R.I.P, Glenda Jackson

One of the greats is gone. A two-time Oscar winner, the fire that fueled several of Ken Russell's greatest films (THE MUSIC LOVERS, WOMEN IN LOVE), host of THE MUPPET SHOW, a member of parliament. I'm so glad I got to see her live as KING LEAR in 2019. It's no exaggeration to say she was one of the most fearless and talented performers of all time.

Only now does it occur to me... DR. MABUSE––THE GAMBLER (1922)

Only now does it occur to me... a few thoughts about DR. MABUSE––THE GAMBLER, a criminally underrated work in the Fritz Lang oeuvre. 

While, like some epics of the era, it doesn't quite have enough plot to justify it's four-and-a-half hour runtime, it's still a dizzying, edgy roller-coaster of pure Weimar id, German Expressionistic fantasy, and creeping zeitgeist horror. Probably better translated as "DR. MABUSE––THE PLAYER" (in German, "spieler" refers to game-player, gambler, actor, and puppeteer, and Dr. Mabuse is certainly all four). 

Mabuse (Rudolph Klein-Rogge, the mad doctor of METROPOLIS) is a hypnotist/gangster/psychologist/master-of-disguise/general trickster/proto-Batman villain whose schemes have enveloped most of Berlin. The great film theorist Siegfried Kracauer saw Mabuse as among a "procession of tyrants" in post-WWI German film who foreshadowed the rise of Hitler.

Fritz Lang is really at the height of his powers here: in his staging and imagery, in his use of texture and dimension, in his contrast between stillness and motion––whether he's depicting a the mass hallucination of a Bedouin procession in a Berlin theater:

Otherworldly séances:

Powerful tableaus that resemble Renaissance paintings:

The expressionistic/Bauhaus interior design of Weimar's 1%:

For all its stylish exaggerations, it's an important time capsule of the era.

Decadent Weimar nightlife realness:

Which includes one unforgettably over-the-top display of insanity, whereupon a pas de trois commences between a dancer and two giant, terrifying (papier-mâché?) heads with exceptionally phallic noses and suspiciously testicular cheekbones.

These dudes seem to like the production design just fine

Then, in a visual worthy of Ken Russell, she ascends the noses and dances atop them until they climax with a "sneeze" that, incidentally, blows away most of her outfit and leaves her with

a creepy baby...

Hot damn, Fritz! Legitimately one of the more unexpected sequences in a silent––or any––film.

Finally, I must note the majesty of  Mabuse's descent into madness, which definitely prefigures the Moloch sequence from METROPOLIS. Here, pieces of industrial equipment are reimagined as quasi-mythical monstrosities which come to life and torment the much-deserving Dr. Mabuse.

It's also worth noting that this is the state in which we find Mabuse at the beginning of THE TESTAMENT OF DR. MABUSE (1933), Fritz Lang's brilliant sequel, which I also cannot recommend enough.

RIP, Ken Russell

I'm depressed to report that the irrepressibly brilliant and brilliantly irrepressible British director Ken Russell died yesterday at the age of 84 after a series of strokes. Russell was and is one of the greatest filmmakers to ever work in the medium, and directed two of my all-time favorites, THE DEVILS and THE MUSIC LOVERS, among many, many others. Probably best known for his absurdist phallic/Catholic imagery and movies like TOMMY, ALTERED STATES, and the Oscar-nominated WOMEN IN LOVE, the Ken Russell catalogue is bursting with hidden treasures (like GOTHIC, THE BOY FRIEND, THE RAINBOW, SALOME'S LAST DANCE), nearly unavailable classics (SAVAGE MESSIAH, THE MUSIC LOVERS, THE DEVILS, MAHLER, DANCE OF THE SEVEN VEILS), and astounding trashterpieces (THE LAIR OF THE WHITE WORM, CRIMES OF PASSION, LISZTOMANIA).

I was lucky enough to see Mr. Russell several times last summer in the midst of a retrospective of his work at Lincoln Center, and he was a charming little old man with a quiet voice and a quick wit. At a screening of THE BOY FRIEND, a film starring the stick-thin fashion model Twiggy and the 6' 7'' beanpole dancer Tommy Tune, he was asked by an audience member, "Why did you cast Twiggy?" He pursed his lips and chirped in his inimitable British inflection, "...because I wanted someone to make Tommy Tune look... small." Later, someone shouted out, "Who's your favorite rock star?," to which he responded, plainly, "Beethoven." I was even able to meet the man himself after a screening of THE MUSIC LOVERS, and, still held rapt by the power of the images I'd just seen, was only able to mumble something brief and complimentary, but it was a powerful moment to come face to face with one of the great image makers of the Twentieth Century. His passing pains me, but his films are a gift– and they pulsate with a colorful imagination, a rich vitality, and a visceral hyper-realness that may never be matched. To encapsulate my love for the man and his films, let me finish with a perfect quote from the man himself: "This is not the age of manners. This is the age of kicking people in the crotch and telling them something and getting a reaction. I want to shock people into awareness. I don't believe there is any virtue in understatement."

