Formerly "Dave's Blog About Movies and Such"

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

I Need to See This Movie

As is evident from these two scenes from Fight Club: Members Only, Bollywood achieved perfection where David Fincher failed.



Monday, August 25, 2008

Blue Sunshine (1976)

dir. Jeff Lieberman


"Oh no, I never fooled around with acid. You never knew what you were getting. I mean kids were making batches of it in Chemistry class."
-David Blume

With debates raging over whether the glamorization of young pregnant celebrities has led to an increase in teen pregnancies, an old issue has been brought to the forefront. Just how much sway do the famous hold over our decision making. Although this is generally an answer without a question, there has been one celebrity who, without question, exerted an inordinate amount of influence over the public -- Cary Grant. When Mr. Grant wasn't elbow deep in Randolph Scott, he was usually busy tripping balls on high grade lsd. (Hearsay is so much fun.) Because of his high profile, Grant started a trend that soon spiraled out of control. As is generally known, he was the man solely responsible for the drug culture of the sixties. As the phrase went, "As Cary Grant goes, so goes the nation." Although Americans fell in love with lsd, they soon began to get some really bad vibes from this groovy substance. It would turn out that this drug wasn't as harmless as Grant (and to a lesser extent, Timothy Leary and Ken Kesey) had led the nation to believe. This drug had the power to convince people, among other things, that swirling colors and flashing lights contained the answers to the mysteries of the universe, and that twelve minute kazoo solos belonged on every rock record. It wasn't long before pop cultural works depicted the dangers of lsd. Here are a few scenes, for example, from an early documentary on the subject, depicting the troubles of a young acid freak known only as Blue Boy:



By the time the seventies rolled around, America sobered up and, as we all know, this period became known as the clean living decade. America was coming off of one bummer of a trip and the love generation took a long, hard look back to see where it went wrong. People were worried, in particular, about the long lasting side effects of lsd. After years of using this drug, many folks were left with fried brains, and lingering acid flashbacks. Due to the synthetic nature of the drug, worries also abounded of getting stuck with a bad dose. In such an instance, the user might become permanently psychotic or, even worse, die. According to director Jeff Lieberman's Blue Sunshine, the user could also succumb to alopecia and go on murderous rampages.


Born of both the anti-drug backlash and low budget exploitation filmmaking, Blue Sunshine is a cautionary tale with some bite. It is also, as far as grindhouse pictures go, fairly audacious, story-wise. Blue Sunshine opens by cross-cutting three separate but related stories between the opening credits. In one story, a young stressed out doctor, David Blume (Robert Walden), is informed by one of his dying patients that he doesn't look too good. A crazed look soon comes over David's face as he holds his head in pain. Ominous music plays. In the next story, a babysitter, Wendy Flemming (Ann Cooper), watches her ex-husband Edward Flemming (Mark Goddard) on TV as he campaigns for a Congressional seat. Soon, one of the children pulls out a chunk of Wendy's hair. A worried look comes over her face. Ominous music plays. In the next story, Barbara O'Malley (Adriana Shaw) complains to her neighbor that her husband John (Bill Cameron) has begun losing his hair and acting strange. Enter a crazed looking John. Ominous music plays.

In the final story, a swinging group of folks parties in a wood-paneled shaggin' pad. Things soon take a turn for the un-groovy when one of the party goers, Frannie Scott (Richard Crystal), loses all of his hair in one fell swoop and attacks the other folks. After throwing three of the women into a surprisingly spacious fireplace, Frannie chases Jerry Zipkin (Zalman King) outside where Jerry throws him in front of an oncoming truck. After pursuing Jerry, who escapes through the woods, one of the truck drivers stumbles into the carnage filled shaggin' pad. Jerry is blamed for the murders and the five-o is soon on the hunt for him.

It is not long before the aforementioned John O'Malley murders his entire family and the neighbor's dog. When Jerry sees a story about this massacre in a newspaper, he realizes that it bears too many similarities to the massacre that he was a witness to. On the run from the cops, Jerry tries to find an explanation for all of these murders. The movie that follows takes the form of a mystery, with intermittent scenes of horror, as Jerry plays detective. He soon discovers that the common tie among the murderers is that they went to Stanford ten years earlier and bought an experimental strain of acid, Blue Sunshine, from fellow student and future politician Edward Flemming. It is up to Jerry to track down anyone who may have used this drug and prevent future murders.

