Here's a rousing scene from a movie we reviewed back in 2010, which parodies those big dance numbers from Hollywood musicals aimed at "hip" young audiences. You can read our original review HERE.
Video by Porfle Popnecker. I neither own nor claim any rights to this material. Just having some fun with it. Thanks for watching!
I wrote these lyrics many years ago and recently had them set to AI music at Suno.com. just for fun. The film clips I used came from an amazing 1904 George Méliès silent called "Journey Through The Impossible" (aka The Impossible Journey).
Song lyrics: IMAGINARY HOOKAH by Porfle Popnecker We gathered in the livingroom To tell our stories Sitting in a circle Like monks around a hookah Imaginary hookah Drew us all together Smoking like an altar Burning like a magic lantern Night descended on the house And gave us time to sort things out We made our way by the cathode ray Never really cared just what it had to say Imaginary hookah Drew us all together Smoking like an altar Burning like a magic lantern They told me that the house was haunted Didn't think that it was true But I swear that late one night I heard Footsteps in an empty room Imaginary hookah Drew us all together Smoking like an altar Burning like a magic lantern There never was one single particular Moment of decision But day by day we went our seperate ways The house still stands unto this day Like a strange museum of a bygone age Dinosaur castle, dodo cage Imaginary hookah Drew us all together Smoking like an altar Burning like a magic lantern
We reminisced about tomorrow Till the break of yesterday
Video and lyrics by Porfle Popnecker. AI music by Suno.com. Thanks for watching and listening!
Toni Basil is a famed singer, dancer, and choreographer.
EASY RIDER (1969) was probably her most high-profile film role.
And most people probably know her from her classic "Mickey" music video.
But for many of us, the first time we ever saw her...
...was as a red-haired go-go dancer in VILLAGE OF THE GIANTS (1965).
I neither own nor claim any rights to this material. Just having some fun with it. Thanks for watching!
Originally posted on 10/5/11
Here's the bottom line--if you have the same sense of humor that I do, you'll love SNUFF BOX: THE COMPLETE SERIES, the six-episode sketch comedy series starring British comedian Matt Berry and American comedian Rich Fulcher. However, if you don't have the same sense of humor that I do, then this review is probably the closest you'll ever want to ever get to it, ever ever ever.
Another condition--it will help if you're a fan of things like "Monty Python's Flying Circus", "Mr. Show", "Kids in the Hall", and various other showcases for surrealistic silliness and illogical irreverence. But since this show isn't taped in front of a live audience and uses cinema-style photography and editing, Berry and Fulcher are able to let their imaginations drift through the same kind of demented mental landscape from which things like "Alice in Wonderland" emerge.
As a framing device, the boys live in a posh gentlemen's club started by Matt's great-uncle Sir Charles Berry and carry on his family business of hanging people at the local prison. Most episodes, in fact, begin with a humorous hanging (Condition #3: must enjoy humorous hangings, Russian roulette, and other lighthearted but graphic violence) after which we join Matt and Rich in the club's lounge, establishing the storyline from which the various comedy sketches are, if you'll pardon the expression, hung.
John Wayne as "Singin' Sandy"?
Here are some of the attempts by various movie studios in the 30s to turn John Wayne into a singing cowboy. (Dubbed, that is.)
Scenes used are from:
"Riders of Destiny" (1933)
"Westward Ho!" (1935)
"Lawless Range" (1935)
"Man From Utah" (1934)
Originally posted on 11/26/18
I neither own nor claim any rights to this material. Just having some fun with it. Thanks for watching!
Originally posted on 5/14/2015
Jess Franco's immediate follow-up to his relatively well-made VAMPYROS LESBOS is another dark, death-shrouded vehicle for the lovely and exotic Soledad Miranda (again billed as "Susann Korda") featuring some of the same castmembers including Paul Müller, Ewa Strömberg, and Franco himself.
The result, SHE KILLED IN ECSTASY (1971), is a slasher/revenge thriller which stands with his previous effort as one of my two favorite Franco films so far.
The storyline this time is lean and simple--genetic research scientist Dr. Johnson (Fred Williams) commits suicide after his maverick work with human embryos is viciously derided as inhumane by his peers, who suggest he be not only imprisoned but even executed for such atrocious ideas.
(I wrote this short story way back in 2008. While entirely fictional, I like to think that it could have happened, or perhaps even should have happened.)
Back when I was Christopher Walken's personal chef, I never knew
what random horrors each day would bring. I remember one day in
particular, in which Mr. Walken sat in his darkened study, lost in one of
his strange, pensive moods. He summoned me just as the grandfather clock
in the drafty hallway struck noon.
