Goodbye, Number Six...

In my editorial for the upcoming SHOCK CINEMA #36 (which, FYI, is going onto the printing presses on Monday, 1/19, and will hopefully start shipping out to subscribers and stores on 1/28), I discuss all of the notable people who've passed away in the last few months. Unfortunately, that list just continues to grow in this new year. In 2009, we've already lost RAT PFINK A BOO BOO director Ray Dennis Steckler and the versatile Edmund Purdom (who was interviewed for SHOCK CINEMA by Harvey J. Chartrand back in #24) -- in addition to one of my all-time favorite actors, Patrick McGoohan, who died on January 13 at the age of 80.

From early screen roles in the gritty trucker-drama HELL DRIVERS and the Othello-inspired jazz-tale ALL NIGHT LONG, to later gigs such as David Cronenberg's SCANNERS and Alexis Kanner's under-appreciated hostage-drama KINGS AND DESPERATE MEN, McGoohan continually proved that he was one of the coolest men alive. He won two Emmys for his scene-stealing guest gigs on COLUMBO, starred in the pre-007 secret agent series DANGER MAN, and was the guiding force behind one of the greatest programs ever made, THE PRISONER. Although McGoohan's career was certainly successful, he never became the superstar that Hollywood had envisioned -- as they promoted him in this rather silly, March 1961 newspaper advertisement, teasing the upcoming premiere of DANGER MAN.



My first encounter with McGoohan's work was when 1962's THE SCARECROW OF ROMNEY MARSH played on THE WONDERFUL WORLD OF DISNEY. I was only a little tyke, but my parents bought me the 45 lp of its creepy title theme and I played that record until it almost wore out (almost as much I played The Beatles' single for TWIST AND SHOUT, which was given to me by a much-cooler older cousin -- since my tone-deaf parents were more into Lawrence Welk, Boots Randolph and Ray Conniff). Of course, I didn't know who the heck McGoohan was, but the movie itself was unforgettable -- exciting, scary, dramatic, and nothing like the crapola that Disney foists onto the public nowadays.



Many years later, while attending Syracuse University, I discovered McGoohan's revolutionary 1967 TV-series THE PRISONER, (if you've never seen it, shame on you). Alas, in this pre-VCR era, it was almost impossible to see the show, since it hadn't been broadcast on US stations in several years. Luckily, I just happened to be the Film Coordinator for one of the largest campus film programs in the country, so the answer seemed quite logical -- I'd rent 16mm prints of the series, straight from the show's original distributor ITC, and run an all-night PRISONER Festival during the Fall 1981 semester. It only ran 17 episodes -- which, minus all of those pesky commercials, boiled down to 'only' 14 hours. It ran from early-Saturday-evening to late-Sunday-morning, and a surprisingly-large crowd of fanatics stuck it out from beginning to grueling end.

A few years later, I had a chance to see McGoohan on-stage during his 1985 Broadway stint in Hugh Whitemore's PACK OF LIES. While autographing the Xeroxed program booklet for our PRISONER Festival, he remarked: "You watched all of them... In one night? That's insane." No, it was simply our small tribute to his mind-blowing series.



Oh, and if anyone can dig up a copy of McGoohan's big-screen directorial debut, the 1974 Richie Havens rock-musical CATCH MY SOUL, please, please drop me a line. I've wanted to review it in SHOCK CINEMA for nearly 20 years, but the film is completely M.I.A. -- and I'm still kicking myself for not renting it back in my University Union days, when New Line Cinema had a non-theatrical 16mm print for college screenings (under the title SANTA FE SATAN).

Alain Robbe-Grillet 1922-2008

Alain Robbe-Grillet passed away on February 18, 2008, at the age of 85. Renowned as an author and critic, I was mostly aware of him through his film work, with many of Robbe-Grillet's directorial efforts reviewed in past issues of SHOCK CINEMA Magazine: TRANS-EUROP-EXPRESS (1967), EDEN AND AFTER [L'Eden et Apres] (1970), LE BELLE CAPTIVE (1983), and THE BLUE VILLA (1995). His films were definitely one-of-a-kind experiences, and it's a shame that so few of them are currently available on DVD in the US.



Reprinted from SHOCK CINEMA #11 (1997).

TRANS-EUROP-EXPRESS (1967).
Are you in the mood for a four-star blast of arthouse weirdness? Well, you've come to the right place, because this devilishly clever production is as playful with its structure as it is sublimely cinematic. And just in case this sounds too upscale for your tastes, there's also a coating of then-racy S&M to keep the deviant contingent amused. Director-writer Alain Robbe-Grillet is best known as the scripter of Resnais' LAST YEAR AT MARIENBAD, but before that he was a successful avant-garde novelist, and afterward, directed several equally odd art flicks, such as EDEN AND AFTER and L'IMMORTELLE. By far, the gloriously twisted T-E-EXPRESS received the widest US release.

