the Taylor/Burton juggernaut.

What happened?: As I wrote above, big-screen comedy has always been susceptible to the whims of the audience. Star-studded comedy spectaculars like It’s a Mad Mad Mad Mad World enjoyed a comfortable run at the box office for years, but by the end of the sixties they’d fallen out of fashion. Part of the problem was the cost of producing these movies- between the stars’ salaries and the price of the effects and stunts, Mad World’s budget was nearly $10 million, an exorbitant cost in 1963 Hollywood. And while Mad World itself was a hit, other movies like it weren’t so lucky.

Another problem was the demise of the Production Code. Once movies could get away with more risqué material, movies like Mad World and its ilk felt quaint and old-fashioned to many moviegoers. In the wake of films like MASH and the work of up-and-comers like Mel Brooks and Woody Allen, Mad World was a relic.

Does It’s a Mad Mad Mad Mad World still work?: Not really. Maybe you had to have grown up when the film’s comic titans were at their respective peaks, but I just didn’t find It’s a Mad Mad Mad Mad World all that funny. I’ve always found that the least entertaining movies tend to be failed comedies, since at least in the case of bad dramas, horror movies, etc., you still have something to laugh at. In Mad World the laughs are as sparse as the jokes are obvious. Consider that the opening scene of the movie finds a dying character literally kicking a bucket, and you’ll see the sort of humor you’re dealing with here. And if you think that’s corny, wait until you check out the final gag.

With few laughs to be had, the film becomes little more than a series of loud, overlong stunts and effects sequences, punctuated by liberal amounts of mugging from the stars. Needless to say, unfunny mugging gets old really quickly. After the first fifteen minutes, all I could think of was, “Jesus, I have to spend almost three hours with these people?” I’m guessing that wasn’t the reaction director Stanley Kramer was going for. All of the characters are given one note to play- Merman is domineering, Silvers is a pathological liar, Rooney and Hackett are bumblers, and so on. The film compounds this issue by sometimes pairing off characters with opposing viewpoints. For example, Berle resents the British, while Terry-Thomas hates Americans. Guess who winds up in a car together? Hilarity somehow fails to ensue.

Still, in a cast this stellar, there are bound to be a few bright spots. Tracy, ever the consummate professional, maintains his dignity primarily by underplaying. Among the comedians, the one who fares best is Dick Shawn as Merman’s mama’s-boy son, though more by virtue of his innate Dick Shawn-ness than with anything he actually does onscreen. But the only performer I felt any real affection for was Jimmy Durante as the ill-fated Smiler, who kicks the bucket (literally, let’s not forget) ten minutes into the movie. Not a good sign.

It’s a Mad Mad Mad Mad World had an extravagant budget, and as publicists are fond of saying, every cent is up there on the screen. But to coin a phrase, money can’t buy funny. Yes, the cast is full of stars, but most of them are wasted in thin roles or trotted out for gratuitous cameos. Why get the Three Stooges when you’re just going to have them stand there? Likewise, the set pieces are big all right, but instead of providing a setup and payoff, they just flail around endlessly. It’s not enough for Jonathan Winters to destroy an entire filling station if there's no comedic logic behind the scene. During the film’s climax, when dozen characters are trapped at the end of a fireman’s ladder, all I could do was to keep asking myself why the scene was supposed to be funny. Which is the last question one should ask when watching a comedy.

That Guy! Classic: Peter Boyle

Leonard Pierce — Wed, 02 Apr 2008 20:30:00 GMT

In all of our occasional looks back at great character actors of the past, we've never written about anyone as universally beloved as Peter Boyle. The husky Irish-American with the wry smile worked, during his forty-year career, in everything from quiet, thoughtful little independent films to blockbuster sitcoms, but despite a number of controversial positions in his private life and the friendship of some of the entertainment industry's most despised liberals (he was a close friend to both John Lennon and Jane Fonda), the American public always took him to heart, and it's impossible to find anyone he worked with that doesn't remember him fondly after his death in 2006.

Originally intending to enter the priesthood, Boyle was bitten by the acting bug early on (his father hosted a children's show in his native Pennsylvania) and after a few minor roles on film and television, hit it big with his lead performance in 1970's Joe. Although he did a tremendous job as a racist factory worker and the breakthrough role opened doors for him, Boyle was deeply shaken by the role: attending his first screening of the film, he was disturbed to hear people cheering the character's reactionary lines, and was extremely selective about choosing his parts from then on. In fact, it's ironic that some of Boyle's most memorable roles have been those of violent, brutal men; the actor himself was, by all accounts, an extremely gentle man, a liberal, and a lifelong pacifist who opposed the war in Vietnam, championed civil rights, and worried constantly about the impact of his performances as brutes, thugs and killers. But his career was also peppered with some extremely adept comic performances, and his greatest success came as a cast member of the highly successful situation comedy Everybody Loves Raymond. He also did some top-flight work in other television dramas, including a swell turn as Fatso Judson in the TV movie adaptation of From Here to Eternity and a lead role in the short-lived but extremely well-made cop show Joe Bash. But it was on the big screen that he had the greatest impact; his odd features and quirky approach ensured that he'd never be a leading man, but he absolutely barnstormed every character role he was given. Although we'll list our favorites below, everyone remembers Boyle fondly from a different performance, and he's sure to go down in history as not just one of the best, but one of the best-loved, character actors in Hollywood.

