Book Review: THE CLINT EASTWOOD WESTERNS

By James L. Neibaur. (2015, 196 pp).
Rowman & Littlefield

Clint Eastwood is a cinema icon, of course. As such, there have been numerous books about his life and career. This book by James L. Neibaur is a little different in that it focuses primarily on the westerns which made him an international star, a genre he would frequently revisit throughout most of his career. If you're a fan of those films, The Clint Eastwood Westerns is a must-read.

The book chronicles his early career as Rowdy Yates in the Rawhide TV series through what is likely his final western, Unforgiven. Presented chronologically, each film is given its own chapter, all loaded with behind-the-scenes information, critical analysis and cultural impact. Not surprisingly, the "Dollars" trilogy is discussed in the greatest detail, not only for what they meant to Eastwood's career, but their influence on cinema and how they redefined the western genre. As someone who personally hails The Good, the Bad and the Ugly as the greatest western of all time, this book offers details and fascinating info even I was unaware of, such as the growing animosity between Eastwood and director Sergio Leone.

Of course, Eastwood's career is not exclusively defined by his westerns, and in-between those films, Neibaur briefly chronicles those he made outside the genre. From a reader's perspective, these chapters are less interesting, as Neibaur tends to offer his own subjective assessment more liberally. This is especially apparent when he's damning the Dirty Harry sequels while praising Eastwood's attempts to shed his bad-ass image in insultingly stupid crapfests like The Gauntlet, the nadir of his 70s-era career.

Still, The Clint Eastwood Westerns is a great read in which we develop further appreciation for, not only his undisputed classics, but those he managed to make successful during eras when the western was essentially a dead genre.

KITTY CONSENSUS:

Purr...like a good scratch behind the ears

Rest In Peace, Grace Lee Whitney

Grace Lee Whitney (1930-2015)

HOLLYWOOD'S NOT-SO-TRUE STORIES

Even with true stories, everyone knows that Hollywood takes certain liberties to boost a particular film's dramatic value. After all, they are in the entertainment business, not the documentary business. Then there are those films that, for one reason or another, have some folks (often morons) convinced what they're watching actually happened, either because of the skill of a particular director, the sincerity of a screenplay or a fiendishly clever marketing campaign.

For example...

THE EXORCIST

An actual exorcism performed on an American boy in the late 1940s inspired author William Peter Blatty to write a novel, which became a bestseller and later adapted into what arguably became the quintessential horror film. But despite legions of readers & viewers who often mistake "inspired by" with "based on fact," there has never been a single documented account of an individual proven to be possessed by a demon. Still, a lot of folks bought it back then, and even today you can find ill-informed write-ups on the internet claiming The Exorcist is a true story.

THIS IS SPINAL TAP

The definitive mockumentary, so accurate in its depiction of the excesses, pitfalls and clichés of rock stardom that, upon its initial release, many mistook the film for an actual documentary about a real band. This actually worked against its box office success at the time. Simply too many people didn't realize it was a comedy.

THE AMITYVILLE HORROR

You gotta give the Lutz family credit...they fooled us all for awhile. Their story was infamously documented by author Jay Anson, who wasn't a particularly good writer, but the conceit that the story was true made his book a worldwide bestseller on par with The Exorcist. Hollywood came calling, of course, even though the subsequent film made so many wholesale changes to the narrative that we began to suspect even its producers didn't totally buy into the Lutz' story.

THE BLAIR WITCH PROJECT

Though not the first of its ilk,The Blair Witch Project has the dubious distinction of popularizing the found footage genre (yeah, thanks a lot guys). But the true genius of this film was its marketing campaign, which took full advantage of the internet to convince millions of gullible surfers that the footage was real.

THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE

Director/co-writer Tobe Hooper was initially inspired by a real-life serial killer (Ed Gein). The story itself, however, is complete fiction. There has never been a chainsaw massacre by a family of cannibals in Texas or anywhere else. Still, it was promoted as a “true story,” which brought people out to drive-ins in droves.

FARGO

Introducing this as a true story, just for fun, is one of many reasons I love the Coen Brothers. A lot of folks didn't know it was a joke, which makes the ruse even cooler, and even inspired another wonderful film, Kumiko, the Treasure Hunter, about a woman’s quest to find the ransom money buried by Steve Buscemi’s character near the end of Fargo.