In a movie made the year before Saturday Night Fever launched a disco fever epidemic among the nation's populace, Blue Sunshine climaxes with a massacre at a disco. After Jerry learns that Edward Flemming's aide, Wayne Mulligan (Ray Young), had also taken Blue Sunshine, Jerry rushes to the mall disco where Flemming is holding a rally. Although Jerry takes out Wayne with a tranquilizer gun, it is not before Wayne manages to take some of the boogie out of the disco goers (It is not surprising, of course, that this movie would gain a cult following among the punk crowd).



Blue Sunshine is frequently filled with enough laughter inducing insanity that one wonders whether it was played for laughs. When Jerry informs his girlfriend in a mall, for instance, that he is going to examine the O'Malley residence, she tells him that she would like to come along. Jerry steps on an exceptionally slow moving escalator and a look of desperation washes over the girlfriend's face as Jerry leaves without her. She stands at the bottom of the escalator and shouts, "Goddamnit!" Apparently, this escalator has a forcefield preventing her from traveling with him.

It should be noted, however, that despite its cheapo exploitation trappings, Blue Sunshine is occasionally marked by near brilliance. The massacre of the O'Malley family, for instance, is never shown. After Jerry reads about it in the newspaper, he breaks into the O'Malley home and examines the crime scene. As he does so, the sounds of the massacre play on the soundtrack. Jerry, growing increasingly angry, soon imagines himself killing John. Screaming with rage, Jerry is pulled out of this fantasy and back into reality. Sure, it is slightly pretentious, but scenes such as this do much to elevate Lieberman's film above it's exploitation peers.

Although not a terribly prolific director, Lieberman has a fine reputation among lovers of trash cinema. Due to its use in an episode of "Mystery Science Theater 3000", his magnum opus on killer earthworms, Squirm, is the most well known of his efforts. He is also responsible for the thoroughly entertaining slasher film Just Before Dawn, featuring George Motherfucking Kennedy. It is Blue Sunshine, however, that remains the most fully realized and balls to the wall batshit of all his pictures.

the trailer:

Thursday, August 21, 2008

Standing in the Shadows of Success (New Hollywood Edition)

As most creative types know, capturing lightning in a bottle can prove an almost impossible task. And those that do achieve success may soon find that they are encumbered by it as they become saddled with the burdens of expectations (wow, I sure make it seem like it's a hard life to be a director). It is inevitable then, that, in following up their masterworks, these directors always manage to disappoint critics and audiences alike. This list examines a group of movies that have been unfairly forgotten (or at least semi-forgotten) due to their attempts to follow up greatness.

Zardoz (1974)
dir. John Boorman


In a career dominated by self indulgent insanity, John Boorman's Zarodoz manages to stand apart from the crowd. After experiencing a critical and commercial success with the realistically brutal Deliverance, Boorman decided to go in a completely different direction for his next picture. Taking place in a future in which humanity is separated into a brutal slave population and an ennuirific immortal population, Zardoz has the look and feel of a gay disco's nightmare. Though not uninteresting, the tone and plot of this film are quite muddled. Despite the presence of star Sean Connery, it was no surprise that this movie flopped at the box office. If you ever wanted to see what it looks like when a director, high on shrooms and self importance, ejaculates onto celluloid, this is your movie. As far as vanity projects go, however, they don't get much more fun than this.




The Conversation (1974)
dir. Francis Ford Coppola


Coming on the heels of The Godfather, a movie many consider to be the greatest of the postwar era, The Conversation is generally regarded as an interesting footnote in the career of Coppola [It should be noted, though, that it is the most well known and highest regarded of the movies on this list]. Essentially an update of Antonioni's Blow-Up, this film examines the fears of a post-Watergate America. Gene Hackman plays a secretive, paranoid surveillance expert who, after recording a couple's conversation, fears that they may soon be murdered. The Conversation is intimate (perhaps claustrophobic is a better word) in a way that few other Coppola pictures are. Not surprisingly, it is also a deeply personal project. In a career dominated by big budget spectacles, this relatively minimal work is a breath of fresh air. It is quite a shame that he didn't make many more movies like this.