I stood there, awaiting his orders, for quite a long time. He sat in a
large leather-bound chair, hands pressed together under his chin, as
though pondering his options with grave consideration. Finally, in his
familiar low, halting voice, he spoke.
"I would like...the Buggles," he said. "For lunch."
"The Buggles?" I repeated, not sure I'd understood. "You mean, the 80s 'new wave' musical duo?"
"Yes, exactly," he said, relieved that I was familiar with them. A
slight smile played upon his lips as he nodded, relishing some mental
image that I daren't even imagine.
I wasn't sure what to say. Where the hell had this idea come from? "The
Buggles broke up a long time ago," I informed him. "They're, uh, not a
duo anymore."
"Then..." he said thoughtfully, "you could get...the ingredients for the Buggles...and make some new ones."
I thought about this seemingly nonsensical request for a moment, when
suddenly the horrifying truth dawned on me. By "ingredients", he meant
that he wanted me to kidnap Trevor Horn and Geoffrey Downes, the
original members of the Buggles, and cook them for lunch. His lunch.
"I can't do that," I said firmly. "I...I won't do that. They're human
beings, not just 'ingredients' for some ghastly lunch for you." I
cringed, waiting for him to explode in a fit of anger, or at least send
me packing.
"Oh," he said softly, as though my words had actually made some kind of
sense to him. "Okay. Well, then...I'm not sure what other...lunch
options...are available to me. Let's go into the kitchen and...explore
them. Shall we?" He rose from his chair and waited for me to lead him
into the kitchen, since he had no idea where it was. So I did.
When we got there, he gazed around in silent wonder at all the utensils
and appliances. Finally, he spoke. "Where do you keep...the people?" he
asked, gesturing with his hands.
"The people? What people?" I inquired, baffled.
"The people that you cook," he explained. "Where...do you store them
before preparing them...for my meals?" He asked this as though it were
the most normal thing in the world.
Forcing back a retching wave of hot bile, I contained my revulsion long
enough to respond. "I don't cook people!" I exclaimed. "I cook food!
FOOD! Nobody cooks PEOPLE! That's HORRIBLE!"
He looked at me with a sort of serene puzzlement for a moment, then
shrugged. He noticed something on the counter. "What is that?"
"That," I said, grateful for the change of subject, "is a sandwich that I made for my own lunch."
"Ah," he said, amazed. "A...sandwich. Could you make one of those...for me?"
"Sure," I said, relieved. "What kind of sandwich would you like?
"Are there...different kinds?"
"Oh, yes," I said. "You can put whatever you want in a sandwich. Any
kind of meat, in addition to things like tomatoes, lettuce, cheese,
pickles--"
"Make me," he said with growing excitement, "a Buggles sandwich."
I slapped my forehead. "No...no, you don't understand," I said, exasperated. "You can't--"
"With some of that pickles and...er, cheese things that you indicated,"
he added. "And I...I really am hungry today, so...make me two of these
Buggles sandwiches. Each of them containing half...of each separate
Buggle. With cheese." He took a deep breath and stood back with his
mouth open, eagerly waiting for me to confirm my understanding of his
instructions.
"Look, Mr. Walken," I said, finally tiring of this charade and spelling
it out for him, slowly and plainly. "I cannot and WILL not cook people
for you to eat for lunch, or for any other meal. You're asking me to
commit MURDER, for heaven's sake...so that YOU can indulge in
cannibalism, one of the most utterly HEINOUS acts a person can commit.
Why, the very notion of this fills me with an inutterable HORROR which I
can scant express with mere words!" I leaned wearily against the
counter, drained by my emotional turmoil.
He thought about this for a long time, then held up his index finger and
began to speak. "Are you...trying to tell me..." he said slowly, a look
of concern on his face, "that we...are out of cheese?"
"NO!" I screamed. "WE'RE OUT OF BUGGLES! YOU'LL HAVE TO EAT SOMETHING ELSE!"
"Ah," he nodded, appearing to understand me at last. I waited anxiously,
fearfully, for his next words. He extended his arm so that his sleeve
would retract and reveal his wristwatch. He looked at it, furrowing his
brow. "It's five minutes after twelve," he announced. "Is my lunch ready
yet?"
"No," I said. "You told me you wanted the Buggles for lunch, and I told
you I could not and would not kidnap and cook them for you. Therefore,
you have yet to present me with a viable alternative meal to prepare for
you."