TITANIC (1997) 

Yeah, their was once a great ship. Yeah, it sank on its first voyage. Yeah, it was tragic. But that’s the extent of the reality of James Cameron’s Titanic. And sure, most of us free-thinking adults already know this. But as a middle school teacher back when this film was a pop culture phenomenon, I can attest to the legions of awestruck teenage girls convinced the doomed love story of Jack and Rose was part of the ship's history. A few even became pissed when I tried to break the news they never existed.

SAVING PRIVATE RYAN 

Despite the hyper-realistic Normandy Invasion sequence - and what your delusional high school history teacher might have suggested when he justified showing this in class - there was no Private Ryan, nor any mission to rescue him after all of his brothers were killed. Robert Rodat was initially inspired to write the screenplay after learning of eight siblings who died during the Civil War.

Blu-Ray Review: HALT AND CATCH FIRE: THE COMPLETE FIRST SEASON

Starring Lee Pace, Scoot McNairy, Mackenzie David, Kerry Bishe, Toby Huss, David Wilson Barnes. Various Directors. (2014, 435 min).
Anchor Bay

I know nothing about the history of the machine I’m using to write this review. Though old enough to recall our savage existence before there was a PC in every home, I totally take it for granted. It’s pretty amazing how fast we incorporated computers into our daily lives without never really knowing (or caring) how they actually work, or those who first made it possible for us to fly into a rage whenever the damn things don’t obey our commands. Halt and Catch Fire attempts to explain the latter.

It’s 1983...microwave ovens are still hundreds of dollars, we compose resumes with electric typewriters and having an Atari 2600 is a luxury. But in the Silicon Prairie of Texas, corporations such as IBM and Cardiff Electric (a fictional company and the main setting for this series) see the potential for computers to become essential tools in everyday life. Leading the charge is an ambitious huckster, Joe MacMillan (Lee Pace), a former IBM employee who insinuates himself among Cardiff’s executives with charm and persuasion, hoping to beat IBM at their own game by creating an efficient, compact and affordable computer that’ll appeal to the masses.

Joe has the ambition, but not all the know-how, so he lures Cardiff programmer Gordon Clark (Scoot McNairy), a disgraced genius whose previous cutting-edge ideas have left him struggling to support his family. Joe also recruits a rebellious prodigy, Cameron (Mackenzie Davis), who’s contemptuous of everyone’s inability to see the true potential of personal computers. Much of the show's focus is on these three characters as they deal with technological roadblocks, industrial espionage and conflicts, both professional & personal.

Even though Halt and Catch Fire is a fictionalized version of the birth of the PC, we get the impression this is a pretty accurate account of what went down back then, mostly due to the writing. From a technical standpoint, the show seems knowledgeable of the workings of both computers and corporations. Similarly, these characters are dynamic and interesting (especially Pace, who manages to be sympathetic even when he’s acting like a total douchebag).

At the very least, we gotta give-it-up to creators of Halt and Catch Fire, who manage to sprinkle enough drama and intrigue (even a little sex and suspense) throughout these 10 episodes to keep things interesting. While not as consistently compelling as AMC’s best shows, there’s enough here to keep one amused, especially on disc, free from commercials and week-long waits between episodes.

EXTRAS:
Featurettes: “Re-Making the 80s”; “Rise of the Digital Cowboys”; "Setting the Fire: Research and Technology”

KITTY CONSENSUS:

Purr...like a good scratch behind the ears

Blu-Ray Review: MR. TURNER

Starring Timothy Spall, Dorothy Atkinson, Marion Baily, Paul Jesson, Lesley Manville, Martin Savage. Directed by Mike Leigh. (2014, 150 min).
Sony

As presented by writer/director Mike Leigh and played by Timothy Spall, J.M.W. Turner is an 18th Century British artist renowned for his landscape paintings, both respected and reviled by his public and peers. Turner himself is congenially-eccentric and sort-of a philandering horndog (having affairs with several women, visiting brothels and often boinking his lifelong housekeeper when the mood strikes him). He also depends greatly on his father, William, who supports his son's artistic endeavors and generally looks after him long into adulthood. After William becomes ill and dies, Turner seems lost until he meets Sophia, a recently-widowed landlady of an inn on the coast. They soon develop a relationship which continues until his death years later.

