THE STRAWBERRY STATEMENT (1970)

by Kimberly Lindbergs | November 25, 2011

Categories | Movie Reviews, American Cinema, Drama, Movie Morlocks, TCM

Bruce Davison & Bud Cort in THE STRAWBERRY STATEMENT (1970)

Happy Thanksgiving! Hope everyone enjoyed the holiday. I’ve been wrestling with a lot of personal stuff lately and some big changes are coming to this blog soon. But I just wanted to share a quick update about my latest piece for The Movie Morlocks titled, ‘Politics, Protest & Progress in THE STRAWBERRY STATEMENT.’ It’s a detailed look at Stuart Hagmann’s neglected first film, which should interest some politically-minded readers. Here’s a brief sample from my post:

“Stuart Hagmann’s THE STRAWBERRY STATEMENT (1970) is often dismissed today as a dated relic of the early ‘70s. During its initial release it was singled out for being exploitive and failing to be a straightforward adaptation of the book it was based on. Many critics claimed that Stuart Hagmann’s direction was erratic and too creative for its own good, which supposedly diminished the film’s political message. When I recently set aside some time to watch THE STRAWBERRY STATEMENT I prepared myself for the worst. I expected to see a confusing, opportunistic, dated and laughable Hollywood film made to cash in on the political zeitgeist of the late ‘60s and early ‘70s. But I came away from the movie with an entirely different opinion and immediately understood why it had been nominated for a Palme d’Or at Cannes in 1970 and walked away with a Jury Prize. Not only is THE STRAWBERRY STATEMENT a much better film than I had anticipated but it’s particularly poignant considering the current political climate. Student protest, police brutality, free speech and social activism are still hot button issues today. Not a lot has changed in 40 years. We’re still fighting the same battles and wrestling with the same complex issues that have been plaguing the country for decades. Like other controversial films from the same period such as MEDIUM COOL (1969), ZABRISKI POINT (1970) and PUNISHMENT PARK (1971), THE STRAWBERRY STATEMENT asked some important questions that still haven’t been answered.”

Lots more about this timely film at the Morlocks:
- Politics, Protest & Progress in THE STRAWBERRY STATEMENT @ TCM’s Classic Movie Blog

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Jacqueline Susann’s The Love Machine

by Kimberly Lindbergs | November 3, 2011

Categories | Movie Reviews, American Cinema, David Hemmings, Drama, John Phillip Law, Hammer Glamour, Movie Morlocks, TCM

I recently got the chance to review the Warner Archive DVD release of THE LOVE MACHINE (1971) based on Jacqueline “Valley of the Dolls” Susann’s book and naturally I jumped at the opportunity. I’ve mentioned the film at Cinebeats before during my farewell post to John Phillip Law, which was written after he passed away in 2008. I think it’s a great film so I went to bat for it at the Movie Morlocks this week. It’s not an easy movie to recommend. It’s been mocked by Mystery Science Theater 3000, bashed by an endless parade of critics over the years and celebrated as a kitsch classic worthy of cult camp status and not much else, but I think it’s got more to offer than unintentional laughs. Few films feature three leading men that I absolutely love (John Phillip Law, Robert Ryan AND David Hemmings!) as well as Hammer glamour girls, Mary and Madeleine Collinson (TWINS OF EVIL), Anitra Ford (INVASION OF THE BEE GIRLS) and ’60s beauty icon Lynda Moran just to name a few of the lovely ladies in this film. THE LOVE MACHINE also contains lots of fabulous ’70s fashions, plus stylish decor by the likes of Burke and inspired by designer Eero Saarinen. Do I need to say anymore? If you’re a Cinebeats’ reader chances are you’re going to enjoy this film as much as I do. An excerpt from my post:

