Only now does it occur to me... CIRCLE OF IRON

Only now does it occur to me...  um... where to begin?  At the beginning, the middle, or the end?  Truly they are all the same, because the beginning is the middle as well as the end, and of course there never was a beginning, middle, or end.  Like a circle.  Of Iron.

So... CIRCLE OF IRON is a quasi-mystical martial arts action epic (based on a story by Bruce Lee and James Coburn!) that harvests that fertile ground where "Kung Fu-Samuel Beckett" and "Bible-themed community theater" intersect.  Don't believe me?  Here's Eli Wallach soaking in a tub in the middle of the desert, trying to dissolve himself in oil to prove a metaphysical point:

Samuel Beckett's lesser known martial arts play, WAITING FOR G'DEATH-BLOW.

Here's Christopher Lee, offering us a flower, donning a resewn pillowcase headpiece, and instructing us about the nature of existence:

They easily could have gone with this instead of the "modified 90s Cher" look for Saruman.

Here's a wacky-wigged David Carradine (who plays–count 'em– four roles!), ready to rumble and tearing off his robe to reveal a man-bra/S&M harness made out of Treasure Trolls' jewels:

Also– he's kind of pulling it off!

Here's Roddy McDowall, possibly wearing a woman's spandex leggings as a hat, and overseeing some sort of wizard kumite:

I think now we should call him "Rowdy Roddy" McDowall.

What a day for a kumite.

And, in a possible nod to Roddy's role in the PLANET OF THE APES films, this universe also has kung fu monkey men:

Budget was an issue.

And we mustn't forget the glorious Jeff Cooper as "Cord," the seeker of knowledge, whom you would never guess was on THE YOUNG AND THE RESTLESS and DALLAS:

In the end, it's BLOODSPORT at a monastery, equal parts drive-in trash and Zen metaphysics, the no man's land between watching EL TOPO and being trapped in conversation with your crazy uncle.  And for that, CIRCLE OF IRON, I salute you.

Book Review: THREE BAD MEN: JOHN FORD, JOHN WAYNE, WARD BOND (2013, Scott Allen Nollen)

I'm a longtime fan of John Ford (who isn't, really?), the patron-saint of Monument Valley, born-again Irishman, and director of some of the best-constructed, most thoughtful films to come out of Hollywood, from THE INFORMER to THE MAN WHO SHOT LIBERTY VALANCE to THE QUIET MAN to THE GRAPES OF WRATH.
John Wayne is, so to speak, John Wayne, though his work frequently transcends the "movie star" mold with a dancer's grace and a touch of madness like in Ford's THE SEARCHERS, Hawks' RED RIVER, and Siegel's THE SHOOTIST.
Then, there's Ward Bond: a character actor extraordinaire who played brutes and cowpokes and priests and boxers across more than two hundred films.  Though his supporting work with Ford and Wayne is why he's included in this trio, my soft spot for him will always be his one and only shot at top-billing in 1942's HITLER: DEAD OR ALIVE, a film that clearly inspired INGLOURIOUS BASTERDS and contains the fabulous spectacle of Ward slapping the shit out of Hitler himself ...before proceeding to force-shave off his mustache! 

Anyway, I just finished reading Scott Allen Nollen's in-depth examination of the lives and work of these three cinematic giants, and I highly recommend it as a fascinating study for burgeoning old-Hollywood aficionados and serious fans of cinema alike.  Chronologically tracing the intertwining lives of these three "good-bad men" who were not unlike the characters in their films (Ford directed Bond and Wayne in nearly thirty pictures each), Nollen is at once objective and affectionate in his analysis, and there's a wealth of source material including documents, letters, telegrams, and plenty of rare photographs.  There are riveting anecdotes (I may now actually be inspired to read Harry Carey, Jr.'s autobiography), some great yarn-spinning (including tales of Ward Bond's brutish, high-flying, indecent-exposing, Wile E. Coyote-style antics and his ruining of a key scene in THE SEARCHERS when he unplugged the camera to plug in his electric razor!), and the work definitely touches on their peccadillos and absurdities, though never salaciously.

It's deftly written and never dry; while many books of this kind become bogged down by academic posturing, Nollen remains true to the spirit of his subjects and opts for a two-fisted, no bullshit approach.  I really appreciate how deeply he throws himself into the work, freely admitting "a meaningful (though a bit one-sided) conversation with a tombstone or two."  He's as a film writer should be– intense, obsessive, and highly-focused; reverent without succumbing to hollow adulation.