So here's to the man who tamed Oliver Reed, who let loose the white worm, who sent Liszt on a spaceship and unmasked Wagner's vampiric tendencies. Here's to a man who could devastate and could entertain, and sometimes, when the light was just right and the wind was up, could do both at once. You will be missed.

Film Review: CRIMES OF PASSION (1984, Ken Russell)

Stars: 4 of 5.
Running Time: 112 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Kathleen Turner (ROMANCING THE STONE, SERIAL MOM), Anthony Perkins (PSYCHO, THE TRIAL), John Laughlin (THE ROCK, FOOTLOOSE), Bruce Davison (APT PUPIL, X-MEN), Annie Potts (GHOSTBUSTERS, CORVETTE SUMMER), Stephen Lee (THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM, WARGAMES). Soundtrack by Rick Wakeman of Yes.
Tag-line: "Her name is China Blue. She is watched. She is worshipped. And, she must remain a mystery."
Best one-liner: "If you think you're gonna' get back in my panties, forget it. There's one asshole in there already."

CRIMES OF PASSION is ridiculous fucking and it's fucking ridiculous. It's not often that I'm afforded the opportunity to generate such elegant prose, but, hey- we're talkin' Ken Russell.

Kathleen Turner plays 'China Blue,' high-powered fashion designer by day and fifty-buck "pavement princess" by night. Anthony Perkins plays a street preacher who's dippin' his big toe in the red light district, and subsequently lightin' his fire with a little hellfire and brimstone, if you will.

John Laughlin is a disaffected suburbanite who's about to be inducted into a ramshackle world of peep shows, "grubby 'hos," and immodest clothes.

It's cheap n' gritty sleazefest with Argento lighting, dildo-shaped weapons, weapon-shaped dildos, and an evocative Rick Wakeman soundtrack that's a reimagining of Dvorak's New World Symphony- which may or may not be an in-joke on 'New World Pictures,' who produced the film.

I can try to explain this movie using cultural touchstones like PSYCHO and DRESSED TO KILL and SWEET CHARITY and NIGHT OF THE HUNTER, but you know what, I'm simply gonna come up short. Suffice it to say that I learned a lot from CRIMES OF PASSION. I definitely learned more about the anatomy of perversion than in, say, my sixth grade health class. Allow me to share a few kernels of wisdom with you:

#1. "There are three things you gotta know to be a fifty buck hooker: how to act, how to fuck, and how to count to fifty."

Kathleen Turner counts to fifty.

#2. J&B can be informally used as mouthwash, if the occasion permits.

And check out that awesome fucking wallpaper.

#3. Ken Russell is insane, and unapologetic about his insanity. I really respect that.




#4. But on a related note, who would have guessed that we'd have to wait until the fifty-four minute-mark for a depiction of a nun-themed sex scene?

That shows uncommon restraint. I take back the insanity comment.

#5. Kathleen Turner starred in the #8 box office performer of 1984, ROMANCING THE STONE. It takes brass balls to- in the same year- star in a movie where she has brutal handcuff sex with a police officer and then sodomizes him with his own nightstick.

As a side note, CRIMES OF PASSION could have easily been titled ROMANCING THE STONE. Of course, the stone in question would probably have been a weapon-shaped dildo, but still, that's still quite something to consider.

#6. "I never forget a face, especially when I've sat on it." This thing is a veritable font of streetwalkin' one-liners.

#7. A bizarre man-phallus reenactment is a common occurance at family cookouts.


#8. There is an uncanny connection between Anthony Perkins and Jeffrey Combs that I never realized until I saw Perkins, in nerd glasses, acting like a lunatic.



#9. Anthony Perkins can and will flagellate you with a "Beat 'em and eat 'em licorice whip." Does this sort of thing actually exist, or is it a figment of Ken Russell's fevered imagination? Debate in the comments section below.


In the end, silliness aside, it's a fine film. Atmospheric and strange, it's Russell's meditation on society's obsessions with artificiality and debasement. From casual, thrill-seeking perambulators of the red-light district to yowling 'performance artists' at group therapy to those who prefer plastic flowers to real ones (because they don't die), Ken Russell takes aim at your synthetic lifestyle and fires a nutty salvo of eye-candy, genius performances, social commentary, and random freaky nonsense. It doesn't always hit home, but it's bold enough for me to recommend. Four stars.