“Taken seriously, THE LOVE MACHINE could be seen as an interesting predecessor to NETWORK (1976), which depicted the drama unfolding in the boardrooms and backrooms of high-powered television networks. The film also smartly critiques our blind fascination with popular news personalities who often manipulate the public trust for their own gain. Like Mark Robson, who adapted VALLEY OF THE DOLLS, director Jack Haley Jr. was obviously inspired by filmmakers like John M. Stahl and Douglas Sirk who created shrewd and stylish melodramas in the 1940s and ‘50s such as MAGNIFICENT OBSESSION, LEAVE HER TO HEAVEN and ALL THAT HEAVEN ALLOWS. And although I wouldn’t categorize THE LOVE MACHINE as a “woman’s picture” it was based on a woman’s novel that appealed to a large female audience. As a period piece, THE LOVE MACHINE is an unusal time capsule. It’s of its time and yet totally outside it. But as pure entertainment I think it has lots of visual interest and an oddly involving (and at times convoluted) plot. However you decided to approach the film, I think it makes for some unforgettable viewing.”

You can find my full post about THE LOVE MACHINE at The Movie Morlocks:
- Jacqueline Susann’s The Love Machine @ TCM’s Classic Movie Blog

I also created a Flickr Gallery for THE LOVE MACHINE that you can view here.

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The Fool Killer (1965)

by Kimberly Lindbergs | September 2, 2009

Categories | Movie Reviews, Horror, American Cinema, Anthony Perkins, Lee Marvin, Drama, Mexican Cinema

I first saw Servando González’s 1965 film The Fool Killer (aka El asesino de tontos) almost twenty years ago and it’s haunted me ever since. The film features Anthony Perkins in one of his best roles and I got the urge to watch it again last year while I was obsessing over Perkins’ music career. For some unknown reason The Fool Killer isn’t available on DVD yet so I had to purchase a used VHS copy of the film to see it.

I shouldn’t have been too surprised that The Fool Killer was unavailable on DVD because Mexican director Servando González is almost unheard of in the United States. I haven’t had the opportunity to see any of the director’s other films myself so my own appreciation of his work revolves around my deep affection for The Fool Killer, but I was disappointed to learn that the director had passed away in October of last year. Servando González’s death appears to have gone almost completely unnoticed by the film community except in Latin America. This is really unfortunate because The Fool Killer clearly shows that González was a talented filmmaker with the ability to create wonderfully atmospheric films that could remain with viewers long after they had ended. Trying to find any noteworthy information about The Fool Killer is nearly impossible, but I thought I’d share some of my own thoughts about Servando González’s exceptional film in an effort to broaden appreciation of his work.

The Fool Killer is an extremely dark and ominous film starring thirteen year-old actor Edward Albert as a deeply troubled young orphan named George. After a brief opening montage filled with idyllic images of the American countryside, the film begins with George receiving a nasty beating from his foster parents while they recite Bible verses at him in an effort to soften the blows. Poor George blames himself for the beatings he receives because he thinks that the “foolish things” he’s done shouldn’t go unpunished. But dropping a butter churn and playing with dandelions are clearly not acts worthy of the beatings he gets. After the physical pain wears off, the emotional scars become evident when young George decides that he’s had enough abuse and heads out into the world on his own. His odyssey will take him through the dusty back roads of rural Tennessee where he’ll encounter an unusual cast of characters who consciously and unconsciously guide him on his journey.

The film is based on a novel of the same name written by Helen Eustis, but the legend of the “Fool Killer” was first written down by author O. Henry (aka William Sydney Porter). I’m not sure how much of the legend is based on fact or if the whole concept is a work of fiction conjured up by the author’s absinthe fueled imagination, but according to O. Henry his tale of the Fool Killer was based on an old southern myth, “like Santa Claus and Jack Frost and General Prosperity and all those concrete conceptions that are supposed to represent an idea that Nature has failed to embody.”