Beginning on a train running from Paris to Antwerp, we encounter a cabin full of filmmakers (including Alain R-G himself) discussing the idea of making a movie set on a train -- with a vague notion that it should involve cocaine traffiking. It then cuts to Jean-Louis Trintignant, who buys a suitcase with a false bottom, stuffs several powdery white blocks into it, and heads for the train station. But wait, because when he runs into the filmmakers, they recognize Trintignant, consider casting him in their movie, and finally give his character a name -- Elias.

The entire script is blessed with similarly self-reflexive turns which betray the usual, linear route of storytelling. And as Elias' adventure thickens, the script purposely incorporates all of the standard EuroSpy trappings, including sinister assassins, various creepy liaisons, and the requisite hot dame. The later is ably provided by Marie-France Pisier (whose later career included everything from artsy hits like COUSIN, COUSINE to Tinseltown turds like THE OTHER SIDE OF MIDNIGHT), as a sultry prostitute named Eva. She provides most of the film's sex appeal, and that's plenty, especially during a little (now-lightweight) bedpost-bondage with Elias.

All the while, the camera returns to the filmmakers, who continue to discuss the plot of their -- or rather, this -- movie. They even rethink the storyline as it plays out on screen, and change events when a problem arises. As the line between reality and fiction is stripped away, this becomes a fascinating meditation on the creative process, aided by cinematographer Willy Kurant (whose career has veered from Godard's MASCULINE FEMININE to Barbara Eden's HARPER VALLEY P.T.A.). Methodically paced, to be sure, but there's always a swift sense of humor and a method behind the madness. Beautifully constructed and totally accessible, this brings the arthouse and the grindhouse together into a movie-addict's wet dream.

Marcel Marceau 1923-2007

Marcel Marceau passed away on September 22, and since I have no great love for French mimes -- no matter how famous they are -- I figured I'd reprint my old review of his 1974 horror-movie fiasco SHANKS, from SHOCK CINEMA #4 (1992).

SHANKS (1974).
This barely distributed film was William Castle's last excursion into directing. Self-labeled a "grim fairy tale", it stars mime bigshot Marcel Marceau as a mad puppeteer. But don't go into it expected any of Castle's famed gimmicks like Emergo, for this is simply a creepy (or should that be crappy?) mess. So juvenile and crudely produced that it feels like a European AfterSchool Special instead of the twisted fable Castle was hoping for. And so filled with unintentional hilarity that it's simply embarrassing after a while.
Marcel, who can barely act in the first place, is saddled with a dual role. First, as the title character Malcolm Shanks, a deaf and dumb puppeteer (with tragically flaired pants) who's living in a hovel with his drunken, shrewish family and their outrageous foreign accents (if bad accents were a crime, the entire supporting cast would be in Attica). But one day Malcolm is hired by a rich old recluse (also poorly played by Marcel, under six pounds of cheap latex). You see, the old man is experimenting with reanimating the dead by stuffing electrodes into them, and he needs a "puppeteer" as talented as Shanks to make them walk about. After rehearsing on chickens, they move onto humans, which initiates some cheap slapstick at the expense of the dead.
It's admittedly bizarre to watch Shanks collect his deceased human puppets (though after a while I began to wonder why they never started to stink), and even more so when the corpses begin dancing and accidentally cutting off their own fingers at a li'l girl's birthday party. But for every offbeat moment, you get long boring scenes of Marcel pining for the jailbait girl of his dreams. Zzzzzz. And just when you thought it had hit its height of absurdity, a motorcycle gang suddenly roars onto the scene (with Don Calfa and Helena Kallicoates as a couple of the motorcycle sickos), as if they're escaped from some other movie! And suddenly Marceau turns into the most dubious action hero of all time! Hell, Mister Rogers has more macho charisma!
Castle takes a genuinely twisted concept and executes it with all the finesse of a Carol Burnett Show rerun. Sure, it's weird as hell, but it's also stunningingly inept most of the time. You can tell Castle was hoping to create a magical fable (similar to what Tim Burton accomplished with EDWARD SCISSORHANDS), but arrived only with a cosmic misjudgement, from its annoyingly cutsy credits/segues, to its interminably upbeat finale. I just kept shaking my head in utter disbelief, and the movie clocked a near record number of walk-outs at the Film Forum theatre...I often wondered why this movie hadn't been shown in over a decade. After grimacing through it, I now fully understand.