State of Andress

Fiona and I had both had the same experience of the Hammer film SHE — as kids, we’d caught the ending on TV and been horribly fascinated by it. Watching as adults, we had relatively meagre hopes for the movie, but it proved to be solid fun. It grips from the beginning, loses its way slightly in the desert, and arrives at its climax amid plenty of drama. Roy Ashton’s makeup effects are predictably crude, but the (spoiler alert) accelerated aging of Ursula Andress’s Ayesha still has some power to disturb, especially when Andress is replaced by a genuine old lady in heavy prosthetics — the hunched posture would be impossible for an actor to mimic.

We were watching because of the Peter Cushing Centenary Blogathon hosted by Frankensteinia: The Frankenstein Blog. Cushing is typically fine in this, and it’s nice to see him in heroic mode, but it’s not one of his most memorable roles. He forms part of a trio of heroes a bit like the lads in GUNGA DIN, with John Richardson from ONE MILLION YEARS BC as the purportedly handsome one (Cushing is striking, which is better than being handsome) and Bernard Cribbins as the token working-class comedy relief.  Cribbins, his head a knob of gristle, ears like jug handles protruding either side, is played more grotesque than usual, I feel. He’s one of the neglected figures of British cinema (still going strong today) with roles in FRENZY, several of the CARRY ON series, and supporting roles to Peter Sellers. He also co-starred with Cushing in the awkwardly titled DALEKS’ INVASION EARTH: 2150 AD before returning to Doctor Who on TV in recent years.

Cushing’s hero was Olivier, and he aspired to his idol’s crisp delivery and athleticism — you can really see it in the climaxes of CURSE OF FRANKENSTEIN and DRACULA, and in his Sherlock Holmes. “We admired the precision of his movements within the frame,” said Martin Scorsese, though I take leave to doubt how many of the future filmmakers teenage pals were appreciating Cushing’s use of his body as a compositional element in those 42nd Street grindhouses of the early sixties.

Cushing’s best scene in SHE, delightfully, is played opposite Christopher Lee, as the high priest of this lost tribe of Egypt (who are all curiously white). The film, true to H. Rider Haggard’s source novel, displays a number of retrograde attitudes, with the black natives a primitive bunch easily dominated by the pale pseudo-Egyptians (though the black uprising at the end is viewed more or less with favour!), but Cushing’s scene is amusingly sexist, as he tries to understand why Lee and his cohorts allow themselves to be dictated to by a mere woman. “You are many, and men, whereas she is alone, and a woman.” He reckons without the power of Andress’s frosty stare.

Ah, Andress. She dominates the proceedings, not by means of acting, but by an admirable refusal to contemplate anything resembling a performance. She simply impresses. Director Robert Day lets it go at that, happy to move things around her as briskly as possible, while reveling in Les Bowie’s cheap-as-chips (but charming) special effects. Andress is also dubbed, by Nikki Van der Zyl, who not only revoiced her in DR NO, but replaced Raquel Welch’s too-American cave-speak in ONE MILLION YEARS BC — meaning that in both of his most famous roles, John Richardson found himself acting with Van der Zyl.

The movie made me admire Haggard, whom I’ve never read, more than previously. If this film is even remotely accurate to the book, Haggard’s original clearly not only inspired L’Atlantide, that much-filmed piece of Saharan exotica, but also bits of Kipling’s The Man Who Would Be King. Not bad going. The film’s weakest point is probably the use of Roman soldier costumes for its Egyptians. Not quite clear what the thinking was there.

The adventure yarn is a genre Hammer dabbled in, but didn’t really pursue with the doggedness of their horror cycle. I suspect the reticence was budget-driven. A shame — the hallucinatory mess that is THE LOST CONTINENT is probably Michael Carreras’ finest achievement, and SHE is one of their most entertaining non-horror flicks.

Harry Potter and the Gashlycrumb Tinies

We went to see THE WOMAN IN BLACK at Fiona’s urging, because the book’s a modern spook classic, the Nigel Kneale TV version has one of the greatest scares ever (even if it otherwise borrows a bit too freely from THE INNOCENTS), because it’s from the revivified Hammer, and because advance word was good. Didn’t know it was from James Watkins, director of the acclaimed EDEN LAKE (which I haven’t seen because it sounded too nasty for my squeamish side) but that’s good too.

The film, in which Daniel Radcliffe is terrorised by some other small children, as well as by the titular funereally clad lady, is proper scary. Admittedly it gets by on powerful BOO! gotchas rather than dragging the suspense out for as long as it might, but fans of Slow Creeping Terror will nevertheless  find much to be freaked by here. One shock moment — “That’s the sort of window faces appear at!” to quote Mr Withnail — made me scream like a woman, while another caused our friend Mr Brown to practically shoot vertically from his chair. I felt sorry for our dates, who were relying on us for manly protection.

The Victoriana is terribly vague — when is this supposed to be happening, exactly — but serves its atmospheric purpose in the best Hammer manner. Lots of vine-covered mansion, rattling carriages, puffing locomotives. Since this is a ghost story rather than an out-and-out horror, we’re deprived of what Philip Larkin approvingly called “tit and fang”, but I expect Hammer, still in the early days of new management, are limbering up for that.

