Archive for Glenn Anders

Astoria Wall Street

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , , , , , on October 6, 2017 by dcairns

I watched and appreciated LAUGHTER, the 1930 precursor to the great screwball comedies that started in ’34, despite Fiona constantly protesting “This isn’t a screwball comedy at all.” She’s right, it isn’t. But it does touch on a number of the attitudes and conceits that would come into play in that genre eventually. Particularly the contempt for rich people who work. Frank Morgan is the cuckolded Wall Street bull (complete with horns) — NOT playing it with the full-on dither you’d expect of him. He’s just diffident and melancholy, as is the film, despite its title.

This was shot at the Astoria studios in New York, with some of the same inertia, camera-wise, as you’ll find in the early Marx Bros films, which show a much more robust attack on high society. They hadn’t got the microphone boom yet, so the actors tend to be pinned in place like butterflies… but there’s definitely an effort afoot here to set people in motion. And there’s some ambitious location shooting, and a few striking dolly shots where sound recording was evidently suspended to allow greater mobility. But the energizing effect of this is partially undone by the camera being so consistently far from the actors, causing it to feel perversely theatrical. This is as close as we get to the attractive leads ~

No rear projection!

James Harvey does such a good job dissecting this film in his magisterial Romantic Comedy in Hollywood, I find I have little else to say. Basically, he points out the film’s prevalent gloominess — a happy ending is finally procured by way of the suicide of a minor character. It’s a screwball comedy with only ten minutes of screwiness, and less comedy.

But I do want mention the presence of Glenn Anders, immortal for his oleaginous twitching in LADY FROM SHANGHAI. He does a similar act in Losey’s M. But here, the younger, slimmer, less sweaty Anders sometimes looks conventionally handsome, except when he doesn’t, when he looks just as hideous as he did for Welles, and it’s that impression that haunts his performance. He found his niche later.

Nancy Carroll is the leading lady, but the film only comes to life when Fredric March barges into it. This wasn’t always the case for Fred — sometimes, in his later, patrician roles, he’s very far from being the life and soul of the party, but here he shakes things up whenever he appears, acting faster, lighter and more natural than everyone else put together, if you could put them together, and why would you want to? Director Harry d’Abbadie d’Arrast evidently thought it was a good idea, since he did it, in this film.

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Silly, isn’t it?

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , on February 19, 2011 by dcairns

The sailor receives a proposal

To arrange for a human disposal

But the fellow who picked him

Is also the victim

A role that would seem self-opposal.

Another LADY FROM SHANGHAI limerick is now available over at Limerwrecks, home of the film noir limerick, and another participating outlet in the Self-Styled Siren, Ferdy on Film and the Film Noir Foundation’s For the Love of Film (Noir) Film Preservation Blogathon.

So, when I said that my previous post was the penultimate in my blogathon entries, that wasn’t accurate. THIS is my penultimate post.

Donate some money, and when you see THE SOUND OF FURY you will know that a few of its scintillating seconds owe their glistening, pristine existence to you!

Babelsberg Psychos Go America

Posted in FILM, Politics with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 27, 2008 by dcairns

I have no mouth and I must scream 

A Fever Dream Double Feature.

Following in the mighty footsteps of Christoph Hubert, whose Fever Dream pairings were published hereabouts recently, I present for your delectation and sweaty perusal another brain-bending duo of movies that go together all wrong. I have selected two films, and I call them Film One and Film Two.

M for Murky

(Note the flag attached to David Wayne’s lamp to keep his face in shadow.)

Film One is “M”. Not the celebrated Fritz Lang-Thea Von Harbou 1931 classic, but the generally denigrated Joseph Losey remake from twenty years later. As films maudit go, the don’t come much mauditer than this. While Losey is much admired, mainly for his British films of the ’60s (the blacklist having driven him from Hollywood), his U.S. work is a mixed bunch, much of it rarely screened. The excellent noir THE PROWLER (many noirs tackle the theme of “wrong values,” but none so starkly as this) rubs shoulders with the curio that is THE BOY WITH GREEN HAIR, a jejeune anti-war parable that passes the time acceptably just by being very very odd. In this company, the M remake is just one more mis-step in Losey’s shaky Hollywood career arc, but fortunately it’s a bit closer to the intensity of PROWLER than the fey loopiness of GREEN HAIR.

M for Manky

The perennially prissy David Wayne essays the Lorre role, doing well with the hysteria but entirely missing Lorre’s uncanny, bug-eyed froth. The script pads out the predestined devil with some unconvincing dollar book Freud cod psychology.

