Archive for Kirk Douglas

A Week Can Be a Long Time in Politics

Posted in FILM, Politics, Television with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on July 22, 2015 by dcairns


7 DAYS IN MAY (1964) — one of Frankenheimer’s very best, I’d say. It’s taken me ages to get around to it. Maybe the opening scene put me off, since I think the handheld, jagged cutting and multiple inserted red frames (Frankenheimer admired Hitchcock enormously, so he’s riffing on SPELLBOUND — there’s a good story about his Hitch idolatry, if you remind me) was a little overdone. And then there’s a very long build-up in which most of the terrific cast have little to do but repeatedly explain to us who they are and what their jobs are and what got done before the movie started. A slow pressure starts to build though as Colonel Kirk Douglas, all clenched reptile features and micro eye-darting, suspects something is up. When he reports to President Fredric March that General Burt Lancaster is plotting a military coup, at last the film takes off and begins to generate serious tension.

Frankenheimer commissioned the script from his old TV colleague Rod Serling, who does lay on the exposition a bit thick at the start, and the speechifying even thicker at the end, but it evolves into a cross-cut pattern of escalating, nerve-biting, nail-raising, hair-shredding excitement. We got this the same year as STRANGELOVE? No wonder FAIL SAFE failed. You can only have so many of these things in a year, I expect. Otherwise the nervous strain would be too great.

Serling’s exposition isn’t exactly bad, it’s just more obvious than I like it, with characters showing off unnecessarily just to shoehorn a little more information into their speeches, calling each other by name multiple times, and so on. But the groundwork is laid effectively enough so that once the plot really gets moving, you’re never confused despite the complexity. The speech-making is rendered more excusable by the fact that Sterling gives his villain convincing motivation — noble cause corruption, where the ends justify the means — making him as much a patriot as March.


Edmund O’Brien, typecast as a drunk, is very enjoyable too. Every time I see him now I think of the story in WORKING WITH ORSON WELLES, Gary Graver’s shambolic but fun documentary — a couple of assistants on THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WIND had the job of helping O’Brien (“Eddie is a magnificent ruin,” quoth Welles) pack his luggage after the shoot. And he had all this weird shit in his hotel drawers — raw meat and light bulbs and stuff. “Are you sure you want all this packed?” “Yeah yeah.” So every time we See O’Brien we make a crack about his meat ‘n’ light bulbs.

Having gotten his ebullient, experimental side out of the way early, Frankenheimer goes almost classical, eschewing his Dutch tilts but exulting in Kubrickian symmetry, deep focus and the frequent use of the “A” composition ~


He has a lot of fun with TV monitors, a recurring device of his from MANCHURIAN CANDIDATE on. Easy to see why they figured in his imagery, given his years spent barking into a microphone in front of an array of glasse screens. He also has some shots here that are just expressively wonderful.



Being a political drama of its day, the story is very male-driven (Martin Balsam: “I have a feeling this time next week we’ll all be laughing.” Fiona: “On the other sides of our faces. Which will have been blown off”). But there’s room for a lusty turn from Ava Garner, and a very very shiny one from Colette MacDonald, who turns out to have been Preston Sturges’ daughter-in-law. We both thought it was Karen Black.


We correctly identified John Houseman, though, in his first screen appearance since TOO MUCH JOHNSON twenty-six years previously. In that one he was a Keystone Cop, in this one he is an admiral. Natural Authority.

Happy Birthday!

Posted in FILM, Mythology with tags , , , , , , , , on December 25, 2014 by dcairns


RAIN OF FIRE (1977) is an unspeakable OMEN rip-off from the able exploitation maestro Alberto De Martino. Oddly, one of its death scenes, in which Anthony Quayle is guillotined in half by a sliding door, was itself ripped off for the first OMEN sequel the following year, or so it would seem.

