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The Cinema 4 Pylon: SpOutpost

  • Cinema 4: Cel Bloc - Haredevil Hare (1948)

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    Haredevil Hare  (1948)

    Recently, I've been perusing the latest issue of Filmfax, a magazine that often reads more like a catalog (which, in many ways, it is), but nonetheless is packed with some incredible informative articles on some rather obscure areas or personalities. While I don't really need to know what the extra in White Pongo thought about the horrible gorilla suit, it's nice to have such thoughts easily at one's disposal should one have the inclination to fill their brain with such trivia. In this latest ish, I have been reading with great relish (and some far too mild red pepper spread) an article on Chesley Knight Bonestell, who was one of those select souls who rendered a great service to the masses by giving them a hopeful glimpse into what life on other planets might look like. Paintings, endless pulp magazine covers, movie production set design and matte paintings; Bonestell's outer space artwork (begun, astoundingly, at the age of 56) laid down the groundwork for the science fiction world at large in the late 40's and through the 60's, and influenced millions with his visions of life in the final frontier. Most importantly, not only did he inspire the space program to come, he also influenced a generation of moviemakers who instilled his imagery into their productions.

    With all due respect to those who paved the public consciousness highway to prepare the masses' minds to deal with the concept of space travel, they really didn't affect me directly through their art. I didn't really see his art growing up. I was a child of the 70's, so all of my influences in this department generally came second or third hand, filtered through the eyes of those who had originally been inspired by the paintings of Bonestell and his ilk. While I distinctly remember watching the moon landing on our black-and-white as a 5-year old in 1969, my alien worlds were those of the original Star Trek, Lost in Space and Alex Toth's Space Ghost. (I didn't discover Flash Gordon until I was 10.) Chiefly though, my vision of outerspace life really was solidified by my adoration of the greatest space invader (well, at least until that crazy Zim guy) that ever threatened doom upon the planet Earth: Marvin Martian. Through only five (yes, only five!) films, all directed by his creator Chuck Jones, the Martian with the adenoidal voice and unflappable resolve to destroy humanity was usually the high point of every Saturday morning. A Bugs Bunny/Road Runner Show episode was always a special thing (I had no idea just how cut up the shorts were on the show), but one with Marvin, especially when battling the dopily heroic Duck Dodgers, was always the cherry on the Saturday sundae.

    In his first attack on our world, however, he is faced with his most common foe, Bugs Bunny. (Initially, he only met Daffy and Porky once.) In Haredevil Hare from 1946, his Martian attack force (of only two - he and his trusty canine) is met and foiled on the moon, and poor ol' Luna is surely gonna pay for it! It's a case of wrong place at the wrong time for the satellite. The opening exposition is provided via The Daily Snooze, which proclaims "SCIENTISTS TO LAUNCH FIRST ROCKET TO MOON". A later edition adds the romantic notion that "HEROIC RABBIT VOLUNTEERS AS FIRST PASSENGER". That's right. Proudly leading the short parade of fur-bearing "volunteers" to the world's quest to explore space for the betterment of mankind is none other than Bugs Bunny. In this case, "proudly leading" means being dragged backwards by space program officals while Bugs scratches helplessly at the desert sands screaming "No! No! I'm too young to fly! I've got a wife and kids! Millions of kids!" They make their way to the titanic rocket that will propel the poor bunny into the stratosphere, and Bugs asserts his opposition to the plan, shouting "No! Ya can't get me into that flyin' cigar!" His mind is changed swiftly by the appearance of a supply chopper, which drops about a year's worth of delicious carrots into the rocket's hold. "You talked me into it!", the bunny agrees and then he runs up the outside of the rocket and squeezes himself through the tiny aperture on its cone. To the camera, Bugs casually mentions "I usually take a size 36!"

    With the "heroic" rabbit nested inside his new home, the scientists prepare the vessel for launch, a rigidly planned and complicated system that comprises nothing more than a tiny stick of TNT that is bolted to the side of the rocket. It's power is exceedingly deceptive, though, and when the rocket whooses into space, the G-forces slam Bugs backwards so that the rocket's metal bottom conforms to the shape of Bugs' body. A lurch sends him screaming forward again and he is flattened against the inside wall. Bugs makes an effort to leap out of the escape hatch, but then he sees moving far, far away in the distance, and he realizes he is surrounded only by dark, lonely space. "Only a coward would desoit a ship", he tells himself to pep himself up, but then a pair of passing comets barely dodge the ship, and Bugs is suddenly hit with spacesickness. He seems ever prepared to heave, but then the ship speeds up even more, and Bugs screams for his life as the rocket hurtles through space. The ship zooms straight down at the moon, but a direct hit is avoided as it swoops into the curved surface of a crater, then after undergoing a rough series of tumbles and somersaults, the rocket crashes in a heap against another crater. Bugs is rattled, and he makes all manner of strange noises and bodily twitches in his delirium. "Earth Calling Bugs Bunny! Are you there? Over!", the radio cries, and Bugs picks up the receiver, making the same noises and twitches into it, before finishing with "Over!"