The main drive of the work is the examination of the complex personal and working relationship between the three (though large swaths of the book are dedicated to advancing the underrated Ward Bond to his rightful place in the pantheon).  None of these men could really be pinned down or branded with a particular stereotype– each had a volatile mix of id and ego (often sprinkled heavily with alcohol) that fused together to create a kind of perfect storm of filmic art. 
The complex psychology of Ford's relationships with the two men is indeed worthy of an entire volume– you see a strange kind of ownership emerge, resulting from Ford's "discovering" of the two actors.  This ownership was generally expressed in verbal (and often physical) sadism as Ford became master of his "whipping boys," something which may have even tied into his potential bisexuality:

"Ford loved John Wayne and Ward Bond, but his true sexual orientation wasn't something he would have discussed with them, or anyone else.  When it came to his own life and psyche, Pappy [Ford] avoided the truth, exaggerated, lied, or just didn't 'have any goddamn idea.'  The positive emotions he felt for his two favorite actors and whipping boys may have been the underlying cause of his negative, sadistic treatment of them (and himself); but even a lifetime of psychoanalysis may not have 'proved' anything."

Vindictive and controlling, Ford "froze out" Wayne for eight years when he appeared in a rival director's Western (Raoul Walsh's THE BIG TRAIL) and later, when Bond made serious forays into television (WAGON TRAIN) and Wayne tried to direct a picture of his own (THE ALAMO), Ford would sometimes install himself as a presence on set and attempt to undermine/co-opt the work therein.  These behaviors even extended beyond the trio– he punched out Henry Fonda (!) on MISTER ROBERTS and made cruel, deliberate use of alcohol to wring earth-shattering, hungover performances out of the likes of Victor McLaglen in THE INFORMER and Woody Strode in SERGEANT RUTLEDGE.

Though he reveals these men "warts and all," Nollen also paints a portrait of devoted friends and masterful artists whose lives and creative outlets meshed almost completely.  (For instance, despite the abuse, Ford chose Bond to play his own alter-ego in the deeply personal THE WINGS OF EAGLES.) 

Nollen takes on the accusations of racism in Ford's films, and reveals his struggle to show all sides despite the constraints of the system– especially evident in films like THE SEARCHERS, SERGEANT RUTLEDGE, and CHEYENNE AUTUMN.  He tackles the strange political spectrum of the men, too, with John Ford's patriotic progressivism, Wayne's conservatism, and Ward Bond's ultraconservatism (and yet it was Ford who took his camera overseas into the crucible of World War II while Wayne and Bond remained in Hollywood).  He doesn't shy away from Ward Bond's shameful behavior in the McCarthy era as a supporter of the blacklist:

"The social climbing Bond's ultimate political affront to Ford involved an invitation to a party he was throwing for Senator Joseph McCarthy.  His great mentor [Ford] simply answered, 'You can take your party and shove it.  I wouldn't meet that guy in a whorehouse.  He's a disgrace and a danger to our country.'"

Bond's involvement with the blacklist feels like a moral counterpoint to Ford's extensive work with the U.S. armed forces in World War II and beyond, and much attention here is paid to his military career (I learned that in North Africa a Nazi actually surrendered himself to John Ford!) 

Along the way, Nollen delves into a vast spectrum of material including Ford's relationship with his older brother Francis (mentor, actor, and silent film director), Ford's gleeful propensity for Chaucer/Shakespearean-style low comedy and his hilariously bizarre obsession with highlighting Ward Bond's "horse's ass" in shot compositions ("Although FORT APACHE is a serious examination of the mythology of the American West, it humorously can be branded Ford's 'ass-travaganza'").  Of particular interest to me were Ford's work with Victor McLaglen (whose performance in THE INFORMER is one of the greatest in filmdom), his direction of genius child actor and later genre-movie legend Roddy McDowall in HOW GREEN WAS MY VALLEY,  Bond's artistic process as unofficial show-runner on WAGON TRAIN, and the compelling, touching latter-day friendship between Ford and Woody Strode– and the book certainly has some genuinely emotional, poignant moments as the three "good-bad" men's lives dwindle to a close.

In the end, it definitely gets you amped up to watch some John Ford films– I've probably seen at least two dozen or so at this point, but there's still scores more I need to get my hands on, and there's obviously some big gaps in my knowledge.  For instance, since I've read THREE BAD MEN, MISTER ROBERTS, THEY WERE EXPENDABLE, 3 GODFATHERS, and WAGON MASTER have now leapt to the forefront of my queue.