The Tenant (1976)
dir. Roman Polanski


Although Polanski had many successes by this point, it was Chinatown that cemented his legend. While staying true to noir's tone, he made explicit much of the subject matter that was merely implied in the original noirs. He also laid bare and examined many of the fears about rampant power, prevalent at the time. It was a hard act to follow. His next movie The Tenant, although relatively forgotten, is just as interesting a work. This film is a thriller of the most paranoid sort. Polanski stars as a man who slowly devolves into madness after moving into an apartment with a sordid past. Aside from being an effective thriller this film functions as a window into Polanski's fucked up psyche. [Also, any movie that contains a scene in which a man in drag jumps from a third floor window and then, failing in his attempt to kill himself, drags himself up the stairs only to jump again (all in the presence of gawking onlookers); deserves to be an a list of any kind.]





Sorcerer (1977)
dir. William Friedkin


William Friedkin's The Exorcist was a benchmark for Hollywood horror. In this film he brought the down and dirty feel of the grindhouse to the big budget horror movie. Having mastered the horror film and the cop drama (The French Connection), Friedkin decided to master the thriller. Much to the detriment of his career, Friedkin spared no expense when adapting and updating Henri-Georges Clouzot's taut thriller The Wages of Fear (Incidentally, Sorcerer's Tangerine Dream score, alone, makes this film a worthy adaptation of the Clouzot picture). This film follows four men as they try to transport highly unstable explosives through the jungles of South America. Of all the movies on this list, the failure of this movie at the box office is the most puzzling. This film succeeds as both a gripping drama and nail biting thriller. It is impossible to watch without breaking into a sweat. Perhaps movie goers were just confused by this film's title.





The Fury (1978)
dir. Brian De Palma


When De Palma made The Fury, his follow up to the successful Carrie, he decided not to mess with success, in that he made another movie dealing with the subject of telekinetic powers. Unfortunately, it turned out that the movie going public was satiated with the subject matter. They didn't know what they were missing, of course. Expanding the scope, both in terms of locale and plot, De Palma made a picture here that was an examination of Government power run amok. John Cassavetes plays a Government agent who trains telekinetic children for use in war. Although not as immediate as a film like Carrie, The Fury is, nevertheless, a gripping picture by a director who was at the top of his Hitchcock aping game. Most importantly, this movie is chock full o' explodin' John Cassavetes.

[Side Note: for the De Palma picture I had a hard choice in deciding between this one and his Scarface follow-up, Body Double, a movie in need of a critical reappraisal if ever there was one.]





Honorable Mention:
Everything between Nashville (1975) and The Player (1992)

dir. Robert Altman

Although not a blockbuster director, Robert Altman did achieve a modicum of mainstream success with his sprawling, brilliant Nashville. Unfortunately, for him, his career moved steadily downhill through the late seventies and eighties. That's not to say that he stopped making good pictures. Far from it, he made quite a few gems in this period (including A Wedding, Secret Honor, and my favorite Altman picture, 3 Women). Even when he did fail (as in O. C. and Stiggs and Beyond Therapy) the picture was still interesting, and contained the unmistakable Altman touch. Besides, it was during this period that he made Popeye, a movie that I watched on an endless loop as a kid. Of course, when he experienced another success with The Player, Altman experienced something of a resurgence that lasted until the end of his life.


Monday, August 18, 2008

C. C. and Company (1970)

dir. Seymour Robbie


"Those bikers over there, that's what gives motorcycling a bad name."
-Eddie Ellis

The year was 1969. A nation, torn apart on all sides by racial strife, an unpopular war, and political turmoil; looked for a hero to heal its wounds. With the world of rock bringing nothing but false prophets, and the civil-rights and political worlds bringing extremely mortal figures; the nation turned to the next logical bastion of heroics, professional sports. Although the twin juggernauts of Hockey and Soccer had consistently held the joint title of America's national pastime, the nation had yet to be plunged into full-on Bobby Orr/Pele mania. Baseball, the perennial number two sport (soccer and hockey being tied for number one, of course), was on the wane as Football gained in popularity. It was in this environment that the nation geared up for the third annual AFL-NFL Championship Game (soon to be renamed The Super Bowl) between the favorite Baltimore Colts (touted, at the time, as, "the greatest football team in history") and the New York Jets (of the underdog AFL). The Jets' flashy, cocky young superstar quarterback, Joe Namath, stunned the nation with his eerily prophetic pronouncement at a press conference that, "We're gonna win this game. I guarantee it." Although he didn't complete a single touchdown pass, Namath completed 17 of 28 passes for 206 yards and led his team to victory, in the process, giving legitimacy to the AFL and uniting the world under the warm glow of his Christ-like charm. [Side Note: writing in obnoxious hyperboles is far more fun than it ought to be. I should write biopics.] Making his way through a mad throng of celebratory Jets players and fans, an awestruck reporter approached the deliriously joyful Namath, "You just won the Super Bowl. What are you going to do next?"