    Bugs starts to explore the moon, sans spacesuit of helmet, and overwhelmed with the idea that he is "all alone on the moon!" His panic turns into Bugs' usual calm manner after he pushes his hands into his pockets (yes, he has pockets in his "rabbit suit") and muses "Anyway, I'm the first living creature to set foot on the moon!" What Bugs doesn't see as he says this is the flattened surface of a large moonrock with an inscription that reads, in lovely penmanship, "KILROY WAS HERE". Suddenly, another rocket zooms straight over Bugs' head and lands on the moon. With its engines still smoking, we see the words "MARS TO MOON EXPEDITIONARY FORCE" on its side, and then the hatch opens to allow a platform with another smaller but still formidable looking rocket, named the V-16, to pop out. From out of the rocket marches an oddly shaped fellow with a Roman Legionnaire-type helmet on his head, a face completely cast in shadows so that we only see his eyes from inside the helmet, and a scrawny little body (with a Roman skirt to match the helmet), on the skinny legs of which he is wearing a pair of sneakers. He skitters over to the V-16, aims its sights on the Earth, and then goes to a map to calculate his attack.

    Bugs sneaks up behind the little guy and asks him, after a couple of stalls, "Eh, what's up, Doc?" The Martian, who seems unsurprised by the rabbit's intrusion, confidently answers in a nasally tone, "Oh, uh, I'm going to blow up the Earth." "Yeah, well you sure picked a nice day for it!", Bugs answers calmly as though just making small talk. "Hey, nice looking wee-pon ya got there! Well, I'll be seeing ya around, Shorty!" Bugs starts to leave, remarking "Now, there's a brainy little guy! Probably get ahead in the moon!" As the Martian starts to light a tiny explosive device on the V-16, Bugs returns to inquire further of the invader, "Eh, pardon me for botherin', Marconi! But, did you say you was going to blow up da Oith?" The Martian reaffirms his plans, and Bugs says "Yeah, that's what I thought ya said. Well, adios!" Bugs walks off again, saying "Well, one man's meat is another man's poison, I always say! After all, it's his business if he wants to blow up da Oith." Suddenly, the words ring true in Bugs' skull, and he leaps up in shock. He zips back to the V-16 and steals the explosive device, telling the little guy, "Ya can't do dat! All da people I know are on da Oith!" He struts off with the device, muttering to himself, "Da noive of dis character..."

    The Martian is now compelled to call out "the reserves" and he pulls out a largely ineffectual trumpet, which nonetheless calls forth the other member of the Mars-to-Moon Expeditionary Force: his dog. (Later on, he will become known as K-9.) Clad in the same outfit as the eventually-named Marvin (though that will occur some 20 years later), and with fur set in a light-green shade (with even greener ears), the dog responds to his master's call. Marvin instructs him, "Go get that Earth creature and bring back the Uranium PU-36 Explosive Space Modulator!" The dog salutes with his ear, and then his four sneaker-clad feet turn about separate from the body and he marches off backwards on his quest, never turning his head. Back at his Moon rocket, having set the PU-36 down on the ground, Bugs desperately tries to contact Earth via radio, but all he receives is a humorous radio jingle for a cereal company. Suddenly, the Martian dog is sitting silently next to Bugs, holding the PU-36 in his mouth. "Well, well," Bugs notices, "What are you made up for?" To the camera, he asks us to "Check out the fugitive from the Dog Star!"

    Bugs manages to get the device back from the dog by subjecting him to a round of "Oh, no you wont's!" and "Oh, yes you wills!", whereby Bugs turns the phrasing about in mid-battle, so that the dog becomes determined to turn the weapon back over to the rabbit. "You'll take it or I'll shove it down yer t'roat!", the dog commands. Bugs takes it, but as he sneaks off with the prize, he counters "But I'll tell my big brudder, and he'll fix you up all right!" After the dog declares , "I guess I showed him!", he realizes the error of his ways and bolts straight at the rabbit, getting all tangled up with him in the process. Bugs turns the mood romantic by telling the dog, who is hugging the rabbit tightly, "Gee, kid! I didn't know ya cared!" The dog acts all shy and demure, blushing at the thought. "Dere's a beautiful Earth out tonight!" The dog blushes more, but Bugs sees the Martian coming and hightails it. The Martian marches up and kicks the dog square in the britches, knocking him out of his romantic reverie. For the first time, Marvin declares in his incredible ire, "You have made me very angry!" He pants a couple of times breathlessly, and adds "Very angry indeed!"

