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Midnight Cowboy

Hercules in New York

Directed by Arthur Seidelman.

1969. Rated G, 92 minutes.

Cast:

Arnold Schwarzenegger

Arnold Stang

Deborah Loomis

Ernest Graves

James Karen

Tony Carroll

Taina Elg

Richard Herd

Tanny McDonald

Harold Burstein

When Hercules (Schwarzenegger) becomes bored with Mt. Olympus, he decides he wants to visit Earth and have a little fun. This little revelation comes much to the chagrin of Hercules' dad Zeus (Graves). Argue, argue, fuss, fuss, and Zeus gets pissed and sends Herc to Earth anyway. Okay, fine. Our hero lands in the middle of the ocean where he's picked up by a naval ship headed to New York. In the Big Apple, he meets a pencil necked geek named Pretzie (Stang) who helps him become a big-time professional wrestler. Of course, he also meets a girl. Her name is Helen (Loomis). For all of the movie, our hero exhibits all the intelligence of a stack of bricks with the subtlety of said bricks cracking you upside the head. Even so, he's suddenly a smooth talker when she's around. No surprise there. Anyhoo, Pretzie gets mixed up with some gangsters over Herc's athletic pursuits. Meanwhile, Zeus and the rest of the gods are keeping a watchful eye and deciding how to deal with him. All things hilariously rotten ensue.

What do I mean by hilariously rotten? For starters, most things meant to be funny aren't while most things meant to be serious are funny. A number of things happen that are just too ridiculous for words and its lack of budget is noticeable throughout. On top of that, our cast is not quite Oscar quality, to put it delicately. Almost everyone sounds as if they're reading their lines. Arnie's co-star, Arnold Stang is an exception, but his character is just too annoying to build on that capital. One of the minor players who went on to a long career is James Karen. His list of credits is longer than my legs. I'm sure you've seen him in something. Arnie's leading lady, Deborah Loomis, is pretty. As for her acting, she's pretty. Of course, there's Ah-nuld himself. Yeah, I'm going to need to start a new paragraph for him.

This is The Governator's first acting role, eight years before the documentary Pumping Iron and thirteen before his next starring gig as the lead in Conan the Barbarian. It's so far back, he didn't even use his real name. He's listed in the credits as Arnold Strong. True Story. His accent was still so thick that when Hercules in New York was originally released, his voice had been dubbed over by another actor's. Thankfully, I got to hear it in all its Austrian glory as the original track has been restored on the DVD. I understand why they dubbed it in the first place. I could've used some subtitles from time to time. That he has the accent is something he couldn't help, but not something I knock him for. What I do have to point out is that even if his diction were perfect his performance would still be painful to watch. His facial expression almost never changes to the point where it makes Kristen Stewart seem overly animated. Then, he delivers every line as flatly as possible.

Even Arnie's fight scenes leave a lot to be desired. Not yet the man who would rule the box office during my youth, he just lumbers through them with all the grace of a toddler's first step. He's not helped by what I'll generously call a lack of creative choreography and the camera being entirely too close. Then again, it has to be in one scene where the filmmakers are hopelessly trying to disguise the fact that the bear Arnie is fighting is a man in a suit. Even I couldn't tell that by looking at him, the fact he walks like a monkey is a dead giveaway. I'm not joking. Well, at least he always shines when the plot calls for him to take off and flex. By the way, this happens on a number of occasions. After having seen almost all of his other movies, HNY gives me new appreciation for just how far he has come as an actor.

The bottom line is that this is campy and cheesy, both with capital Cs. Better yet, scratch those. This is just plain goofy. As noted, Arnie's is beyond awful, the cast around him isn't all that much better and the script is atrocious. But here's the thing: it's so ridiculous and there are so many unintentional laughs to be had that it's just damn fun to watch.

Normally, I don't do clips but I couldn't resist this one. This scene contains the best acting in the entire movie. for Arnie, he gets to do what he does best: get topless and flex. For Deborah Loomis, it might be the first time she's ever been that close to so much half-naked man and may have been genuinely turned on. Yes, the whole thing is just that silly.

Okay, let's wrap this up. If you've been here before, and you've been paying attention, you know where I'm going with this. It's so bad, it's awesome!

House on Bare Mountain

Directed by Lee Frost.

1962. Not Rated, 62 minutes.

Cast:

Bob Cresse

Laine Carlin

Leticia Cooper

Laura Eden

Ann Perry

Connie Hudson

Dan Hyland

John Nada

Since the beginning of cinematic time there has always been crap. True, also, is there are varying degrees of crapiness. There is that painful crap that soils the screen with the difficult to excrete, hardened mass of its existence. Then, there is that joyous, smooth sliding crap. The turd itself, so happy to be crappy, revels in its own crappiness. It’s shape, size and smell are all sources of great pride in the crapper. House on Bare Mountain is just such crap. By the way, you only get one guess at where I was when I dreamed up this paragraph. Too much? Let’s move on.

