Archive for Daniel Riccuito

Happy Actorday!

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , on April 4, 2018 by dcairns

25660040_1957688674247745_3880488136300113661_n

It’s Brando’s birthday! In celebration, Criterion are boosting an extract from my ONE-EYED JACKS video essay here.

Meanwhile, Daniel Riccuito, over at The Notebook, sings the praises of a MUCH more significant thespian — Dead End Kid Frankie Darro. I have contributed a few words, and as usual, readers are invited to see if they can separate my wheat from Danny’s other wheat.

Advertisements

The Face on the Cutting Room Floor

Posted in FILM with tags , , , on December 22, 2017 by dcairns

There’s a new article at The Notebook by Daniel Riccuito and me.

Here.

We’ve evolved a strange method of collaboration. Daniel pesters me on Facebook, asking for paragraphs, or thoughts or examples of cinematic phenomena he’s exploring. I’ll churn out a hundred words or so on the topic at hand, and he’ll simply drop the passages into his works in progress, occasionally, I presume, massaging the surrounding text to make it seamless, or seamless-seeming. Not easy, I suspect, for anyone to identify who wrote what.

Illustration: Allen Jenkins by Tony Millionaire

Vegetable Magnetism

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , , on August 9, 2017 by dcairns

By Daniel Riccuito with David Cairns

Art by Tony Millionaire

Vengeance is a tool for the powerless.

And what better revenge could a 1930s movie-going public muster than the absurdist act of turning stars into nourishment?  Take that vision of hate and spittle, Ned Sparks, pulling faces never before seen on the front of a human head. Sparks was the Great Depression’s favorite specialty item: a purple carrot.

Arguably a sweet onion, Frank McHugh had bone-weary audiences drooling in the aisles.

John Litel made a fine rutabaga.

Hand-carved parsnip, Edward Everett Horton, gave our pre-Code vegetable garden nuance.  But mainly we craved cartoon food — entertainment that mixed problem-solving and problem-salving for a seventy-five to eighty-minute span. We liked excitable, doughy screen personas as stand-ins that brought our truth to new lows.

Coming Soon!

Pat O’Brien as Spud.