In his short tale O. Henry’s also tells us that the Fool Killer was a “terrible old man, in gray clothes, with a long, ragged, gray beard, and reddish, fierce eyes” who “come stumping up the road in a cloud of dust, with a white oak staff in his hand” and would “kill anyone who perpetrates some particularly monumental piece of foolishness.”

A similar tale is told to young George when he stumbles across a filthy shack inhabited by a hard drinking old man who calls himself Dirty Jim. Dirty Jim lives alone and when he meets George he invites the boy to live with him. These two unlikely companions develop a friendship that is occasionally disrupted by Dirty Jim’s drinking and unsanitary living habits. Dirty Jim is played brilliantly by actor Henry Hull who was 75 years old at the time. Hull was an accomplished stage actor but today he’s mostly remembered for his film work including the starring role in the first werewolf film made by Universal Studios, Werewolf of London (1935). Hull went on to appear in many memorable films such as Hitchcock’s Lifeboat (1944), Raoul Walsh’s High Sierra (1941) and William Dieterle exceptional Portrait of Jennie (1948), but The Fool Killer provided Henry Hull with a role that the 75-year-old actor could really sink his teeth into and he makes the most of his screen time.

After George suddenly becomes ill, Dirty Jim decides to leave him with a female neighbor and her daughter. George isn’t particularly happy about his circumstances and he becomes obsessed by the tale of the Fool Killer who Dirty Jim described as being tall and thin while “carrying a sharp chopper” (scythe). Like the monster in O’Henry’s tale, the Fool Killer in the film is said to wander the earth ridding the world of foolish people and George begins to fear that the Fool Killer will come for him some day.

When George sets out on his own again he meets up with a tall and lanky Civil War veteran named Milo (Anthony Perkins). In the dead of night George mistakes Milo’s menacing shadow for the dreaded Fool Killer, but after the two meet and get to know one another they quickly become friends. Unbeknownst to George, Milo is suffering from what we now call Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) due to the devastating and disturbing things he experienced during the Civil War. Anthony Perkins does an extraordinary job of making Milo a character who the audience both sympathizes with and fears. The actor was incredibly adapt at playing psychologically damaged young men and if you enjoy Perkins’ work in other films such as Fear Strikes Out (1956), Psycho (1960) and Pretty Poison (1968), you’ll find his performance in The Fool Killer just as impressive.

As the boy’s relationship with Milo deepens, it also begins to suffer due to the soldier’s troubled past and invisible war wounds. Milo is angry at the world and doesn’t suffer fools lightly. He finds fault in everything and seems to enjoy expressing his dissatisfaction, which is easy to understand, but makes young George uncomfortable and confused. George looks to everyone for acceptance and clearly wants to form some kind of family bond with anyone who will give him the time of day. The film hints at the abuse young George has obviously endured, but this aspect of the film is never exploited. We do sense that George’s guilty conscious over perceived wrongs (or “foolishness”) often gets the best of him and they seem to manifest in his own feelings of shame clearly rooted in the abuse he’s suffered. The complex dynamic between these two unlikely companions comes to a head in a beautifully shot scene that takes place inside a religious tent revival meeting that resembles a side show from some macabre circus. George insists that he and Milo attend the rival meeting and get “saved” but the situation only manages to stir up some deep sense of shame in George as well as seething resentment in Milo who finally becomes totally unhinged under all the strain. As Milo falls apart he begins to transform into the mythical Fool Killer that haunts George’s nightmares.

I often have trouble relating to child actors, but Edward Albert is extremely believable as little George. Albert made his acting debut in The Fool Killer and many of his scenes are surprisingly authentic. He is often forgotten today, but Edward Albert appeared in some interesting films throughout his career such as Butterflies Are Free (1972), Midway (1976), The Greek Tycoon (1978), The Squeeze (1978), Galaxy of Terror (1981) and Butterfly (1982). His role in The Fool Killer is especially noteworthy because of the range and depth of emotion he was able to convey at such a young age.