THREE BAD MEN is published by McFarland (Order line: 800-253-2187), ISBN 978-0-7864-5854-7

Film Review: FRIGHT NIGHT (1985, Tom Holland)

Stars: 4.5 of 5.
Running Time: 106 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Chris Sarandon (CHILD'S PLAY, THE RESURRECTED, DOG DAY AFTERNOON), William Ragsdale (HERMAN'S HEAD, FRIGHT NIGHT 2), Amanda Bearse (MARRIED WITH CHILDREN, THE DOOM GENERATION), Roddy McDowall (PLANET OF THE APES, CLEOPATRA, "The Bookworm" on 60s TV BATMAN), Stephen Geoffreys (976-EVIL, AT CLOSE RANGE), Jonathan Stark (HOUSE II: THE SECOND STORY, PROJECT X). Music by Brad Fiedel (THE TERMINATOR, TERMINATOR 2). Cinematography by Jan Kiesser (SOME KIND OF WONDERFUL, V.I. WARSHAWSKI). Casting by Jackie Burch (DIE HARD, PREDATOR, THE BREAKFAST CLUB).
Tag-line: "If you love being scared, it'll be the night of your life."
Best one-liner: "Welcome to Fright Night! For real."

Good 'ole FRIGHT NIGHT. One of the seminal 80s classicks, it marked the directorial debut of fun-luvin' horror master Todd Holland (CHILD'S PLAY, TALES FROM THE CRYPT, THINNER). Sort of a wonderful cross between 'SALEM'S LOT and REAR WINDOW, FRIGHT NIGHT is a loving paean to Late-Nite-TV monster movie programming and the kids who loved watching it, a proto-'BURBS which unmasks your local neighborhood as a hotbed of bloodshed and other terrifying happenings. Without further adieu, my favorite things about FRIGHT NIGHT:

#1. The Bradbury-esque, small-town-in-Autumn atmosphere.

I'm a sucker for this specific aesthetic every time it crops up, from HALLOWEEN (yes, I know it was actually filmed in the springtime) to SLEEPY HOLLOW to PHANTASM to THE STEPFATHER to THE MONSTER SQUAD to IN THE MOUTH OF MADNESS. Hell, even ERNEST SCARED STUPID benefits from its presence. Autumn's always been my favorite time of year, and something about the stiff suburban breezes blowing fall leaves, the bedroom curtains billowing in the crisp, night air... a comforting, small-town milieu with just a whisper of menace. Basically, if a film can make me feel one tenth as immersed as I am while reading SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES then it's pretty damn successful.

#2. Jonathan Stark. We've seen him in HOUSE II: THE SECOND STORY. We've seen him as a bartender who nearly steals Sam's job in the sixth season of CHEERS. But here, as a totally assholish Renfield-type, we have the finest performance of his career.

His dickery knows no bounds ("Well, what do we have here? Vampire-killers?"), and he plays the whole thing like a totally committed 80s high school villain, a perpetual, open-mouthed 'Oh yeaaaaaah?' snarfy grin etched across his face. He's the perfect sidekick for Chris Sarandon, whose legendary performance shall be discussed just a little bit later.

#3. The FX people had a helluva lot of fun.

It's pehaps only rivaled by EVIL DEAD in terms of the love, dedication, and sheer enjoyment that the FX guys clearly poured into every ladle of blood, outpouring of slime, and various creatures and makeup effects.

#4. The music. From the Tangerine Dream-RISKY BUSINESS-style seduction scene rhythms to the guitar and reverb-heavy drum riffs, Brad Fiedel's work firmly entrenches us in the here and now, those glorious, glorious 80s.

#5. Evil Ed.

Played by Stephen Geoffreys, Evil Ed is simultaneously hilarious, tragic, and covered occasionally in varying degrees of latex, fur, and fangs. He brings a great deal to a role which could have easily been a phoned-in "zany friend." Geoffreys has been nominated for a Tony award, starred in Robert Englund's directorial debut (976-EVIL), and inspired the title of a Swedish 90's horror comedy. Also, he apparently retired from traditional acting for nearly twenty-odd-years to star in gay porn, including such evocatively titled fare as LATIN CROTCH ROCKETS and LEATHER BUDDIES. I'll let that all sink in for a minute.

#6. The surprising, nuanced, incredible pathos of Roddy McDowell.

I suppose it shouldn't come as a surprise, per se, but in a horror flick with darkly comedic underpinnings, I guess you're not expecting Roddy to be swinging for the heart-wrenchin' fences. As a washed-up late-nite TV host and former horror legend, he plumbs the depths of being fired from his job (lamenting the new era of hockey-masked killers) and being desperate enough to humor and then take the money of teenagers. But it all somehow culminates in the scene pictured above, whereupon Roddy sees the humanity in a death throes of what ostensibly is a monster. Somehow an entire career of pretending to slay creatures of the night on screens both big and small tumbles down in the welling of tears, in the the harsh, visceral, cruel actuality of it all. Later, Chris Sarandon's vampire dickishly quips, "Welcome to Fright Night! For real," and it's hilarious, but here, we're subjected to the exact same sentiment but sprinkled with this unexpected air of despondency. It's great.

#7.