"I understand," he affirmed. "Well, then," he said breezily, "I'll just
invite some friends over for lunch, and you can cook some of them." He
pulled an address book out of his pocket, went over to the phone, and
began calling people while I simply stared at him in disbelief. Thirty
minutes later, the livingroom was filled with guests milling around
drinking cocktails.
"There's Meryl Streep," he said to me in a low voice, pointing. "I'd
like some spaghetti and Streep balls as an appetizer. And over there,"
he added, indicating a gentleman standing next to the Picasso, "is
Dennis Hopper. As an entree, I'd like some thick, juicy Dennis Hopper
steaks. Ribeyes, of course."
"Of course," I said wearily.
"And to snack on...umm, who's left...oh, just do something fun with
Steven Spielberg. Maybe a sort of festive meatloaf. Or some jerky. But
you'd better hurry, because he never stays long."
"So...I just slaughter them now?" I asked.
"Yes, yes, just slaughter them now," he urged. "I'm famished."
Steeling myself, I clutched the meat cleaver and began to inch forward.
Suddenly a wave of hysteria swept through me and I screamed at the top
of my lungs: "NO! NO! I WON'T DO IT! I WON'T SLAUGHTER AND COOK
HOLLYWOOD'S ELITE FOR YOUR LUNCH!"
With that, I flung the meat cleaver aside and ran shrieking from the
room. On my way out, I could hear Mr. Walken explain to his guests,
"Well, you just can't get good help these days."
Later, he found me hiding in the kitchen, trembling. He noticed my
sandwich sitting uneaten on the counter. "Are you...going to eat that?"
he asked.
"No, you can have it," I said in a quavering voice. "I couldn't bear to eat anything right now."
He picked up half of the sandwich and took a bite. "Mmm, this is very good," he appraised. "Who is it?"
It was Underwood Chicken Spread, but I lied. "It's Tom Cruise. I got a good deal on the cast of TOP GUN at the meat market."
And so, for the next several weeks, I gave Christopher Walken chicken
spread sandwiches for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and told him that we
were working our way through the entire cast of TOP GUN. When that was
over, I switched to deviled ham and told him we were starting in on PULP
FICTION. This eventually presented a problem, since I'd forgotten that
he was in it. So one day, two weeks into PULP FICTION, he asked, "When
do I get to eat me for lunch?" Thinking fast, I opened up a can of Spam
and pointed at it. "This is you," I said. "Oh...I look good," he
drooled.
Those of us who first saw "Blade Runner" via the "International Cut" recall the end scene with Deckard and Rachel riding off into the sunset to a reprise of Vangelis' beautiful love theme.
While fond of this idyllic ending, I still found it to be marred by that version's clumsy, pedestrian attempt at a film noir voiceover which insisted on telling us what we were seeing ("Gaff had been there...and let her live").
Here, in all its splendor, is that scene without the needless voiceover.
Video by Porfle Popnecker. I neither own nor claim any rights to this material. Just having some fun with it. Thanks for watching!
Originally posted on 6/28/11
Anthony Hopkins the writer-director just may be as nutty as Hannibal Lecter. (Hey, that rhymes!) Or so it may seem while watching SLIPSTREAM (2007). It's one of those movies about making movies that people who make movies like to make in order to show us what a crazy world they live in by taking it to the extreme and making it even more crazy. You're never sure what's real, and what's a dream, delusion, or rift in the time-space continuum. Which doesn't always make for an entertaining or even vaguely coherent film--but in this case it's both. I think.
Summarizing the plot is difficult, but here goes. Anthony Hopkins plays a screenwriter named Felix Bonhoeffer who may or may not have been involved in a traffic-jam-rage shooting, may or may not have a cute, perpetually-chatty blond companion named Tracy (Lisa Pepper), and may or may not have been urgently summoned to a diner in the desert near Las Vegas where filming of his latest script has been halted due to the sudden death of the star, Matt Dobbs (Christian Slater) on the set. Felix must write Matt's character out of the script while the ineffectual director (Gavin Grazer) and balls-out nuts producer (a very funny John Turturro) try to salvage the project.
Meanwhile, Bette Lustig (Fionnula Flanagan) is either a woman on her way to Las Vegas to visit her sister-in-law or an actress in the film, while Bette's niece Gina (co-producer Stella Arroyave) is either Bette's niece or Felix's wife. Michael Clarke Duncan plays either a bartender named Mort who gets whacked by a gangster named Ray (Slater), or an actor in the movie named Phil Henderson, or a highway cop whose partner is played by Slater. Jeffrey Tambor is wonderfully geeky as either Ray's gangster crony Geek, an actor named Jeffrey, or a doctor named Dr. Geekman.