Where to see Peter Boyle at his best:

YOUNG FRANKENSTEIN (1974)

After a half a decade of playing moody dramatic roles, Boyle shocked and charmed movie audiences when he turned up as the monster in Mel Brooks' brilliant homage/parody of the classic Univeral horror franchise. Showing an aptitude for comedy that would sustain him for the rest of his career, Boyle managed to bring down the house in every scene he was in, often without saying a word; his clumsy, bellowing song-and-dance with Gene Wilder is a paralyzingly funny classic, and the scene he shares with Gene Hackman proves that while the silent era is long dead, the best comic actors can still kill an audience with nothing more than an exasperated look.

TAXI DRIVER (1976)

Amazingly, the very next film that Boyle made after wrapping Young Frankenstein was Martin Scorsese's devastating Taxi Driver, a movie as emotionally intense and dark as Brooks' film was light and breezy. Boyle took on the role of Wizard, the pontificating, droning hack guru who passes for a font of wisdom amongst the cab drivers of New York. It's an important role, especially insofar as it helps establish Travis Bickle's inability to relate to anyone, even the friendly (though completely full of shit) Wizard. Boyle handles it deftly, getting some comic mileage out of Wizard's stories but also giving him the gravitas to act as a sounding board for Robert De Niro's deep alienation.

MONSTER'S BALL (2001)

Just as Boyle's first major success as an actor came from playing a misguided racist in Joe, his last major role on the screen came from playing the unreconstructed bigot of a father to Billy Bob Thornton in Monster's Ball. The lead performances of Thornton and Halle Berry got all the attention, but Boyle was just as riveting as Buck Grotowski, the unapologetically racist father of Thornton's prison guard and the patriarch of his highly dysfunctional family. It's also yet another irony in Peter Boyle's career: though Boyle was a crusader for civil rights, two of his most memorable and powerful roles are as virulently prejudiced men.

John Alvin, 1948 - 2008

Phil Nugent — Wed, 13 Feb 2008 21:00:00 GMT

The painter John Alvin, one of the most iconic movie poster artists of the last three decades, has died of a heart attack at fifty-nine. Alvin's first official movie poster design was for Mel Brooks's Blazing Saddles; its depiction of Cleavon Little flashing a peace sign while straddling a horse, set against a profile of Brooks, in Native American makeup and headdress, on a nickel emblazened with the words, "Hi, I'm Mel, trust me," established Alvin's gift for cariacture and for his knack for boiling the elements of a movie down to punchy image that captured a movie's flavor. His career made in the business, Alvin would work on more than a hundred movie campaigns; among the most celebrated and memorable were his posters for Young Frankenstein, Phantom of the Paradise, Blade Runner, Melvin and Howard, The Princess Bride, Gremlins, Empire of the Sun, New Jack City, the Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter series, and a slew of Disney movies, among them The Lion King, Beauty and the Beast, and The Pirates of Caribbean pictures. One project that had a special place in his heart was the campaign for E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial. For the poster image, inspired by Michelangelo's The Creation of Adam, Alvin used his daughter Farah as a hand model.

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.

Conglomerated Baddies: The 22 Most Evil Corporations in Movie History, Part 3

Peter Smith — Fri, 12 Oct 2007 17:00:00 GMT

Engulf & Devour, SILENT MOVIE (1976)

Mel Brooks's generically titled comedy stars Brooks as a movie director who plans to save the troubled Big Picture Studio with a star-studded silent picture. This makes him the target of Engulf & Devour, the monstrous corporation (whose motto is "Our Hands Are In Everything") planning to gobble up the studio. Their methods of sabotaging the film's success range from sending Bernadette Peters to vamp the director, a former drunk, and knock him off the wagon, to stealing the picture itself before its grand premiere. Weirdly, all this is said to have been partly inspired by the actual takeover of Paramount Pictures by Gulf & Western, which was probably a lot noisier.