Alledgedly, there is a plot. I’ll sketch it out as briefly as I can. Granny Good, of course played by a man in a dress (Cresse), runs a boarding school for girls. By the way, he’s definitely channeling Jonathan Winters for his performance. Granny is also a moonshiner. She doesn’t actually make it herself, though. She keeps a werewolf in the basemant who spends almost all of his time concocting the stuff. Yes, you read that correctly. Every now and again he sneaks out to bay at the moon. The cops send in Sally (Perry) to work undercover, presumably to bust the old lady.

As simple as it sounds, executing the story in a coherent manner proved too great a task for the masterminds behind this one. There is plenty of humor, both intentional and not. Dialogue ranges from dumb to slightly less dumb. The acting is pretty bad across the board with one exception. Cress is actually enjoyable as Granny Good. The of the cast obviously weren’t chosen for their skills as thespians. How do I know how the “actors” were chosen? The title offers a hint, but the (lack of) work by the wardrobe department is a dead giveaway. The young nubiles at “Granny Good’s School for Good Girls” rarely wear any clothing. This is quite literally a tits-n-ass movie. Since it is a flick from the 1960s, another part of the female anatomy remains off-camera. Nontheless, there is so much flesh on display the word “exploitation” doesn’t even begin to describe Bare Mountain.

Given what I’ve just told you, you may be incredulous as to what I’m going to say next. Truth is, there is an innocent vibe to the whole thing. It’s far different than boobie movies that would come out even less than a decade later. There is no sex or violence. One would be hard-pressed to find a trace of mean spiritedness. It’s just a bit over an hour of women walking around and doing other random things like shower (lots of showers, by the way), jump rope, read, and go up and down stairs in various stages of undress. I suppose you could argue the constant ogling of women is, in itself, mean. I won’t even try to dissuade you from your point. Certainly, I won’t try to say Bare Mountain has any artistic merit whatsoever. Still, it’s goofy fun for guys who feel like wasting sixty minutes, or so. It’s so bad, it’s awesome!

MY SCORE: -10/10

Mudhoney

Directed by Russ Meyer.

1962. Not Rated, 92 minutes.

Cast:

Hal Hopper

Antoinette Cristiani

John Furlong

Frank Bolger

Lorna Maitland

Rena Horten

Princess Livingston

Sam Hanna

Stuart Lancaster

Nick Wolcuff

Lee Ballard

Often, a movie is only as good as its villain. Mudhoney has a very good villain. His name is Sidney (Hopper). He’s a mean drunk that gets into fights at the local whorehouse whenever they refuse to give him freebies. After all, he is a loyal customer. Eventually, he staggers home, smacks around his wife, Hannah (Cristiani), and even rapes her. Against her father’s wishes, she stays with him, clinging to memories from when he was a better man. Sidney, on the other hand, is only hanging around because he, through Hannah, will inherit the farm they live on once his sickly father-in-law, Lute (Lancaster), kicks the bucket. He intends to sell it for all he can as soon as the old man’s body goes cold.

Since Sidney is no help with the upkeep, Hannah and her dad hire Calif (Furlong) as a live-in farmhand. Lute doesn’t want to hire him, mostly because of possible friction with Sidney. However, he likes Calif even though he’s picked up on the fact that the young man is fresh out of prison. It also becomes clear pretty quickly that Calif and Hannah have the hots for one another. They both respect her vows, but Sidney senses their obvious attraction. He takes every opportunity to antagonize Calif and remind him that Hanna is his woman.

Knowing this is a Russ Meyer film, I was ill-prepared for what I saw. I thought I was going to see a campy exploitation flick with outlandish scenes played for laughs and filled with large-breasted women badly reading sexually suggestive dialogue. That’s the director’s M.O. as I’ve encountered it. Instead, I saw a thoughtful, solidly directed morality tale that may have been ahead of its time. In other words, this is a genuinely intriguing movie.

I have to be completely honest, though. Mudhoney does have plenty of the elements I expected to get. Almost all of them involve the whorehouse, run by Maggie Marie (Livingston). Her only two workers are her daughters Clara Belle (Maitland), who talks a lot and Eula (Horten), who is ridiculously gorgeous but literally can’t talk at all. They don’t really add anything to the story. Their main function is to kick Sidney out when he gets too rowdy, provide us with a physical embodiment of his evil side and give us gratuitous nudity. Princess Livingston’s performance as Maggie Marie is akin to chalk screeching across a blackboard. Youngsters, if you’ve never experienced this youtube it, or something, with the sound up. It’s something that can’t (yet) be replicated on a dry-erase or smartboard. Aside from her, the acting as a whole leaves something to be desired. The dialogue is hammy at times, always lacking subtlety.