In a nutshell, that’s the gist of Mr. Turner, a deliberately-paced character study which gives a great character actor (Spall) the chance to shine in a rare leading role. As Turner, Spall is terrific, though he grunts and groans more often than the lead singer of a death metal band. Despite some of Turner’s more lecherous leanings, Spall makes him fairly likable. Mr. Turner is also beautiful to look at, with stunning cinematography & production design that looks like both may have been inspired by Turner’s own landscape paintings.

"Hah! Humbug!

At the same time, there’s an overall aloofness throughout the film which prevents us from becoming truly invested in what’s going on. Despite great performances from the entire cast, the characters who drift in and out Turner’s life don’t really resonate much. Nor do we come away with a true appreciation for his artistic genius. We see Turner at the canvas a few times, as well as one scene in which he goes to extremes in order to accurately paint a snowstorm at sea. But other than that, we don’t really see the creative process of an artist whose paintings are worth millions today.

Still, Mr. Turner can be appreciated and enjoyed for its visual artistry, the lush music score by Gary Yershon and a career-defining performance by Spall.

EXTRAS:

• Featurettes: "The Cinematic Palette: The Cinematography of My. Turner"; "The Many Colours of Mr. Turner"
• Director Commentary
• Deleted Scene

KITTY CONSENSUS:

Not bad...solid performances and nice to look at.

Blu-Ray Review: THESE FINAL HOURS

Starring Nathan Phillips, Angourne Rice, Jessica De Gouw, Daniel Henshall, Sarah Snook, Kathryn Beck. Directed by Zak Hilditch. (2013, 87 min).
Well Go USA

AKA, the redemption of a douchebag...

James (Nathan Phillips) is an irresponsible, hard-living, self-centered scumbag with two girlfriends, one he doesn't want to admit he cares about (Zoe, who's also pregnant), the other a dimwitted bimbo he parties with (Vicki). Complicating this little love triangle is the inconvenient news that a massive meteor has struck the other side of the Earth, and it's only 12 hours before the subsequent global firestorm reaches his hometown of Perth, Australia. Death for everyone is inevitable.

Rather than spend his remaining hours in Zoe's arms, James chooses to go out in a blaze of glory by heading to a massive, decadent party hosted by his buddy, Freddy, where Vicki is also waiting. But on the way, James spots two pedophiles who've abducted a young child so they can rape her. While he initially only plans to steal their van, he ultimately feels obligated to come to the rescue. The girl, Rose (Angourne Rice) wants to be with her father when the end comes (they got separated during the ensuing anarchy), while James would rather leave her with the nearest responsible adult so he can get to the party.

But it turns out there are no responsible adults left. James' protective instincts take over when they arrive at the party, a veritable orgy of sex, drugs and drunken games of Russian Roulette. James' epiphany has him horrified by the whole scene (especially Freddy & Vicki) and that fact he's inadvertently put Rose in danger. Rescuing her yet-again, James takes it onto himself to try and find her father, their remaining time running out fast.

"Uh, James? Are you SURE this is Willy Wonka's
Chocolate Factory?"

On the surface, These Final Hours is a bleak, depressing film, pulling no punches in its depiction of depraved human behavior in the face of impending doom. It's loaded with moments of extreme violence, despair, decadence and cruelty. But at its center is a developing bound between James and Rose. With inescapable death rapidly approaching, they depend on each other for more than mere survival, especially James, who finds something worth living for (outside of himself) in their final few hours. Phillips and Rice are outstanding in their roles, never overplaying the characters and making every painful or loving moment seem sincere.

Quite a remarkable feat for a low budget Australian film. With a minimum of visual effects (mostly reserved for the climax), writer/director Zak Hilditch manages to convey an epic, ominous tone, along with a sense of fatal inevitability in which we experience the same feeling of helplessness as his characters (even the crazy ones). It's a smart film that manages to be both disturbing and bittersweet.

It reminds me of a similar film, Miracle Mile, a like-minded apocalyptic film that was virtually ignored in the 1980s, but has since found a cult audience who appreciated what it was trying to attempt with the genre. Like that quasi-classic, These Final Hours is a bold, audacious film that manages to present both the best and worst of the human condition. It's rare for a movie to wallow in depravity while simultaneously making you clutch a box of tissues, meaning These Final Hours isn't for everybody. But the more adventurous will definitely find this a supremely rewarding film.