    Suddenly, Bugs rides up on a rocket-scooter, all dressed up in the same outfit as the Martian. "Special delivery from Mars!" and hands the PU36 over to the Martian. The little villain and his canine skip off merrily to their ship, with Marvin declaring "Oh, goody! Another Uranium PU-36 Explosive Space Modulator! Isn't that wonderful? Now we can blow up the Earth!" What he doesn't notice is the long wires attached to the device, and once they reach the ship, Bugs presses down on a detonator. Instead of blowing up just the Martian force, however, the moon instead gets blasted to pieces, leaving only a permanent crescent moon in its place! The space program back on Earth calls through the radio to Bugs, and ask him a couple of perfunctory questions before asking if Bugs has prepared a statement to the people of Earth. "Why, yes," Bugs calmly begins, "I have prepared a statement." We then see Bugs hanging from the tip of the crescent moon by his fingers, and he yells his statement: "GET ME OUTTA HERE!" The camera pans down to show the Martian dog gripping tight onto the rabbit's legs, and then down further, we see Marvin holding on to his dog's tail, blinking his giant eyes. Iris out.

    A tour de Martian Expeditionary Force, and I would consider it to be an amazing achievement if I didn't know that Jones would top this short with the incredible Duck Dodgers film. That said, it is a wonderful piece. I am especially enamored of the dialogue, and of the entire section where Bugs tangles with K-9. Marvin's voice, provided by Mel Blanc, is higher and more nasally than it would eventually become, but the rest of the character is intact, with his motivations as true and as megalomaniacal as they would continue to be in the succeeding films, and through to his work today.

    I'm am unsure of whether or not Jones and company were influenced by the work of Chesley Bonestell, which was certainly very prominent in the day and age of the creation of Marvin Martian. (I suspect they probably were, but I can't back this up with my materials at hand.) But through their efforts, the Jones' boys ratcheted up my imagination with visions of rocketships and alien worlds well before I hit the motherlode of latenight science fiction films a few years later. Much drawing of lunar landscapes, craters and Martian invasions in weirdly designed ships sprung from my haphazard pencil in my grade school years, and all of it due to a little Martian wearing tennis shoes. I didn't know then that there was probably other unseen hands behind this influence, and such is the way of things. Just like kids of today see a comedy or science-fiction film, and don't necessarily understand the tradition behind these forms, in my youth I had no idea that one man was most responsible for implanting all of those frighteningly desolate though thrilling landscapes, hopeful dreams of space stations, and inspirational drive to reach the stars into the minds of millions of people, whether directly or indirectly.

    And that's more powerful than any Uranium PU-36 Explosive Space Modulator...

    Haredevil Hare (Warner Bros. Merrie Melodies, 1948)
    Director: Charles M. (Chuck) Jones
    Writer: Michael Maltese
    Animators: Ken Harris, Phil Monroe, Lloyd Vaughan, Ben Washam
    Backgrounds: Peter Alvarado
    Layouts: Robert Gribbroek
    Effects: A.C. Gamer
    Music: Carl W. Stalling
    Cel Bloc Rating: 8

  • Rixflix A to Z: Adam's Rib (1949)

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    Adam's Rib  (1949)

    OK, so maybe this film isn't directly about divorce, but it feels like it to me. Ostensibly, Adam's Rib is meant to be a comedy about the war between the sexes, where what seems at first to be the perfect marriage in the home nearly gets decimated when the couple, equally feisty lawyers inhabited by top thespians Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy, start getting a little too competitive in the courtroom instead. Reviewing the film is futile for me, because despite the facts it is supremely well-produced on nearly every level, and that I do get the comedy, however dark, writ large in the material, it reads as nothing but drama to me.

    Perhaps taking a cue from when I was twelve and my parents were going through their troubles, leading to a nasty and personally scarring divorce, any film that has couples arguing, let alone one that has the word "divorce" in it, tends to put me at unease. At that age, when the Hayley Mills version of The Parent Trap showed on NBC one evening, owing to the tender nature of the situation, my brothers and I were told by our mother that we weren't supposed to watch the movie when she went out that evening. The babysitter, however, acquiesced to our insistent pleading to let us see the film (in effect, we lied to her sweet, trusting Jesus-freak face), and we laughed and laughed because we had won our short-term, small-minded victory. For the moment.