Flaws aside, perhaps even because of them, Meyer has crafted an entertaining, slyly poignant film. I’m certainly not suggesting this is among the era’s great movies. However, I will say it’s a step above the B-movie madness much of his canon gives us. He establishes characters we can root for and against. While each is merely a type and not a fully realized being there is some depth to our main players, some gravity to their situations. Whether by accident of him being prolific or somehow on purpose, Meyer has crafted a pretty solid flick.

Rosemary's Baby

Directed by Roman Polanski.

1968. Rated R, 136 minutes. 

Cast: 

Mia Farrow 

John Cassavetes 

Ruth Gordon 

Sidney Blackmer

Director Roman Planski's horror classic in which Rosemary believes there is a cult out to harm her and her unborn baby. Truth be told, it's more psychological thriller than horror. The movie's strength is predicated on the main character's mounting paranoia that we think is justified but aren't completely sure. This is due to some rather wicked dream sequences. They're so daring that even though the movie is over 40 years old it would still earn an an R rating and garner some outrage if it were made today. Mia Farrow's powerful performance makes the whole thing plausible. It's one of those performances that just gets better and better as the film goes along. During the first 15 or 20 minutes her work is nothing special. Her line deliveries are flat and everything about her suggest she's not up to the task of carrying a movie. By the end however, she has a commanding presence that you can't keep your eyes off. Most interesting is as Farrow's work grows stronger, her character is actually becoming weaker. Finally, the ambiguous ending and Polanski's great restraint just gives you an uneasy feeling as the final credits roll.

Psycho (1960)

Batman: The Movie

Directed by Leslie H. Martinson.

1966. Rated PG, 105 minutes.
Cast:
Adam West
Burt Ward
Lee Merriweather
Cesar Romero
Burgess Meredith
Frank Gorshin
Alan Napier
Neil Hamilton
Stafford Repp
Madge Blake
Reginald Denny

As a youngster, I used to watch reruns of the late 60s TV series “Batman” every weekday at 4:30 on channel 11, WPIX in New York. I’d even seen this movie several times. With both, I was enthralled by all the superhero action. I was amazed by Batman’s detective abilities. I eagerly waited to hear what exclamatory word or phrase Robin would use after “Holy” after we were both stunned by one of Batman’s revelations. The various ladies who played Catwoman all made me feel a little tingly. Best of all, I loved the fights. The way “BAM!” or “POW!” would pop up on the screen whenever one of our heroes connected with a punch was exhilarating stuff. Going back to this film so many years later makes me realize how dumb I was. I had no idea what I was watching. I hadn’t the foggiest notion of the comedic brilliance on display before my very eyes. Just so there is no doubt that what we’re about to see is not to be taken seriously, a blurb at the beginning tells us this movie is dedicated to “lovers of the ridiculous and the bizarre.” Of course, this meant nothing to me as a child. As an adult, it set the proper mood.

We jump into the plot with both feet. Four of Gotham’s super villains – The Joker (Romero), The Riddler (Gorshin), Catwoman (Merriweather) and The Penguin (Meredith) have joined forces. Together, they kidnap a famous inventor who’s created a thingamajig they’ll use to yada yada blah blah blah. Of course, it’s up to The Dynamic Duo, Batman (West) and Robin (Ward) to stop them. From there we get a relentless spoof of the Batman serials of the 1930s and 40s, even of comic books themselves. The unbelievable gadgets Batman whips out of his utility belt are hilarious. The sexual innuendos are nothing short of genius, including all sorts of jokes about Robin’s “inexperience.” Most of The Riddler’s riddles are wonderfully nonsensical. Finally, Batman is so smart even the most benign clues lead him to the correct answer. His pontification on each of these will make your head spin. We can’t forget those unbelievable escapes, either. This is where the skewering of the old serials is most evident. In those old shorts the heroes escaped impossible situations with flimsy explanations. Here, those explanations are remarkably thin. To make sure all these pieces congeal into a satisfying dish, a perfect tone is struck throughout. This includes almost always having the camera tilted just a bit whenever our focus is on the bad guys.

In the years since the TV series was cancelled, the Batman character has not only returned to his roots, he’s gone beyond them, becoming increasingly darker. On screen, this began in earnest with Tim Burton’s 1989 movie with Michael Keaton beneath the cowl and continues today. I, for one, am glad for it. Christopher Nolan is my hero for what he’s done with the franchise. The exceptions are the two Joel Schumacher entries into the Bat-canon, Batman Forever with Val Kilmer in the lead and Batman and Robin with George Clooney. It is these two movies that show us how great Batman: The Movie is. Schumacher’s flicks go for the same gusto that director Leslie H. Martinson goes for, but fails spectacularly. The purposely silly and slightly naughty dialogue is far more entertaining than having Arnold Schwarzenegger recite a million puns using the word ice.