Union Broadcasting System (UBS), NETWORK (1976)

In screenwriter Paddy Chayefsky's attack on television, new anchor Howard Beale (Peter Finch) is saved from cancellation and becomes a major star — "the mad prophet of the airwaves" — after he reacts to news of his firing by flipping out and promising to kill himself on the air, a spectacle that the mass audience finds entertaining. With Beale's ratings on the rise, the head of the entertainment division (Faye Dunaway) takes over the news department, a speculative joke that some thought came to fruition one year later when the ABC news division was handed to sports-broadcast head Roone Arledge. Unfortunately, Beale's diatribes against the loss of individuality and free will are regarded by Arthur Jensen (Ned Beatty), the head of the company that owns the network, as a threat to corporate power, so he summons the prodigal newsman to his office for a lecture on "the primal forces of nature." ("There is no America; there is no democracy. There is only IBM, and ITT, and AT&T, and DuPont, Dow, Union Carbide, and Exxon. Those are the nations of the world today.") Beale is so impressed with this wisdom that he agrees to "preach" Jensen's philosophy to the television audience, which finds it so demoralizing that they tune out in droves, which leads to Beale's on-camera assassination. In the years since Network came out it has become customary to salute Chayefesky for having been clairvoyant, though it's hard to think of an easier way of predicting the future accurately than guessing that TV is always going to keep getting worse.

The Phone Company, THE PRESIDENT'S ANALYST (1967)

At one point in this spy spoof, a globe-trotting KGB agent observes that no matter where he goes, everyone he meets there hates the phone company. It turns out they have good reason. In a movie that features assassins of many lands picking each other off while trying to kill or kidnap the title character (James Coburn), the ultimate force of evil revealed at the climax is The Phone Company, whose android spokeman (William Redfield) unveils a diabolical plan to force all Americans to have a call-receiving device implanted in their heads. Of all the evil corporations in movie history, this one is almost certainly the funniest, though it must be conceded that the movie's depiction of the phone company as a sinister, monolithic force is dated in certain ways. For one thing, it turns out that most Americans today would probably be happy to sign up to have a chip put in their heads if it enabled them to download free movie trailers and video clips.

OMNI Consumer Products, ROBOCOP (1987)

Screenwriter Edward Neumeier was reportedly inspired to pen the script to Paul Verhoeven’s classic cyberpunk satire of American capitalism run amok after spending time on the set of Blade Runner. Like the Tyrell Corporation, OCP is a monolithic enterprise that virtually controls the police, and likewise has a run of bad luck with a series of robotic creations that do their jobs a bit too well. (If only Tyrell had the good sense to hire Miguel Ferrer.) Back in 1987, Omni Consumer Products’ stated intention to fully privatize organizations that had previously been thought of as the purview of government — "hospitals, prisons, space exploration. . . we practically are the military," says CEO Ronny Cox — seemed like absurdist comedy at best. Now, in the era of privately-run prisons, for-profit hospitals, billionaires in space, and Blackwater, the joke’s not quite so funny anymore.

Cyberdyne Systems, TERMINATOR 2: JUDGMENT DAY (1991)

Most of the companies covered in this week’s list are up to no good — a little profiteering here, some inside trading there, maybe even endangering a few people’s health to turn a profit. But only Cyberdyne Systems, a second-tier Silicon Valley B2B manufacturer, brings about the destruction of the entire human race. Through convoluted events of the sort that only take place in movies involving time travel, Cyberdyne is responsible for the development of SkyNet, the nuclear defense computer network that eventually becomes self-aware and decides that we humans are too troublesome for our own good. From then on, it’s nuclear holocausts, killer robots, and grim, inevitable doomsday for everybody. We’re pretty sure that, despite their cunning manipulation of the situation and determination to put profit over safety, this isn’t the way that Cyberdyne’s managers would have wanted things to turn out; a global atomic extinction can’t have done much for their stock value.

The Tyrell Corporation, BLADE RUNNER (1982)

The very model of the 'megacorp' that constituted the primary villains in the cyberpunk fiction Blade Runner helped create, the Tyrell Corporation’s gigantic, pyramid-shaped arcology looms over a ruined polyglot Los Angeles. While the ‘little people’ are sold a steady diet of drugs, sex, cheap food and promises of off-world salvation, Tyrell (and its founder, the oleaginous Eldon Tyrell, brilliantly portrayed by Joe Turkel) controls the police, using them as hired goons to hunt down rogue replicants. These artificial life forms were created by the brilliant and unscrupulous Tyrell to serve as soldiers, sex slaves and workers in highly dangerous conditions, but he designed them too well; some achieved self-awareness and sought to eliminate the built-in expiration date that kept them from becoming too human. Tyrell’s desire to create the perfect being and then destroy them shapes this brilliant film's central conflict.

— Paul Clark, Pazit Cahlon, Bilge Ebiri, Phil Nugent, Leonard Pierce, Vadim Rizov, Bryan Whitefield