The little girl (pictured nearly all the way to the left) cutting a mean rug at the late-nite club. Were they not checking ID that night? I don't believe it's meant to be a gag because we only ever see her within the crowd in a long shot. Were they that low on extras? Was she the gaffer's niece or something? These are questions that I fear may never be answered.

#8. Through the window.... THREE TIMES!


At one point, Chris Sarandon leaps through a window. Yes, this is something that happens, and this is something that I applaud. I also applaud the fact that Holland shows it to us three times, and from different angles. I love this movie.

#9. And now for a tribute to Chris Sarandon in FRIGHT NIGHT, one of the most spectacularly douche-ified villains to ever grace the silver screen.

CHRIS SARANDON IS HITTING ON YOUR MOM


CHRIS SARANDON IS OWNING THE DANCE FLOOR IN THIS SWEATSHIRT


CHRIS SARANDON IS STEALING YOUR GIRLFRIEND AND PREVENTING YOU FROM HAVING A GOOD TIME


CHRIS SARANDON IS KILLING ALL THE BOUNCERS


CHRIS SARANDON IS WEARING A TURTLENECK NOW AND HE KNOWS WHERE YOU LIVE


OH YES, HE DOES

The exquisite douchery of Chris Sarandon in this movie ought to be enshrined as a national treasure. If he's importing big-city hookers and cultivating an art collection and preying on the populace, why the hell did he move to the suburbs? More importantly, who cares?!

GOTCHA

Like Jonathan Stark, he too occasionally plays it like a high school bully. After a miniature showdown with his kiddie nemesis he seeks revenge by... destroying his automobile!

He chortles, he snickers, he exudes conceit. A raised eyebrow, a superior pursing of the lips, a disdainful leer. He's got a smoove 80s walk and a way with the ladies. He smugly whistles to himself and somehow makes even the act of eating an apple an exercise in self-congratulation. He makes dancefloor moves to a song which is apparently titled "I Fight the Chemistry," because that's what the singer keeps repeating. He seduces/nearly rapes an underage gal to the schwingin' tones of a sleazy saxophone.

Oh boy. He's droppin' a douchebomb on this town, and there may be no survivors. The effect is only amplified when he's alongside Jonathan Stark.


There shoulda been a prequel chronicling these two buddies' zany, condescending misadventures. I would pay good money for that.

Anyway, my point is– if you haven't seen FRIGHT NIGHT, don't be so sad that Halloween has passed. Autumn's still got a solid month left, and Thanksgiving be damned!

–Sean Gill

Film Review: CLASS OF 1984 (1982, Mark L. Lester)

Stars: 4 of 5.
Running Time: 98 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Roddy McDowall, Perry King, Michael J. Fox, writer Tom Holland (who wrote CLOAK AND DAGGER, and wrote and directed CHILD'S PLAY and FRIGHT NIGHT).
Tag-lines: "We are the future!... and nothing can stop us."
Best one-liner: " Come and get it, teacher teacher!"

How would you like it if you were just sitting there on your couch, minding your own business, watching GOODBYE MR. CHIPS, and then BAM!, Robert Donat crawls out of the TV and punches you in the mouth! If that sounds like a swell evening to you, then you are gonna get a big kick out of CLASS OF 1984. Proudly following in the tradition of high school-sploitation from HIGH SCHOOL CONFIDENTIAL to MASSACRE AT CENTRAL HIGH, it delivers B-movie thrills, ridiculous punk fashions, drug trips, violent deaths, and an inspirational concert worthy of MR. HOLLAND'S OPUS......IN HELL!!!

It's pretty inconceivable that this brutal, gritty exclamation point of a movie came from the director of the white-bred, boring ROLLER BOOGIE. This isn't about kids at school- it's about Neo-Nazi punks in a graffiti-laden concrete husk! There aren't clashes between teachers and students– in this movie, it's outright WAR!

Roddy McDowall packs heat and holds biology class at gunpoint!

Student vs. teacher above an industrial arts table saw! Michael J. Fox gets shivved!

The deck hasn't been this stacked this high against a movie’s villains since DIRTY HARRY. The punk kids here are murderers, rapists, pimps, thieves, junkies and basically anything and everything you can imagine.

A typical after-school scene: a girl walks into their hang-out wanting to join up with them. They make her strip, inspect her, have sex with her, and then another gal speaks up- "She'll hook for us." WHAAAAAAT?!

But there's depth, too. Teachers feeling the ultimate, boiling frustration of being unable to teach, make good, or even make an impact. Roddy (who gets extra points for doing much of his own stunt driving) delivers some heartbreaking monologues that actually hit home. Ultimately, I imagine this offers a great deal of catharsis to teachers who secretly wish they could perpetrate some serious violence on the hooligans in their midst! Four stars.

-Sean Gill