Jane Goldman, the go-to girl for genre entertainment in the UK today (KICK ASS, STARDUST) pads out the slim plot with borrowings from Mario Bava’s KILL BABY KILL, inventing a rule that each sighting of the dreaded Woman causes… well, I won’t say exactly. In fact, spoilers are hard to come by here, since the plot is so slight and one-track. In a way it’s refreshing that it avoids major twists and reversals of the “He’s not who you think!” variety — it’s more like J-horror, and indeed the vengeful ghost is pretty much out of THE GRUDGE — she’s not open to negotiation.She takes a Hard Line.

Weakest element, as you may have guessed, is the man Radcliffe, who is never less than, well, physically present, and assumes a suitably worried expression throughout, but one can’t help, afterwards, imaging what a more substantial actor might have brought to the role.

Those who have seen THE ARTIST will recall the BANG! intertitle which serves a neat double-purpose (the film’s cleverest touch), seeming to mean one thing but instantly recontextualized by the following shot. Here, at the ending, of which I plan to give away NOTHING, there’s a similar switcheroo, with an image rather than a word being the ambivalent junction between two Schrodinger’s cat style possible outcomes to a single event. One solid, unambiguous image somehow serves as a signal-change shifting us from one reality to another… hard to describe, but I think you’ll dig it when you see it.

The Late Show Round-Up

THE LATE SHOW: THE LATE FILMS BLOGATHON is here. I’ll keep this post at the top of the page, presenting all the participants’ work, while my own entries will appear immediately below it.

Links!

Arthur S., over at This Pig’s Alley, files a confidential report on Eric Rohmer’s TRIPLE AGENT.

The latest Shadowplay post, on Cukor’s RICH AND FAMOUS, is right below this one.

Brandon keeps it coming with an illuminating scan through Orson Welles’ ONE-MAN BAND.

Eric at Sporadic Scintillation plays THE MUSIC, curtain call of the great Yasuzo Masumura.

WARM WATER UNDER A RED BRIDGE, the last film from Shohei Immamura, which provoked mainly perplexity upon release, is sympathetically showcased at Serene Velocity.

Flickhead makes a very welcome contribution, bringing a documentary flavour to the proceedings with a look at Varick Frissell’s THE VIKING.

More from Andreas at Pussy Goes Grrr, exploring the tragedy and hope of Mizoguchi’s final opus, STREET OF SHAME.

Gareth’s Movie Diary rides with THE COMANCHEROS, the last movie from golden age giant Michael Curtiz. And a handsome piece it looks, too!

55 DAYS AT PEKING, arguably the final completed feature from (in part) Nicholas Ray, is under the microscope at Mr. K’s Geel Cornucopia. And it takes us into quite a lovely place!

My own new entry is right below this one. NOT an appreciation of LOLA MONTES, merely a sidelong observation or two.

Arch-Shadowplayer David Ehrenstein, over at the Fablog, presents Pasolini’s 1966 anthology piece CHE COSA SONA LE NUVOLE?, in which giant puppets enact Othello… in a Late Show first, you can not only read about the film over at his place, but watch it too.

Brandon again (don’t stop, Brandon!) at Brandon’s Movie Memory explores Jimmy Stewart’s last theatrical feature, an odder-than-odd Japanese nature film shot in Africa.

Ed Howard at Only the Cinema takes on RIO LOBO, a sad note for Howard Hawks to end on, but certainly a recognizable variation on his usual themes and characters. Beautiful screen-shots, making me regret seeing it on an old VHS. A revisit might be in order: I remember enjoying Sherry Lansing’s unlikely turn as a vengeful Mexican.

C. Jerry Kutner writes for Bright Lights Film about James Whale’s difficult-to-see final project, HELLO OUT THERE. Anybody got a copy of that movie?

There’s a new post by yours truly, right below this one.

John McElwee’s Greenbriar Picture Shows examines THE LEFT HAND OF GOD, a late Bogart movie directed by Edward Dmytryk.

Pierre Fournier at Frankensteinia revisits FRANKENSTEIN AND THE MONSTER FROM HELL, the last film from Terence Fisher, the last Hammer Frankenstein, the last Peter Cushing appearance as the Baron, and one of the last Hammer releases altogether.

Brandon’s Movie Memory absorbs late works by Lindsay Anderson, Charlie Bowers, Buster Keaton, Osamu Tezuka (yay!), Norman McLaren and Joseph Barbera. Wouldn’t they make a houseful?

At Pussy Goes Grrr, an excellent analysis and appreciation of Eric Rohmer’s THE ROMANCE OF ASTREA AND CELADON can be found. A new discovery for me, this blog promises riches!

Jaime Grijalba looks at the last films of Bunuel and Ozu in a Spanish-language entry at Exodus 8:2. Thrilled to have something non-English-language here, even if I can’t read it myself!

At Deeper Into Movies, Brandon’s Movie Memory connects with COLD LAZARUS, the last teleplay of Dennis Potter, starring the frozen, severed head of Albert Finney, and executed “under the strictest writing deadline: to finish the story before his imminent death.” A terrific piece which exemplifies the virtues of this fun, intelligent blog — a sympathetic account which acknowledges the flaws in a film even while seeing beyond them to possibly hidden virtues.

At Boiling Sand, Doug Bonner delves into Herbert Wilcox’s THE LADY IS A SQUARE, exploring how a somewhat stilted film can nevertheless serve as a touching farewell to a star and director. A really beautiful piece.

Another Shadowplay entry by guest blogger and regular Shadowplayer Judy Dean can be found below ~