To which, Namath replied, "I'm gonna join a biker gang and fuck Ann-Margaret."

When told by his agent that this would interfere with his schedule, Namath compromised by starring in a biker movie alongside Ann-Margaret, and fucking Mamie Van Doren. It would be an understatement to say that Namath let his success and popularity go to his head. Although many subsequent football stars have tried, none have been able to best Namath in the vanity department. In the aftermath of his Super Bowl win, Namath opened a bar, Bachelors III, and took part in his fair share of vanity projects, including the short lived "Joe Namath Show". It was in Seymour Robbie's biker film C. C. and Company, however, that his cocksure smugness truly shined.


In this film, Namath plays the title character, C. C. Ryder (you'll never guess what song plays over the opening credits), a man who, tired of his dead end job and headache-inducing ladies on the side, longs for the carefree, wanton destruction, petty larceny, and casual sex with disease-ridden-biker-whores filled life of a drifter in a biker gang. It is in this mood that he joins The Heads, a notorious biker gang headed by the delightfully evil Moon (William Smith). Things go swimmingly until Ryder becomes smitten with fashion photographer Ann McCalley (Ann-Margaret), whom he runs off with. From there he runs afoul of both Ann's boy-toy Eddie Ellis (Don Chastain) (or as he was known in the screenplay's first draft, Pompous Van Stuffedshirtington), and the aforementioned Moon. After Moon's men kidnap Ann; Ryder and Moon must compete in a motorcycle race that will determine whether Ryder wins a few thousand dollars or The Heads gang bang Ann. As can be gathered, C. C. and Company is the thinking man's biker movie.

Although the biker movie experienced its greatest success with the previous year's Easy Rider, this genre was on the decline. Started in the early fifties with the Marlon Brando starring The Wild One, biker movies continued throughout the sixties, each film upping the ante in terms of violence and degradation (most notably in AIP productions), finally culminating with Al Adamson's experiment in brutality, Satan's Sadists. By the time C. C. and Company came along, the biker movie tropes had been well established and the filmmakers here clearly had fun with the form (not as much fun, of course, as some filmmakers would have a few years later with Werewolves on Wheels [Side Note: this movie is every bit as awesome as its title would lead one to believe.]). Indeed, during the film's motorcycle race climax, held at a college sports arena; when a security guard wanders by and asks what all of the ruckus is, two of the biker whores inform him that they are using hidden cameras to film a cinema verite picture about bikers -- "a cross between Antonioni and AIP." (apparently, when not having sex for money, biker womenfolk like to spend their time at the local art-houses, soaking up the latest in European cinema.)

(Sid Haig and Ann-Margaret share a special moment)

As is evident from the security guard and biker whore exchange, C. C. and Company is a movie unafraid to wink at its audience. Much of the time, this comes in the form of Namath's smug "I'll grant you the privilege of coming to my room after the game" wink. Given that this movie's selling point was the prospect of seeing the non-acting football player Namath play himself as a biker, the director Robbie knew full well the need to fulfill his audience's expectations, specifically in the area of wardrobe. Although clad in biker leathers for much of the movie, Broadway Joe eventually dons his trademark stylish threads (though not his fur coat, sadly), much to the chagrin of Moon, who questions Ryder's manhood. What Moon is unaware of, however, is that Ryder previously bedded Moon's woman Pom Pom (Jennifer Billingsley) before absconding with the gang treasury.

In this film, Namath's character rarely engages in the sort of sadistic behavior more natural to his abhorrent biker compatriots. He, instead, is a variation on Namath, albeit a Namath who occasionally pulls small crimes. In our introduction to Ryder, he walks through a supermarket, makes himself a sandwich, eats it, and then goes to the checkout lane to buy a pack of gum. He engages in the sort of illicit activity here that a ten year old would find scandalous. Late in the movie, Ann asks Ryder if, like Robin Hood, he steals from the rich to give to the poor. He responds, "No, I steal from the rich cause the poor have no money." After which point, he may as well have added, "Ain't I a stinker."