With all that said, this isn’t for everyone. If you just have to have your Batman as a dark, brooding vigilante this is not for you. If you think movies such as the Austin Powers and The Naked Gun trilogies are stupid without being funny, this is not for you. If you’re not made to smile by reading the phrase “If I…could only reach…my utility belt!” This is definitely not for you. Fine, that just means more for me.

Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill!

Directed by Russ Meyer.

1965. Not Rated, 83 minutes.
Cast:
Tura Satana
Haji
Lori Williams
Sue Bernard
Stuart Lancaster
Dennis Busch
Paul Trinka
Ray Barlow

The title Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! doesn’t inspire thoughts of artsy fartsy cinema. I didn’t pop this in expecting a thoughtful examination of the human condition. If the title weren’t enough of a hint, it is a Russ Meyer film, after all. Entertaining junk is what I wanted. Entertaining junk is what I got. By the way, when I say “pop this in” I mean into the VCR. Couldn’t even find the darned thing on DVD or on the internet.

For those unaware, Russ Meyer is pretty much the father of the sexploitation flick, directing over 20 such movies in his career. They’re cheap, campy and exploitive. However, there is a certain passion that bleeds through the craziness. He wrote, directed and produced all of his own movies which were made on shoestring budgets. Pretty clearly, every warped moment leapt from the confines of his brain and plastered themselves on film. Yes, they objectify women. However, it’s atypical of the what that implies. In Meyer’s work, that generally means portraying the female gender as dominant, supremely confident and comfortable in their own skin. These are big, bad broads.

Big is a term that can be used to describe Meyer’s artistic vision. That vision and its description absolutely includes breasts with the emphasis on big. He’s obsessed with them. FPKK is nothing, if not a barely restrained display of that obsession. It’s only restrained at all because of when it was made and what he was trying to do. In 1965, nudity was impermissible if you wanted to have your movie seen by a “respectable” audience. Indeed, Meyer wanted to expand beyond the nudie circuit of which he was a star auteur. Therefore, in place of all-out nakedness we get lower than low cut, tighter than tight tops hosting a jiggle-fest of epic porportions.

Handling a rather healthy chunk of the jiggling is Tura Satana as our most voluptuous villain Varla. If you ever have the chance, read up a bit on Ms. Satana. As outlandish as her character is, her life seems to have been even more so. Allegedly, she survived a gang-rape at a very young age, learned martial arts and exacted revenge on her tormentors. She worked as a burlesque dancer at like 14, became involved with Elvis Presley at some point and turned down his marriage proposal. Trust me, I’m only skimming the surface. There’s lots more. One look at her outfit here informs us it must’ve taken an act of God for her not to have a massive flop-out every time she made a sudden move. By sudden I mean those unexpected things us humans do, like breathing. And I do mean massive in the most literal sense of the word.

The second most buxom babe is Rosie, played by the singularly named Haji. Finally, there’s Lori Williams as Billie. She doesn’t have nearly the bra size of her two co-stars but ably depicts another of Meyer’s fetishes. She has the kind of curves we normally only see on cartoon characters. By the way, she also had a relationship with Elvis. I guess it really is good to be the king.

Our three ladies are a trio of vicious vixens. By night, they’re go-go dancers. By day they drive fast, yell at each other and have the occasional catfight. In between all this, some square and his girlfriend invade their space. One thing leads to another and the square ends up in a fistfight with Varla. Bad move. She literally kills him with her bare breasts, um – I mean hands. The vivacious villains then kidnap the girlfriend since she’s the only witness and sorta go on the run. They wind up at the secluded house of a dirty old paraplegic after hearing from a gas station attendant that the man has a bunch of cash stashed on the property. The man lives with his two sons, one of whom is mentally challenged, to say the least. This little bit of info comes after one of the best exchanges in cinematic history. The attendant is leaning into Varla’s car window, telling her how he wants to get away and “see America” while staring intently at her cleavage. She snaps at him, “You won’t find it down there, Columbus!”

The story is only mildly interesting and unintentionally funny in spots. It’s the sexual innuendo filled dialogue and outrageousness of the situation that keeps us locked in for much of the runtime. That and the jiggling, of course. The conduit for both is the insanely and deliciously over the top performance by Satana. She snarls and screams nearly every one of her lines, barking orders and double entendres alike. All the while her boobs defy the laws of physics by bouncing around like basketballs but somehow not falling out of her barely there blouse. Alas, I’ve said too much. I’ll sum it up by saying it’s so bad, it’s awesome!

MY SCORE: -10/10

True Grit (1969)

The Battle of Algiers