Also appearing in the people-studded cast are Christopher Lawford as Lars the cheerful cinematographer, Camryn Manheim as volatile script girl Barbara, S. Epatha Merkerson as either a waitress or an actress named Bonnie, William Lucking as Det. Buzz Larabee, and Kevin McCarthy in a wonderful appearance as himself, reacting with pleasant surprise when Felix mentions to him that he was the hero of INVASION OF THE BODY SNATCHERS. "I was?" Kevin beams. "How do you like that!"
It's never made quite clear what's going on (until the last second) but we suspect that, due to work-related stress, something's not quite right in Felix's mind. At least that's as close as I could figure for most of the movie. It's all like a deluxe "Twilight Zone" episode that Rod Serling might have written after someone slipped LSD into his coffee.
From the very beginning, SLIPSTREAM is a continuous stream of engaging oddness, ranging from neat little looping effects and subliminal flashes that foreshadow the future, comment on the present, or simply baffle, to full-blown Oliver Stone/NATURAL BORN KILLERS pastiche. This may sound terribly arty and indulgent, but it's all great fun in Hopkins' capable hands. No shot is left untouched--Felix's perceptions of reality are always being tweaked in some way large or small. The movie looks like it was edited by a guy with two turntables and a microphone, while the soundtrack often seems like something John Lennon and Yoko Ono might have created after warming up with "Revolution 9."
The diner scene is my favorite. Slater and Tambor (as gangsters Ray and Geek) slide into a booth and then quickly set about terrorizing everyone in the place, including Bette and Gina, who have stopped off on their way to Vegas, and Merkerson's Bonnie (the waitress, not the actress). The ways in which they screw with everyone's heads just get wackier and wackier, especially when they start imitating Yogi Bear and Boo-Boo. At one point Geek discovers an old autographed photo of Kevin McCarthy on the wall, which sets them both off on an aggressively nostalgic, guns-drawn, in-your-face INVASION OF THE BODY SNATCHERS rant. (It's their favorite movie.) This sequence alone would make a great short film--one which might even weird out David Lynch a little.
Occasionally, the goofball momentum does lag a bit, and there are moments in which it all seems a tad too self-conscious. But these are few and far between, and for the most part it's pure baffling fun all the way to the end, when things get just clear enough for you to finally be able to nod and say, "Ah...so that's it."
Unless, that is, you sit through the credits, which feature a rewind of the entire movie from last to first frame accompanied by a dazzling piano performance by Anthony Hopkins himself, until the final seconds reveal the real, no kidding "Ah, so that's it" ending. So there are actually two endings to SLIPSTREAM--one for the people who stop watching the movie when the credits start rolling, and one for those of us who dig hearing Anthony Hopkins jamming his distinguished butt off on the keyboard. (He also composed the film's score, by the way.)
You may have a low tolerance for movies like this, and indeed I wouldn't blame you if five minutes of this one made you want to rip the DVD out of the player and Frisbee it off an overpass or something. But I liked what Anthony Hopkins was trying to do here and admired the way he did it. So if you're slightly nutty yourself, you just might go coo-coo for SLIPSTREAM.
Originally posted on 3/29/21
Originally posted on 8/7/08
While I've always liked James Brown, I was never what you'd call a big fan. Now, after viewing Shout! Factory's 3-disc set I GOT THE FEELIN': JAMES BROWN IN THE '60s, I have a much deeper appreciation for both his talent as a musician and the important role he played in the civil rights movement. The biggest surprise for me, in fact, was the discovery of an incident in Boston following Martin Luther King's assassination, which makes this DVD set not only an irresistible record of Brown's musical prowess at the time but also the compelling account of a fascinating moment in American history.
I wanted to save the Boston stuff for later and indulge in some pure entertainment right away, so the first disc I watched was "James Brown Live at the Apollo '68." Originally broadcast as a television special entitled "James Brown: Man to Man", the image and sound quality are pretty rough at times--the early color video is especially bad at first, although it improves as it goes along. It helps to think of this as a priceless recording that we're lucky to have, warts and all, rather than dwelling on its imperfections. For me, they were soon forgotten as I became engrossed in James Brown's electrifying performance before a fiercely appreciative audience in the legendary Harlem theater.
