Archive for Rumble Fish

Telluride Survival Guide

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 8, 2013 by dcairns

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Telluride is such a lovely festival, located in the most spectacularly beautiful place I’ve ever been — as Ferris Bueller says, “If you have the means, I highly recommend it.”

Such a place shouldn’t really require a survival guide, and indeed it doesn’t — it’s Cannes that you have to watch out for — Cannes wants you dead — but I thought that in the guise of such a guide I could get away with waxing lyrical about my six days of cinematic bliss —

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The weather guide for the place told us it’d be warm, but that it could be cold at night. That’s true as far as it goes, as was my friend and editor Timo’s description of “proper shorts weather,” but you had best bring an umbrella too, or acquire one (the Festival’s own official umbrella is $30 but the design is beautiful). We had thunderstorms every day but one, I think, and corruscating hail that bounced down the street after you like Rover from The Prisoner only 80,000 times faster. None of this spoiled the pleasure, indeed the distant rumbles from the mountains added a touch of Tolkein. I was in La Pierre waiting for a screening and so missed the week’s most acclaimed meteorological event — a rainbow across the mountains bisected by a lightning bolt — but I certainly saw plenty of raw-nature-as-backdrop. I didn’t go trekking because I fear bears. It’s the cuddly killers you have to watch out for in this life.

The hell of every film fest is that as you see one movie you’re probably missing four more. You just have to relax, target things you fancy that might not get a release, but mix it up with things everybody’s excited about, and see live stuff that’ll never come back too.

Godfrey Reggio, no less, described Telluride as like an ocean liner — you walk up, then down, and meet the same people three or four times a day. Although sometimes you miss them because you’re in films when they’re out and about, and vice versa.

The festival feeds its guests once a day, and well. A spectacular brunch in the mountains, a picnic in the park (“It was no more a picnic than he was a man,” as Welles says in LADY FROM SHANGHAI — what I mean is that this is a huge outdoor banquet with marquees and movie stars and people congratulating you on your film (which you had best get used to if you go with one), parties at fabulous houses. Go to any of these you get invited to, each is memorable and unmissable.

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If, like me, you have a certain level of vertigo, journeying from your hotel to the town, or from the town to the Chuck Jones Theater, may prove emotionally taxing. You are dangled on a wire in a little booth seating six, and trundled through the sky above the treetops. The ominous drone of the machinery occasionally varies as the contraption pauses for no discernible reason (a delay caused by someone having difficulty dismounting at the other end, apparently).

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In daylight the view is so incredible it serves to distract nicely: I likened the resulting combination of beauty and terror to having Halle Berry come at you with an axe. At night the gondolas are pitch black, though the starscapes, fuzzed by perspex, still add awe. I recommend Diazepam if you think you may need it, but don’t hide on the floor: the scenery is your best tonic/distraction/sedative.

The gondolas are also the best place to practice your pitch. Tell people about your film and they will go. I couldn’t believe this at first, and missed many chances to persuade people to attend. By the end I had it down cold and managed to nearly pack our cinema for a last-minute bonus screening at 9am on a Monday morning. Telluride is a word-of-mouth film festival — there’s been very little press about our film, but people seemed to hear about it alright.

Leave the brunch early to avoid a huge wait. But stay and enjoy it and you can find yourself chatting to interesting people in line. It’s win-win, like so much at Telluride.

See the smaller films: MUSIDORA: THE TENTH MUSE by Patrick Cazals studied the life and work of Feuillade’s great star, revealing much I hadn’t known: did you know Musidora directed several films? Now I want to see them, as they look very good, and as star she is always compelling. I left with even more respect for her acting, which magnetically pulls focus from her co-stars without any visible effort, and runs the gamut from startling naturalism to savage pantomime. This ran alongside NATAN at the bonus screening and made a perfect mate for it (almost too perfect: it uses all the same techniques, only better — apart from not having a papier mache main character). Cazals has made docs on figures as diverse as Paradjanov and Mamoulian, which I now crave to see.

Coppola was in attendance with RUMBLE FISH, subject of a new doc (LOCATIONS: SEARCHING FOR RUSTY JAMES) — Paul Duane approached him at a party to voice his admiration: “He didn’t look very interested, but the acoustics weren’t good at that party, so while I was telling him that RUMBLE FISH had always been a great cult film in Ireland, he was probably hearing ‘Blah blah blah I’m a boring cunt.'”

Festival co-founder Tom Luddy informed us that Chris Marker actually shot background plates for RUMBLE FISH — some of that time-lapse stuff — which raised our eyebrows. Also that Marker’s last major work was on Second Life. He wasn’t interested in spending time restoring his earlier films as he was too excited by new media. “I can’t waste time on that — the tools I need are finally here!”

Be sociable! I regret not telling Coppola what a big cult item RUMBLE FISH always was in Scotland, but I had great chats with Philip Kaufman, John Ptak, Patrick Cazals, and formed the kind of intense friendships with fellow filmmakers that festivals are really good for. I want to see Esther Julie-Anne, Battiste Fenwick and Dario Naldi again soon. Dario takes a good picture —

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Three Erotic Fantasies

Posted in FILM, literature with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on April 20, 2010 by dcairns

I was looking at THE COTTON CLUB, trying to find a cute shot I remembered of Diane Lane, figuring I could probably find something to say about it when I did. But that led me to look at RUMBLE FISH, another Francis Ford Coppola outing also featuring the transcendentally lovely and apparently ageless Lane. I grabbed the above image, part of a series of erotic daydreams Matt Dillon has about his girlfriend during the course of a day.

Then by chance I found another sexual fantasy image, the same evening, in NUDE FOR SATAN, a barmy 70s Italian sex-horror nonsense case, featuring gratuitous cod-Wellesian angles, mattressfuls of pubic hair, and a fake giant spider seemingly made from black felt and pipe cleaners. In this image a sinister gent undresses the heroine with his eyes — almost literally. I’m surprised and disappointed that director Luigi Batzella didn’t have the guy’s eyes pop out, turn into Residents-style eyeball-men, and rip Rita Calderoni’s knickers off. It would have been quite in keeping with the insane literal-mindedness of his bottoms-up cut a few minutes later on in the film. I shall elucidate ~

Calderoni is handed a glass of wine by a spooky butler. She drinks. As she raises the glass, Batzella zooms in on its base and lets the shot go soft. Jump cut to a big bare arse, also slightly out of focus. Pull into focus, zoom out, and proceed with the unmotivated lesbian softcore.

These things should, for some reason, come in threes, so here’s a bizarre fantasy apparently occurring in the mind of Keith Carradine in Sam Fuller’s STREET OF NO RETURN, an odd adaptation of David Goodis’s The Blonde on the Street Corner, a two-time-loser pulp noir typical of its author.

Valentina Vargas, from THE NAME OF THE ROSE, is gorgeous, and deserved more of a career. She’s still acting, and still beautiful, so maybe it’ll happen.

STREET OF NO RETURN is nearly very good, with an impressive opening riot, and Fuller’s sudden interest in naked girls is tolerable — it could easily become embarrassing, but I give him the benefit of the doubt. What’s a little embarrassing is the obvious European locations (Portugal), as the movie tries to pass itself off as American. If the movie had embraced its setting more, and been a little more carefully edited, it could have marked a return for Fuller.

Links (US):

Rumble Fish (Special Edition)

Nude for Satan

Street of No Return

UK:

Rumble Fish : Special Edition [DVD] [1983]

Nude For Satan [1974] [DVD]