Losey scores a little better with his cops and crooks — one detective is a virtual fascist, with less respect for the rule of law than the “punks and tinhorns” he yearns to subject to the rubber hose treatment. Luther Adler plays an alcoholic mob lawyer (called Langley in presumed homage, though old Fritz didn’t appreciate the gesture, turning up to single-handedly picket the premiere). This figure’s presence helps set up the kangaroo court more plausibly, but he’s an annoying character wrapped around an annoying performance (dialogue scribe Waldo Salt may have to shoulder some blame here. Salt, later blacklisted himself, made a glorious comeback as writer of MIDNIGHT COWBOY in the ’70s, but his work here is mostly on a Dick Tracy level, with a few corny left-wing pretensions). The rogues’ gallery gets livelier around the intense, ferret-eyed Martin Gabel (also director of one movie, the terrific THE LOST MOMENT, a labyrinth of sinuous camera moves with a centenarian Agnes Moorehead at its heart) and his henchmen: Raymond Burr, more hench than man, doing a gravelly voice like Putney Swope; Glenn Anders, not as soapy as in THE LADY FROM SHANGHAI (“Just doing a little taaaaarrrget practice,”) but sort of CHUNKIER; and Norman Lloyd, always always always a reliably sneaky face to fill out a frame.

M for Mob

M for Mean

But this “M” has its greatest success in the use of locations. Losey makes fine use of Bunker Hill and outstanding use of the Bradbury Building. Best known now as the site of BLADE RUNNER’s climax, this striking construction came to its architect in a dream, and Losey captures both the sharpness and the illogic of nightmare in the clamorous conflict he stages there. Each angle provides a bizarre and startling new perspective to affront the eyes and make giddy the mind.

M for Mall

M for Mannequins

And Losey’s eerie mannequin warehouse is better than Kubrick’s eerie mannequin warehouse in KILLER’S KISS. In moments like this one can feel that Lang’s cautionary horror tale has found a new home in the city of angels.

Secret Beyond the Door

Film Two is DR. CALIGARI, another U.S. remake of a German classic, this one directed by Stephen Sayadian, (A.K.A. Rinse Dream / François Délia / Sidney Falco / F.X. Pope / Ladi von Jansky) maker of the cult sci-fi porno CAFE FLESH, which I’d previously seen and failed to admire.

This struck me as much better! Sayadian, whose speciality is production design, crafts a low-budget expressionist world and stages a sort of Cartoon Network VIDEODROME ballet in it. Everything is over-stylised to the point of panic-attack claustrophobia, the movements are choreographed and the blocking avoids standard continuity and settles for a snappy succession of ruthlessly composed tableaux, shuffled like smutty playing cards in the hands of a stoned dealer. Imagery tends to the nauseating (weeping sores) and peculiar (a wall with a giant mouth) rather than the sexy, but most effective porn is totally boring as art anyway. Sayadian is probably more interested in arousing the pineal gland or something weird like that.

The Big Mouth

See this thing! It’ll make you feel weird, which you ought to enjoy if you like reading this stuff. In addition to the purely visual pleasures (and the retro fun of the ’80s synth-score), Sayadian makes the best use of porno-style acting I’ve ever seen, creating an expressionistically oneiric B-movie vibe out of his performers’ limitations, reminiscent in its delirium of Ed Wood’s avant-garde trash aesthetic.

Madeleine Reynal, with clipped Mittel-European delivery, essays the role of Caligari’s grand-daughter, following in her “grrandvasser’s vootschteps,” as the late Kenneth Mars might put it, while Laura Albert brings agreeably mannered body language, and an agreeably mannered body, to the role of science project Mrs. Van Outen. Albert slices through the film, nipples primed to at any instant pierce some unsuspecting fellow thespian and pump them full of silicone. It’s not surprising to learn that when she’s not playing characters with “names” like “Bambi” and “Strip Joint Girl” and “Whipped Cream Girl” (in the TV show Dream On — some may remember this) L.A. is a stunt artist: she has a robust physicality to her and in a way this whole performance — nay, this whole film — is a death-defying piece of stunt art.

In the Doghouse

If you see Losey’s “M”, I hope it’s the same copy I have — a glitchy AVI file of a fuzzy DVD of a chewed-up VHS of a ropey telecine of a speckly print — because you get the surreal impression that the ’50s remake is older than the ’30s original.

If you see DR. CALIGARI… say hi.

I’m quite staggeringly indebted to Shadowplayer Brandon  for providing these movies, after I mentioned having never seen the J-Lo “M”. I should mention right now that I am in no way averse to FREE STUFF. If you stay alert you may catch me dropping the occasional hint, such as “I’ve never seen this film,” which you may all take as your cue to offer me complimentary bootlegs. I promise I won’t mind.

Bathing Beauty