Sweat pouring from his face, Brown earns his nickname as "the hardest working man in show business" as he gives his all during each number, belting out one classic after another with his heart and soul. The songs include "I Got the Feelin'", "It's a Man's, Man's, Man's World", "I Feel Good", "Please, Please, Please" and twelve more, usually with one segueing right into the next. The backup band is hot, and with each song Brown gets into a groove and works it for all it's worth with his customary showmanship, including those patented dance steps, mike stand acrobatics, and that delightfully dramatic robe routine as a finale. The direction is really terrible during the show and the psychedelic '60s camera effects are a major distraction, but that's the way stuff like this was usually televised back then and the whole thing serves as a time capsule of its era.
A brief documentary portion shows Brown walking the streets of Watts and Harlem, commenting on what should be done to improve conditions in such communities ("My fight now is for the Black America to become American.") With a running time of almost fifty minutes, the Apollo show is augmented by James Brown's 1964 performance of "Out of Sight" on THE T.A.M.I. SHOW, plus two more songs from a 1967 show at L'Olympia in Paris.
Originally posted on 5/26/21
Currently watching: the 1967 follow-up to FIREBALL 500 and the last gasp of American-International's Frankie and/or Annette teen pictures, THUNDER ALLEY.
By now, Frankie Avalon has split to do his own thing, so Annette Funicello is left to carry this one with new leading man, teen idol Fabian (who played Frankie's rival in the previous film).
That's not all that has changed. This time, nearly all of the comedy has been scrapped along with any hint of farce, surrealism, cartoony characters, etc. in order to give us a straight-forward racing saga in which people have sex, get wildly drunk at parties where dancing girls strip their clothes off, and try to kill each other on the track, sometimes successfully.
As a change of pace, THUNDER ALLEY is actually pretty successful itself. Fabian is just the right choice to play famous driver Tommy Callahan, who has odd flashbacks during a race because of a childhood trauma and accidentally causes another driver's death. This makes him a pariah who is shunned by his peers and thrown out of professional racing.
Annette returns as Francie, a stunt driver working for her small-time entrepreneur dad Pete (Jan Murray) in his "Hell Drivers"-type auto show. When a desperate Tommy comes to Pete for work, he's forced to assume the name "Killer Callahan" to draw curious crowds.
Meanwhile, Tommy's girlfriend Annie (Diane McBain) doesn't like the relationship forming between Tommy and Francie, and neither does Francie's fellow stunt driver Eddie (Warren Berlinger in one of his better roles), who digs her.
But while all that romantic stuff is going on, we get to see plenty of real-life stock car racing action and fiery, metal-crunching carnage filmed at actual raceways and worked into the plot as Tommy fights to regain his former glory with the reckless Eddie as a dogged competitor.
To make things even more hairy, a whole gang of bad guy racers led by hothead Leroy (Michael Bell) are out for his blood. It all comes down to the big final race, which provides more than enough to delight fans of this kind of action.
Familiar faces dot the supporting cast, including Stanley Adams (Cyrano Jones in "Star Trek: The Trouble With Tribbles"), gorgeous and funny Maureen Arthur (HOW TO SUCCEED IN BUSINESS WITHOUT REALLY TRYING, THE LOVE GOD?), Kip King ("The Rifleman: The Dead-Eye Kid"), and some stalwart holdovers from the beach pictures (Sally Sachse, Mary Hughes).
Replacing previous director and scripter William Asher ("Bewitched") are prolific TV writer Sy Salkowitz and director Richard Rush (HELLS ANGELS ON WHEELS), who would go on to direct such high-profile films as FREEBIE AND THE BEAN, THE STUNT MAN, and COLOR OF NIGHT.
Music is by Mike Curb, with just a couple of racing-related songs on the soundtrack and a single number by Annette (one of her better ones). Fabian, thank goodness, spares us his sub-par crooning but is more than adequate in the lead role.
The borderline sleazy ad campaign for the film includes the tagline "Their god is speed! Their pleasure an 'anytime girl'!" so there's definitely a different audience being targeted this time. Or maybe the same audience, but a little older and looking for some stronger stuff.
Thinking that this late entry in the American-International teen genre would be a weak fizzle, I was surprised to find THUNDER ALLEY even more absorbing than its crash-em-up predecessor. It's by far the better film, thanks largely to director Richard Rush, and one of the most enjoyable films of its kind.
One of director Quentin Tarantino's many visual callbacks: his alternate title for DEATH PROOF (2007), which we see only for a split-second before being replaced by a crude "Death Proof" insert, is obviously inspired by the main title for THUNDER ALLEY.