EXTRAS: Trailer

KITTY CONSENSUS:

Mee-OW! Like a fresh can o' tuna!

DVD Review: THE VATICAN EXORCISMS

Starring Joe Milano, Piero Maggio, Anella Vastola. Directed by Joe Milano. (2013, 76 min).
Anchor Bay

This mockumentary may be the nadir of both the demonic possession and found footage genres.

While horror fans have long-since accepted the reality that there will never be another Exorcist, we're always open to a nifty spin of the same concept (James Wan's The Conjuring was a ton of scary fun). And even though found footage is fast wearing out its welcome, there's still the occasional film which utilizes this budget-conscious style to great effect (such as Paranormal Activity and the woefully-underrated The Bay). But The Vatican Exorcisms doesn't even rise to the level of a decent rip-off. It's a clumsy, poorly-acted bore that repeatedly feels the need to remind us what we're seeing is real.

Joe Milano (looking like a scruffy Antonio Banderas) plays himself, a filmmaker who travels to Italy to investigate corruption and evil-doings inside the Vatican, which includes interviews with 'insiders' and secretly shooting a black mass ceremony while he repeatedly whispers stuff like "Oh my God, what's happening here?" What little plot remains is then gleefully tossed aside once we meet a Vatican exorcist who "deals with the Devil everyday." Boy, does he! It just be rainin' possessed people in Italy! The rest of the film has Milano following this priest from one exorcism to the next (with little or no transition), exterminating demons like the Orkin Man before moving on. Meanwhile, Joe himself becomes increasingly disturbed, sweaty and psychotic (though it's never explained why).

"I'm Antonio Banderas, and I approved this message."

The exorcism sequences are long, repetitive and eventually unintentionally funny. The priest utters the exact same 'ominous' chant during each exorcism, which sounds like it was written by a guy who once knew a guy who watched a lot of movies inspired by The Exorcist. The climax is easily the most excruciating and hilarious. It goes on for nearly 15 minutes and consists of little more than a bug-eyed, wiry contortionist pretending to be possessed by writhing on a church floor while Joe gets crazier and sweatier.

Even at a scant 76 minutes (including end credits), The Vatican Exorcisms is a colossal, plotless bore. Despite numerous title cards desperately claiming its authenticity, at no point would even the most gullible viewer assume this was real. It makes one wish Mystery Science Theater 3000 was still around. They'd have a field day with this.

EXTRAS:

• Photo Gallery
• Trailer

KITTY CONSENSUS: 

Hiss...who let this dog in the house!

THE SOUND OF MUSIC...with Dialogue from RESERVOIR DOGS

"Let me tell you what 'Like a Virgin' is about..."

"You keep talking like a bitch, I'm gonna slap you like a bitch."

"Listen, kid, I'm not gonna bullshit you. I don't give a fuck what you know or don't know, but I'm gonna torture you anyway, regardless. You can say anything you want 'cause I've heard it all before. All you can do is pray for a quick death, which you ain't gonna get."

"Piss on this fuckin' turd!"

"Somebody's shoved a red-hot poker up our ass, and I wanna know whose name is on the handle!"

NATIONAL LAMPOON’S ANIMAL HOUSE and the Reality of Anarchy

Starring John Belushi, Tim Matheson, Peter Riegert, Thomas Hulce, Stephen Furst, Karen Allen, Bruce McGill, John Vernon, James Widdoes, Donald Sutherland, Kevin Bacon, Verna Bloom, Sarah Holcomb. Directed by John Landis. (1978, 109 min).

Essay by D.M. ANDERSON
 
The cultural influence of National Lampoon’s Animal House loomed large when I was in high school. Until then, there really hadn’t been another film like it, one which not only made it cool to be an irresponsible slob, but suggested the college leaders, athletes and beauty queens were the real clueless assholes. Though very much a subversively-clever satire of campus culture and societal norms at the time, Animal House whole-heartedly encouraged impressionable young adults everywhere to raise a hearty middle finger at anything resembling authority…long-term ramifications be damned. But unlike the nihilistic & self-righteous pretensions of such films as Easy Rider, Animal House appealed to those who probably had no real issue with authority, but its brand of anarchy seemed too cool to resist.