The movie isn’t worth watching, really, excapt perhaps as part of a drunken triple-bill with SATURN 3 and THE FURY, both of which likewise star Kirk Douglas’s sagging bare butt. RAIN OF FIRE aka HOLOCAUST 2000 actually trumps its peers with a dream sequence in which Kirk finally goes full-on cock-and-balls frontal. I’m posting the scene here today because it’s truly festive, and will make egg nog (or something) come out of your nose.

Happy Holocaust! from David Cairns on Vimeo.

Happy Holocaust!

“Get its brain out!”

Posted in FILM, literature, Mythology with tags , , , , , , , , , , on December 8, 2014 by dcairns

The blogathon is officially over, which means the guide to what’s appeared has vanished back to a week ago but can still be checked here. Meanwhile, I still have a few thoughts, and there may be posts appearing as late as January…


SATURN 3 qualifies as late Stanley Donen, doesn’t it, even though he made one more, is still going strong, and may even make another. His to-date-final film, BLAME IT ON RIO, is mostly dispiriting, with Michael Caine and Joseph Mantegna Bologna both trying to do Cary Grant impressions (the fact that Donen directed Grant to such great effect makes this much sadder) and Demi Moore looking all self-conscious and young and topless and self-conscious some more. It’s the kind of film once Donen did well, but it’s a very poor example of that genre and its being made in the wrong decade.


Musical staging! Very “Top Hat and Tails”!

SATURN 3 is a lot more fun to watch, for me, because it’s just weird. Donen actually does a good job of shooting it, but the script is such a mess he could never be expected to turn it into something good. Apart from letting Kirk Douglas overact atrociously in the early scenes and Farrah Fawcett fail to act and dubbing Harvey Keitel with the voice of Roy Dotrice (!) — which I guess makes for a total failure with the cast, since it’s basically just the three of them onscreen — he sweeps through the tubular, vascular corridors of the moonbase with something like the glee he once brought to following Gene Kelly, and he brings some kind of visual interest to every scene.

The movie sits very strangely in his career, and can only be explained by two things. (1) Donen’s disastrous 1970s output — THE LITTLE PRINCE; MOVIE, MOVIE; THE LUCKY LADY. These three gobbling turkeys (I quite enjoy bits of the first two and haven’t properly seen the last) must have made him ready to accept any genuine offer, and the gaps between films had been getting longer. (2) The film was in fact developed to be the directorial debut of production designer John Barry (CLOCKWORK ORANGE, STAR WARS, SUPERMAN, the aforementioned LITTLE PRINCE) who died before he could make it, so Donen was a fairly last-minute substitute, after I imagine all the usual suspects had been approached.


So allowances must be made.

Basically, SATURN 3 is a remake of THE LIGHT AT THE EDGE OF THE WORLD, in which Kirk Douglas played a hermit who has retreated to a lighthouse with hot babe Samantha Eggar and has to fight off pirates. Here, Kirk Douglas plays a hermit who has retreated to a Saturnian moon with hot babe Farah Fawcett and has to fight off a man with a tiny pony-tail and a robot with a tiny head.

Big, proto-ROBOCOP feet. Fiona: “You know what they say about robots with big feet.” Me: “Tiny heads.”

The Other John Barry, as we must call him, had evidently put together a strong visual team, even if the film at times resembles all the space epics that had just come out. Unbelievable that they’d open with a big-ass spaceship flying over the camera, or feature multiple-alignment eclipses to mark time shifts — put it down to the inherent vulgar stupidity of Lew Grade productions and Donen’s unfamiliarity with the genre. What Barry hadn’t quite done was create a working script, though some of the elements are there. There are interesting ideas — Keitel becomes the first actor to have a jack in the back of his neck, before Keanu Reeves was even thought of. There’s the idea that chess-playing machines don’t understand sacrifice (not true), later stolen word-for-word in HARDWARE. But a few groovy notions are not enough. To make a film as bad as SATURN 3 you need a touch of genius, supplied here by Martin Amis.