For a long time, Namath's acting in C. C. and Company stood as a benchmark in the world of athletes turned actors cinema. Indeed, until Shaq's performance in the transcendently beautiful Kazaam, Namath's performance would be the one against which every other athlete actor would be judged. As with most athlete (or musician) turned actor vanity projects, Namath found it important to project the idea that he was having a good time. Whether or not he gave a good performance or needed to waste celluloid on his extra-curricular money making activity was irrelevant. It was important that he convey the idea that, contrary to popular belief, it is actually fun to be this awesome. [Side Note: the original title for this movie was I'm Joe Namath and You're Not.] [Second Side Note: Before anyone says anything, I am well aware that the athletes turned actors have sometimes been successes. Fred Williamson, Woody Strode, and Jim Brown, for instance, excelled at both.]

With that I leave you with Namath and Ann-Margaret dancing to some Wayne Cochran.

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

Monday, August 11, 2008

Twinky (aka Lola) (1969)

dir. Richard Donner


"That's what I like about Scott; he's so much like my grandfather."
-Twinky

In a recent Crosstalk piece on The AV Club, Noel Murray and Scott Tobias debated the future of dvd. In this piece, they mentioned something about the rise of Blu-Ray or some such thing as being one of the causes of dvd's slow death. In all honesty I can't quite remember all of the particulars of this feature in that I didn't read it. Seeing as I can't be bothered to read anything that didn't originate from my gifted mind, I forced a lowly page to describe the piece to me while I was being fanned, and fed figs and grapes, by a harem of supple virgins. From what I half remember, in my absinthe fueled haze, one of the AV Club scribes mentioned that one of the causes of dvd's decline has been the dearth of classics left to reissue since most studios' movie libraries have been scraped bare. After exhausting their higher profile movies, studios will look for excuses to re-release anything of even remote interest to collectors. Thus, many of the embarrassing early works of subsequently successful directors have been given the deluxe dvd treatment (most likely to the chagrin of these directors in that they would rather keep these embarrassing early efforts far from the view of movie lovers).

Although not given the deluxe special edition treatment, Richard Donner's early directorial effort Twinky did manage to find a home on dvd a few years back. Hardly an auteur but still an accomplished director, Donner directed a string of successful pictures throughout the seventies and eighties (The Omen, Superman, The Goonies, Lethal Weapon) [Side Note: Donner is another director that I thought long and hard about including on a previous list I made of "almost great directors".] Before making it big, Donner followed in the footsteps of Altman, Lumet, and Frankenheimer, and paid his dues in the television world. During this period, he made occasional forays into the world of theatrical film with such pictures as X-15 and the Sammy Davis Jr./Peter Lawford vehicle Salt and Pepper (Try to guess which one was Salt and which one was Pepper. The answer may surprise you). The pinnacle (or nadir, depending on your point of view) of this period in Donner's career was Twinky, a swinging sixties picture centering on the love between a hammy 16 year old Susan George and the middle-aged, source of fear in the hearts of evildoers, Charles Bronson.

In this heartwarming tale, Bronson plays lovable American porn novelist Scott Wardman, an everyman whose world is turned upside-down when he moves to London and shacks up with the sixteen year old Twinky (Susan George). When the fuzz proves to be a major buzzkill by busting in on their swinging shaggin' pad, Twinky informs Wardman that the age of consent in Glasgow is 16. When Wardman asks why she would know such such a thing, she responds, "Every girl knows that." Yes, according to the logic of this creepy old man's masturbatory fantasy of a movie, it is the dream of every young girl to gaze longingly into the eyes of a man such as this:
without fear that some square Gubmint types are gonna come and lay down some bad vibes what their laws and whatnot. Seeing as London just doesn't cotton to the shenanigans that result from the couplings of overacting sixteen year olds and hardened sociopaths, these lovebirds get married in Glasgow, then flee to the states. There, they attempt to make a life for themselves in defiance of a populace that just doesn't understand their special love.

Flying in the face of logic and good taste, this movie plays as a comedy. Although this subject could be ripe fodder for the dark comedic tone of a film like Lolita, Donner, instead, approaches the subject matter with the lighthearted yet cheeky tone generally reserved for Beatles movies. Of course, it seems that someone forgot to inform Bronson of the comedic nature of this movie, as he frequently stares at George with the coldblooded murderous intensity he generally reserved for muggers and longhairs. Bronson's chilling performance aside, this movie does attempt to tickle the funny bone. Most of the laughs that this movie elicits, however, are not intentional. One might laugh at some of the "funny bits" here, but not for the reasons that Donner intended. Call me old fashioned, but I am of the opinion that movies centering on the subject of statutory rape should not contain wacky Munsters-esque fast motion montages.