The film’s influence on Hollywood is arguably equal to Star Wars, present even today in the uninhibited teen comedies we’ve been inundated with ever since (though Animal House, despite its reputation, never truly crossed the line into pure vulgarity). But unlike Star Wars, where we could never realistically be Luke Skywalker or Han Solo, it wasn’t much of a stretch to emulate Otter, Boone or Bluto…

…especially Bluto. As played by John Belushi, Bluto isn’t actually the film’s main character, though he is its centerpiece, an intentionally-stupid symbol of anarchy for anarchy’s sake. Hence, Bluto provides a majority of the movie’s most blatantly heavy-handed, slapstick moments. But even if being as cleverly-lecherous as Otter (Tim Matheson) or laid-back & sarcastic as Boone (Peter Riegert) seemed out-of-reach, anyone could be Bluto. All you needed was the willingness to know where the line of acceptable behavior was drawn, then gleefully step over it.

Virtually every high school party I attended after Animal House had at least one dude ready and willing to unleash his inner Bluto (though they were often uninvited)…the guy prepared to drink the most beer, accept the most outrageous dare and freely urinate on the host’s houseplants.

But a true Bluto disciple didn’t reserve such decadent behavior for weekend parties. He lived it 24/7...in class, at the mall and during the occasional road trips like the ones my friends and I used to take, also influenced by Animal House. Sure, we weren’t driving around during the wee hours of the night (you know...curfew), but there were a few times in high school when we decided seventh & eighth period was too much to endure that day and collectively chorused “Road Trip!” But unlike the film, where Belushi was not part of the venture, our own version of Bluto was always up for skipping his History class, and he had the coolest car.

His name was Travis.

Travis wasn't like a lot of guys. He was huge, with bushy black hair and really thick glasses, looking like a cross between Buddy Holly and a caveman. Travis was well-liked among the kids at my high school. Why? Well, it sure wasn't his looks. I don't recall anytime he ever went out on a date. Nor was it the way he carried himself. He was vulgar, crude and foul-mouthed even by high school standards. It wasn't because he lettered in sports. Travis was the goalie on our varsity soccer team, which wasn't too respected as a real sport at the time. It sure as hell wasn't his academic performance, because I believe he graduated with one of the lowest GPAs of all time.

Bluto...everybody knows one.

Part of his popularity was aided in no-small-part by his aforementioned car (definitely more awesome than Flounder’s brother’s Cadillac in Animal House). He drove a loud, black 1969 Mustang with tires fatter than my grandma's butt and could lay rubber in three gears. But personally, I think the biggest reason for his likability was Travis was one of the few guys I've ever known who truly didn’t give a single shit what anyone thought of him…he was Bluto personified. And yeah, Animal House was is favorite movie.

Best of all, Travis could vomit on command. And I don't mean that wimpy stick-your-fingers-down-your-throat vomit. All Travis had to do was inhale and launch. To the guys I hung out with, this gift was the coolest thing since the invention of boobs. He could spew-back whatever he just ate that day. I'd witnessed this talent on several occasions, either to shock classmates or convince a teacher he had to go home sick. But the puke-fest that topped them all happened when we climbed into his Mustang after school and headed into downtown Portland (our definition of a road trip).

Back then, if you were bored and had access to a car, you went downtown, usually at a place called the Galleria, an old building constructed in the 1920s, later gutted and refurbished as an open mall with a skylight roof. From the fifth floor, you could look down and see everyone on the first. We often hung out at a record store called Crystalship or at Taco John's, located right next door. We'd load up on burritos and Pepsi before wandering around the record store, checking-out new releases by Judas Priest or Rush or AC/DC. On rare occasion we actually bought a record, but we were mostly there to be obnoxious, buy rolling papers or meet girls. Actually, the last part almost never happened. But when you're sixteen you don't know any better, even though Jason, one of our road trip crew, was always hopeful he'd meet the punk rock queen of his dreams there.

One day in the spring of ‘81, we went downtown and sat for awhile at Taco John's, where Travis ordered his usual: two stuffed beef burritos, large tater tots and a 32 oz. Pepsi. He could really put away the food, at least twice as much as the rest of us. Afterwards, we strolled around the Galleria a bit, making fun of old folks, trying to act cool and generally being jackasses.