Hey, Amis at least got a book out of this, Money, which cruelly lampoons the process and some of the actual people (Kirk Douglas becomes Lorne Guyland). His profiting from the experience seems unfair, since nobody else did, God knows, and he saddled the cast with unspeakable dialogue (when FF turns down a blunt suggestion of sex with HK, he snaps, “That’s penally unsocial on Earth, you know that?”). He then had the nerve to declare screenwriting easy. Well, anything’s easy if you do it badly enough, and don’t know what the job requires. A perfect encapsulation of the Dunning-Kruger effect, which ironically also afflicts Keitel’s character in the film.

Hollywood-style screenwriting is easy for a novelist because the prose doesn’t seem to matter (nobody who sees the film will experience it directly) and there’s just dialogue. But it’s also very hard, because it requires tight, short dramatic scenes with their own shape, and a structure which mellifluously plays the audience’s interest and builds it to a climax, and contains surprises but also logical inevitability, and creates fascinating characters expressed almost entirely in their outward behaviour (the novelist’s access to the character’s thoughts is largely shut down here).

Amis, so good with blackly comic prose, sucks at genre (as he showed with his detective and scifi stories) and can’t write scenes at all. His characters are one-dimensional and don’t change or even reveal themselves progressively. Unfair to judge a writer by the films they write, since they rarely have the final say in anything, and probably unfair to take Money as an accurate description of Amis’s process, but the book seems to suggest that he was a kind of on-set script doctor, addressing the cast’s many issues with their roles. But someone evidently decided to break off every scene before it’s achieved anything, and introduce the Adam and Eve in space characters (imaginatively names Adam and Alex) through the eyes of Keitel, as if he were the hero (yet he’s already murdered someone) and they the threat, and to leave out any character detail which might make us respond to the protags as human beings (sole exception: they have a cute dog. It’s Nick and Nora Charles in space!).


We COULD be blaming the editor for some of this. Richard Marden’s career is divided evenly between big, not always good films for Donen, Schlesinger and Zefferelli, and butchered travesties in the fantasy genre, like all Clive Barker’s stuff, SWORD OF THE VALIANT, MALPERTUIS and Frankenstein: The True Story. Plus a couple of CARRY ON films, which were traditionally edited with a bacon slicer. Fuck it, I’m blaming it on Amis.

Kirk gurns maniacally for the first half hour, then settles down and gets his kit off, Lorne Guyland style. Farrah does that thing with her teeth which makes her look psycho. Grinning with your teeth apart — who does that? Keitel plays it robotic, and his scene interrogating his crazy robot Hector is the only good scene in the film. Keitel talks (with Dotrice’s voice), Hector responds with read-outs on a screen, and it’s all very creepy. Maybe because it has space to breathe and is allowed to conclude on an actual dramatic note. It gives us a tantalising glimpse of what a non-awful version of SATURN 3 would be like.


What Amis HAS managed to do, though much of it may be accidental, is create a whole series of internal metaphors and allegories of and in the film. I don’t mean the ludicrous speech about how the Greek Hector came to a bad end, clearly added at Kirk’s request to shoehorn in “mythic resonance” (read: literary showing off). I mean the sequence where the robot’s brain is removed but it reassembles itself from parts and lumbers on, just like this movie after Barry’s death. I mean the redubbing of Keitel, echoed in the script when the robot starts copying everyone else’s voices. I mean the weird sex stuff, with Fawcett as beard to mask the peculiar tensions between Kirk and Harvey (naked strangling, Harvey penetrating Kirk’s neck to install another phono-jack), and the glass tube full of “pure brain matter” sliding sexually into the robot’s interior. This must be how Amis saw his role: pure brain matter (him), sexually penetrating the Hollywood machine, to create a psychopathic, biomechanical, microcephalic, veiny behemoth — combining Kirk’s barrel chest and wiry arms (because the robo-actor’s real arms are concealed in the torso), Keitel’s taut, shiny buttocks (leather-clad) and Fawcett’s minute cranium and glassy, staring eyes — shuffling in comical baby-steps out of control through the universe, destroying everything it touches.

He succeeded only too well.


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