Servando González really does an incredible job of evoking the rural south in his film. He was able to capture the undeniable beauty of the pastoral countryside as well as the eccentricities of the people who inhabit it, but he doesn’t shy away from the darker aspects of the South that often take the shape of religious zealots nor does he ignore the deep scars left in that part of the country from the hard fought Civil War. Like Charles Laughton’s magnificent Night of the Hunter (1955), which The Fool Killer undoubtedly took inspiration from, González’s film is drenched in American Gothic imagery and he was able to convey an almost suffocating sense of dread that’s not easy to forget.

Anyone familiar with Mark Twains’ stories of Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn will also immediately recognize some of their classic character traits in young George. In many ways George seems to be a composite of both Tom and Huck. George even narrates a good portion of the film and I find it impossible to shake the image of Huck Finn that thirteen year-old actor Edward Albert’ invokes. The original author of The Fool Killer as well as script writers Morton Fine and David Friedkin undoubtedly owe a bit of debt to Mark Twain as well as, but it’s interesting to note that Helen Eustis published her original novel in 1954. An entire year before Laughton’s Night of the Hunter was released.

Besides Servando González’s impressive direction and Álex Phillips Jr.’s beautiful cinematography, The Fool Killer also features a memorable score by award winning Mexican composer Gustavo César Carrión. Outside of the typical musical cues usually found in Hollywood films of the same period, the music in The Fool Killer is often eerie, rustic and unsettling. The discordant sounds that permeate the soundtrack perfectly express the dark and grungy tone of the film. After watching The Fool Killer a second time I was occasionally reminded of Neil Young’s effective score for Jim Jarmusch’s impressive 1995 film Dead Man. I suspect that Neil Young may have been inspired by some of Gustavo César Carrión’s score for The Fool Killer when he was composing the music for Jarmusch’s movie.

In a strange coincidence (or is it?), it’s worth noting that Lee Marvin starred in a televised version of The Fool Killer in 1956 for Kraft Television Theatre. I was unable to find any substantial information about the televised adaptation that featured Lee Marvin, but hopefully it will surface someday. Since Jim Jarmusch’s appreciation of Lee Marvin is well known I wouldn’t be surprised if he was also aware of Marvin’s television role in The Fool Killer along with Servando González’s film of the same name.

Currently The Fool Killer is only available on VHS and used copies can be found selling at Amazon for about $22, but I’d love to see Servando González’s film get restored and released on DVD since the quality of the Republic Pictures video is abysmal. Unfortunately most of the cast and crew of the film are dead so information about the movie will continue to be hard to come by, but The Fool Killer would be a wonderful addition to Criterion’s DVD library. Considering the limited amount of films made by Mexican directors that are available on Criterion DVD, I think The Fool Killer would be a worthy candidate for the Criterion treatment.

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Modern Mondays: A History of Violence (2005)

by Kimberly Lindbergs | July 28, 2009

Categories | Movie Reviews, Drama, Modern Mondays, Comic Books, Viggo Mortensen, David Cronenberg

It seems like everywhere I turn someone is talking or writing about the recent Comic Book Convention that is held in San Diego every year. It used to be an event only attended by comic book fans and various industry insiders, but it has exploded into some kind of massive media event attended by anyone and everyone. When did comic books become so acceptable? I suppose it was the onslaught of popular comic book films in recent years that has made the general public and every working film critic take notice. As someone who worked in a comic book shop throughout most of the 1990s for minimum wage, I find this sudden interest in the events at Comic-Con extremely amusing. It’s also great for the business, which has struggled to gain legitimacy for years. Comic books are now making a lot of people a lot of money. And money makes critics and cultural pundits take notice.

One of my favorite comic-to-film adaptations in the last 10 years is David Cronenberg’s 2005 film A History of Violence, which was based on a little known comic collection or “graphic novel” published by DC Comics under their Paradox Press banner. The comic book was written by John Wagner and illustrated by one of my favorite working comic book artists, Vince Locke (Deadworld, American Freak: A Tale of the Un-Men, etc). Although Cronenberg’s film received an Academy Award nomination for Best Adapted Screenplay, few people seem aware of the fact that this critically acclaimed film was based on a comic book.