Possibly believing that it would make the shenanigans in this movie wackier, Donner et al. do their damndest to completely infantilize the George character. Thus, they attempt to turn this movie into, not only a risque sexual tale, but also into a story of one frustrated adult's attempt to discipline a petulant child. At one point, Twinky even states, "Oh Scotty, you'll be my mommy and daddy, sweetheart and teacher, all rolled into one -- my super new grandfather." Regardless of the intended reaction that this line was supposed to elicit it can't help but leave one cringing (Incidentally, this would make a great line of dialogue in a Lifetime original movie dealing with the same subject matter.)

One of the reasons that this movie does not work, aside from the inclusion of vomit inducing images such as the one below,
is that it operates under a fatal flaw. It advances the notion that sex with Charles Bronson would be anything other than a harrowing Kafkaesque experience. Indeed, Donner pulls out all the stops in attempting to prove the sex appeal of the weathered Bronson. Among those who fall under the spell of Wardman's charm are Twinky's mother (played by former Bond girl Honor Blackman) and Twinky's classmates. Donner does not help advance his "Bronson is sexy" case, however, when he includes Wardman and Wardman's mother in the same shot, as in the image below.
The casting agents for this film attempted to find a woman who looked older than Bronson for the part of his mother, but this, unfortunately, proved to be an impossible task when they were informed that grave-robbing was illegal.

Interestingly, although Twinky was the original British name of both this movie and the Susan George character; when it was released in the states two years later, American distributors retitled the movie and the title character Lola in the hopes that it would remind movie goers of the aforementioned Kubrick movie Lolita. This was an attempt, of course, to cater to the lucrative middle-aged, trench coat clad, statutory rapist demographic.

If anything, this movie functions as a great time capsule. Made in a time when sexual mores were being broken at a lightning pace, people were still trying to figure out what could now be socially acceptable and what should still be considered so so wrong. Perhaps, not surprisingly, this movie broaches the subject matter with all the deft handling and subtlety that a six year old would employ when learning a swear word for the first time. Although he is overjoyed by his new discovery, he hasn't yet learned that he should not yell fucknuts during his grandmother's funeral. Not surprisingly, the humor in this movie is of a very confused tone. The subject of this film's satire is never quite certain. Sometimes it functions as a critique of stuffy sexually repressed squares, other times it mocks the raging emotions of young lovers. Very rarely does this movie critique the Bronson character (Of course, George's grating performance doesn't do much to inspire any sympathy for her character). At most, this film shows that this sort of coupling is wrong in that young folks are too irrational to form relationships with. The point of this movie seems to be, "young girls may be fun to shack up with for awhile, but they can be really annoying when they interrupt you while you're writing porn novels."

Side Note: when I mocked the sex appeal of Charles Bronson I had forgotten that this exists:

Monday, August 4, 2008

Fun With Silents

Ever since non-family members started reading my blog, I have received emails from random people asking me to check out their independent movies and such. Although I eagerly snatch up any freebies that happen my way, I tend not to write about a lot of the stuff I see (goddamn, I'm an ungrateful prick). I decide not to write about most of this stuff based on the fact that I simply do not care for the movies in question. I figure that an honest review would be, well, dickish. In a nutshell, one of these reviews would go something like this, "Hey folks, you know that movie you never heard of? It sucks."

Every so often, however, someone sends something my way that tickles my fancy. The other day, for instance, I received an email Andre Perkowski regarding his youtube channel, terminal pictures (I didn't get any freebies here, so I'm not entirely sure why I'm writing about it). I haven't had a chance to look at many of his videos but I did watch "Silent Shadow of the Bat-Man", a splicing together of silent films to create a silent Batman movie. The resulting picture is what we in the critical world refer to as, neato.

[Side Note: If any of the people, who have sent me stuff that I have not written about, happens to read this post, I actually liked your work. I just haven't gotten around to writing about it yet. I wasn't talking about you in the first paragraph.]

Silent Shadow of the Bat-Man #1


Silent Shadow of the Bat-Man #2


Also of interest is this trailer for a production of an unproduced Ed Wood project, "The Vampire's Tomb"