Maybe a half hour later, we decided to leave. Travis had parked his Mustang in the lot on the next block, connected to the Galleria on the third floor by an open walkway. It was on this walkway that we discovered just how lethal Travis' special talent could be....

While we were on the walkway, Travis suddenly stopped, a devilish grin spreading across his caveman face. He said "watch this," then ran to the edge, leaned over and with a grand gesture, unleashed the two stuffed beef burritos, jumbo tots and Pepsi he'd just consumed, which rained down upon the unsuspecting motorists below.
 
The rest of us barely had enough time to reach the railing before his meal pounded the hood of a Chevy Vega, immediately dousing it in fluitic brown chunks. It hit with such force that I swear the hood caved in a bit, and so loud that they must have heard it in nearby Beaverton. The car immediately screeched to a halt. The driver - a rather shell-shocked young woman - climbed out and gazed in horror at the vomitous mass drenching her hood. Despite the myriad car horns, idling engines and pedestrians, all of us could clearly hear her cry out, "oh...my...god."  Though not actually a gift from God, it didn't take her long to figure out this predigested puddle did indeed come from above. We waited around just long enough to catch a glimpse of her horriflied face before taking off, laughing hysterically and confident that we'd reach the safety of Travis' car long before anyone would catch us.

We figured wrong. None of us considered that anyone else would be watching, such as the Galleria security, who had been following us for about a half hour after receiving numerous complaints about our behavior. We didn't even reach Travis' car before security grabbed us...so much for thinking all authority figures were stupid.

This never happened in Animal House. The guys in Delta House got away with everything. It turned out being Bluto (or any of his cohorts) was much harder in real life than onscreen.

Our parents were all called to pick us up. I was grounded for skipping school and forbidden to hang out with Travis again. I suppose I got off light, since Travis' parents had to pay for the damage done to the lady's Vega. Despite getting in such trouble, I have to think part of him had to be a just a little bit proud. After all, how many of us can claim our own stomach chowder is capable of damaging cars?

Travis and I sort-of lost touch shortly after graduating, so I have no idea whether or not he continued down the Bluto path. Today, like D-Day in Animal House, his whereabouts are largely unknown (I haven’t been able to find him on Facebook, anyway). Such was the power of this classic film on impressionable youth at the time.

Blu-Ray Review: SUPREMACY

Starring Joe Anderson, Dawn Olivieri, Danny Glover, Derek Luke, Evan Ross, Lela Rechon, Anson Mount. Directed by Deon Taylor. (2014, 111 min).
Well Go USA

Despicable white-supremist Garrett Tully (Joe Anderson) has just been released after serving 15 years in prison, and not even a day passes before he shoots a black police officer during a routine stop. He and accomplice Doreen (Dawn Olivieri) take refuge in the home of a black family, led by patriarch Mr. Walker (Danny Glover), holding them hostage while deciding on their next move.

That’s the gist of Supremacy, a sometimes intense film which seems to have something to say about race relations, but isn’t quite sure what. Ambitiously character driven, we learn just enough about the primary individuals involved in this scenario, Tully and Walker, to keep us intrigued. It’s a credit to screenwriter Eric J. Adams that Tully isn’t completely hateful, nor is Walker a total saint (we get hints about their questionable pasts, yet both remain morally ambiguous).

Anderson and Glover shine in these roles with an intensity that maintains interest in-light of a story that seems to have been created on-the-fly. New plot turns and characters are introduced fairly late in the game, to the detriment of the overall narrative. This is especially apparent in scenes where some hostages are inexplicably allowed to leave the house without repercussions, defusing much of the tension the filmmakers worked so hard to establish early on.

And that’s the main problem with Supremacy…it starts off great, creating a fair amount of suspense, along with a timely message about the nature of racism in this country. However, it sort-of runs out of steam near the end, tossing in unnecessary (sometimes dumb) plot twists during the final act. Despite terrific and sincere performances by the entire cast, we’re ultimately left with a movie that’s unlikely to resonate much afterwards, no matter how noble its intentions. In the end, we don’t really get any message the film is obviously trying to convey.

EXTRAS:

• Behind-the-Scenes Featurette
• Trailer

KITTY CONSENSUS:

Not bad...the performances alone might make this worth watching.