Since I’m still running on limited free time I decided to share a few choice quotes from one of my favorite reviews of A History of Violence that was written by one of my favorite authors, the late great J. G. Ballard. Ballard is a brilliant writer and he worked with David Cronenberg on the film adaptation of his own novel Crash (1996). In Ballard’s excellent review of the film he sums up exactly why A History of Violence is such a great film and one of my favorite movies of the last decade. What follows are a few choice excerpts from Ballard’s review.

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David and Lisa (1962)

by Kimberly Lindbergs | November 9, 2008

Categories | Movie Reviews, American Cinema, Drama, Keir Dullea

American independent cinema has had a long and fascinating history. One of the most critically acclaimed early independent films to come out of the US was undoubtedly Frank Perry’s David and Lisa (1962), which was finally released on DVD last year by Image Entertainment.

In David and Lisa we’re introduced to two young, attractive and deeply troubled patients living at a mental health clinic. David (Keir Dullea) suffers from an extreme phobia similar to what many would refer to as Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD) today, which makes him go berserk anytime another person touches him. Lisa (Janet Margolin) has been diagnosed with schizophrenia and insists on speaking only in rhymes. Somehow these two mentally damaged individuals manage to overcome their personal difficulties and form an uneasy friendship. As the film unfolds their relationship deepens and they’re finally able to help each other come to terms with their psychoses.

Keir Dullea and Janet Margolin are both very good in their roles as David and Lisa. Dullea does a terrific job of portraying an angry and emotionally damaged young man, but I was especially impressed with Janet Margolin. Margolin is really lovely, but also very talented and she imbues Lisa with the perfect combination of innocence and world-weariness. It’s a shame that the actress didn’t find more worthwhile starring roles throughout her rather brief career. She clearly shows great sensitivity as an actress here and her moving performance will stick with you long after David and Lisa has ended.

The film is beautifully shot by director Frank Perry and features some truly impressive black and white cinematography from Leonard Hirschfield. There’s a wonderfully surreal aspect to the film’s eye-catching dream sequences and the melancholy mood of the institution is underscored by the use of stark shadows and startling bursts of light. The film also manages to perfectly convey the isolation that both David and Lisa are clearly feeling with expressive close-ups and long takes. Unfortunately David and Lisa suffers from its melodramatic script (written by Frank Perry’s wife at the time, Eleanor Perry) and the overbearing score by composer Mark Lawrence seems totally out of place and distracting at times, which often diminishes the film’s more subtle moments. I’d personally like to see David and Lisa re-scored by a composer who is more cautious and creative.

When David and Lisa was originally released in 1962 it caused quite a stir. Film critics applauded the movie and audiences embraced it. The film was nominated for many awards, including an Oscar for Best Director. Now that some 45 year have passed since it’s original release, it might be hard for modern audiences to fully appreciate what all the fuss was about. But when David and Lisa is compared to other films about mental illness made prior to it, I think it’s easier to understand the film’s importance. Today many are embracing pharmaceuticals over psychotherapy, but David and Lisa offers an intelligent and sensitive study of mental illness that dares to look at several possible explanations and cures. Parental culpability, childhood trauma, as well as an individual’s sensitivity to their environment, are just a few of the factors that can exacerbate mental illness and I was impressed with the way the film subtly explored them. In the end David and Lisa encourages individuals to take charge of their own lives as well as their mental health and its message should still resonate with many viewers.

David and Lisa is currently selling at Amazon for $21.99 and it is also available for rent at Netflix and Greencine.

If you’d like to see more images from the film you can find them in my David and Lisa Flickr Gallery.

*Originally published at Cinedelica 05.24.2007

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