Film Review: TRAPPED ASHES (2006, Various)

Stars: 2 of 5.
Running Time: 105 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Segments directed by Joe Dante (GREMLINS, MATINEE, EXPLORERS), Ken Russell (THE MUSIC LOVERS, THE DEVILS, ALTERED STATES), Sean S. Cunningham (FRIDAY THE 13TH, DEEPSTAR SIX, A STRANGER IS WATCHING), Monte Hellman (THE SHOOTING, TWO-LANE BLACKTOP, SILENT NIGHT DEADLY NIGHT III), and John Gaeta (visual effects supervisor on the MATRIX trilogy). With John Saxon (NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET, TENEBRE), Henry Gibson (MAGNOLIA, THE BURBS, NASHVILLE), Dick Miller (BUCKET OF BLOOD, TRUCK TURNER, GREMLINS), and a bunch of youngsters who don't bear mentioning.
Tag-line: "Five tales of terror."
Best one-liner: "Alright, let's just tell some scary stories and see what happens."

I'm not going to beat around the bush: TRAPPED ASHES is not a great investment of your time. Part poor man's Roger Corman and part poor man's TALES FROM THE CRYPT, but polished and overproduced to the extent that it's devoid of any charm, TRAPPED ASHES is your typical latter-day horror omnibus disappointment. One of the primary warning signs is the script's incessant use of that distinguished rejoinder, "Whatever!" Yes, it's one of those. Those post-Kevin Williamson horror scripts that are a little too self-aware, pop-culturey, and self-approvingly contrived for their own good. The acting (aside from a few well-known character actors who acquit themselves admirably) is sterile, hackneyed, and often accompanied by cringeworthy accentuations like "You're a... FREAK!"

The frame story is directed by Joe Dante, and while it's nice to see Dick Miller's obligatory cameo,

things get bogged down rather quickly by an unlikable young cast thrust into the rather forced scenario of "strangers trapped in a room and forced to tell scary stories." The frame segment would be a complete bust if not for a deliciously nutty performance by Dante-alum Henry Gibson as as the tour guide/master of ceremonies.

Speaking in garishly hushed tones, his eyes flitting to and fro, his eyebrows curling with incredulity– Gibson's having a ball. And why shouldn't he? What has he got to lose.

He is milking this for all it's worth.

It's not quite enough to save the movie, but certainly enough for me to award the film an extra star or so.

Also, John Saxon is wandering around:

This is a good thing. But give him something to do other than eyebrow indicate.

Most of the segments are not really worthy of discussion- a few of the directors imbue their pieces with visual flair, but the scripts are not even worthy to be the dregs of Showtime's Masters of Horror. First-timer John Gaeta's tale of a sibling-parasite is unremarkable; Sean S. Cunningham's tentacle-porn and necrophilia-infused tale of J-Horror is about as klassy as you'd expect from a man who's always enjoyed hopping on a nice n' sleazy bandwagon; and Monte Hellman- one of the great maverick directors of the 60's and 70's- makes a valiant effort (but one which is ultimately in vain) on a by-the-numbers ménage a trois/femme fatale story called "Stanley's Girlfriend." It's the sort of thing you want to like, for Hellman's sake, so you're admiring the production design and the sepia lighting and pretending maybe you're watching NAKED LUNCH or something, but you can really only pretend it's holding your attention for so long. Loosely and seemingly arbitrarily, a young cypher of Stanley Kubrick is used as a character: vague references are made to PATHS OF GLORY and THE KILLING, exciting lovers of film trivia, but it begins to feel in poor taste by the time we get to his 1999 death and we're using it for a payoff involving vampires.


Saxon surfs the web.

But don't despair: there is one (mostly) solid segment. Now, maybe it seems better than it actually is in the midst of these bush-league terrors, or maybe it's because I'm a die hard Ken Russell fan, but "The Girl with the Golden Breasts" is the best of the bunch, and the only one to which I would award a begrudging 'thumbs up.' This tale of an aging (nearly 30!) actress who is surgically implanted with undead, vampiric breast tissue is no great shakes on paper, but Russell infuses it with his notorious attention to flamboyant visual detail and his bizarre, disturbing sense of humor.



At one point, CGI rears its ugly head or nipple or whatever, and the results are pretty mortifying, but if you're actually on board at this point, it probably won't detract from your overall enjoyment. It's especially vexing to me though, because Russell achieved a very similar effect in GOTHIC with a macabre puppet.

Anyway, it also helps that the lead of this segment, Rachel Veltri (apparently of FOR LOVE OR MONEY reality TV fame- yikes!) is generally more tolerable than her comrades. I think this is because she kind of reminded me of Mimi Rogers.

But before you know i–


Ken Russell himself as as the bewigged, besmocked, and lipstick-smeared "Dr. Lucy!"

Ending things on a note of utter lunacy, Ken Russell (here, 79) removes his smock and gives new meaning to the crass utterance "Show us your tits!" Whew.

On the whole, despite Ken's bravado, I cannot recommend this. Russell and Joe Dante devotees may wish to check it out (but be prepared to do a fair amount of fast-forwarding), and Monte Hellman devotees should just rewatch TWO-LANE BLACKTOP and call it day.

Two stars.

-Sean Gill