    My brothers really had no understanding of the whole divorce issue at that time, and I will admit that until I watched Trap, I really hadn't thought of it as something into which people really put all that much emotional investment. I had friends who had parents that had divorced, but it never meant anything to me. I believe my mother's fear would be that we, who were already prone to engaging in thoroughly crazy and stupid pranks, would take a cue from the film and use the same to try and get her back together with our father. Which I meant have been inspired to if the film, despite the laughter it initially caused, didn't give way to my actually understanding the opposite was the truth. I knew at that moment that my parents weren't ever to get back together; I understood fully that it was only a silly Disney movie, and it led to a tear-soaked bedtime where our extremely kind sitter held my hand and tried to talk me out of my first sincerely deep depression. It led to an angry teenager, who nearly ruined his entire life due to his selfish brattiness. Eventually, it would lead to my being too scared to go through with my own divorce much later, even though its inevitability was far, far too apparently the best course for both parties.

    And it also led to my not being able to fully enjoy incredible movies like Adam's Rib. Tracy and Hepburn do their darnedest, and I have seen the film numerous times over the years, mainly to enjoy the two of them in a pair of their finest roles, and also to enjoy the sharp and quite edgy script by Ruth Gordon and Garson Kanin (themselves tart-tongued marrieds). I quite like the film, but for the same reason that stage dramas with too much bickering and shouting between lovers has me looking for an early bathroom break, and for the same reason that my head starts to buzz when even the lightest argument between Jen and myself occurs, I can't really get the same experience that others get out of Adam's Rib. It won't keep me from watching it over the years, and I will continue to try and laugh at the appropriate moments, but the angrier moments, the pensive state that develops between the main characters, and the misunderstandings that cause the rift are devastating to me. For my own safety, I will always proceed with caution.

  • Rixflix A to Z: The Abyss (1989)

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    The Abyss  (1989)

    I don't swim very well. I drop -- Nay! I plummet to the bottom of any body of water. I do the proper type of kicking and I make the right arm movements, but somehow my trajectory in the water takes a sharp turn downward and soon I am plowing through everyone's feet. I'm fine at the bottom of the pool, because there is no further room for me to drop, and suddenly I turn into The Man From Atlantis (Hey! Where is that on DVD, huh?) I float the way that lead doesn't; the Mafia ties me to the feet of snitches to drown them in the East River. I swim like the United States conducts its police actions: messily and with many casualties, and at great taxpayer expense.

    Despite my inclination to never go in the water, I love the ocean. Love movies about it, love TV shows about it; read about it all the time. I am obsessed with sharks to a degree that drives Jen to shake her head in consternation. And, yeah, I have been digging James Cameron's deep sea efforts of late, his documentary wanderings about the ocean floor into tragic wrecks and seeking out lantern-fish and whatnot. Small wonder then that I love The Abyss, his 1989 opus of oceanic deep sea trenches, tortured romance, nuclear politics and eventual contact with an aquatic alien force. Oh, yes... and then there's the drop, nay! The plummet...

    While I get caught up in the incredible suspense of the first couple acts of The Abyss, it is Ed Harris' haunting plunge into the void that really gets to me. Some would call his sojourn a leap of faith. They can take a leap, for all I care. I'm sure that someone else would point out the Freudian or Oedipal connections to my interest in such a scene, but once they are done banging their mom with a cigar, they will listen to the most obvious reason that I love the scene: it friggin' rocks. Sorry to get so deep and analytical over it, but Harris' drop into a seemingly bottomless trench, while perhaps reeking of significance in a thousand ways to the filmmaker's
    plot and subconsciousness , which I will recognize and even agree with to a point at a moment when I am not being snarky, is nothing but this adventurous leap into the lightless unknown for me. For nine breathless minutes, which makes me momentarily forget the two thrilling hours that preceded it and itself feels like the bulk of the movie to me, I am caught up in the plummet.

    I know the mission Harris' character is on: to disarm a nuclear warhead
    (a threat set into place a psychotic, pressure-trembling military automaton played with dead-eyed coldness by Michael Biehn) before it destroys both the trapped deep-sea drilling rig captained by Harris and the recently met alien aquatics who might live at the bottom of the trench. I know clearly every detail of what he must do, how he must do it, and the amazing equipment (a suit calculated to withstand intense deep-sea pressure and in which Harris must breath liquid as he dives), and have also been given hints of the aliens' presence in the ocean. And once Harris steps of the edge of the wall and starts his descent, I forget it all and practically hold my own breath for those nine minutes. Every single time that I watch the film. It outweighs every other element of the film and I am left gripped in incomprehensible fear and astonishment for the length of the scene. Small wonder then that the preachy finale, while I agree with its political sentiment, comes off as juvenile and ultimately disappointing.

    When I first viewed the film, I feared that it would be yet another one of those body count films, where characters drop off in sometimes stupid, sometimes self-sacrificing ways until there is nothing left but the main hero and the antagonizing person/force. Sometimes this can still come off well (as in Alien or even Cameron's Aliens), but more often than not, it just becomes rote, by-the-book action filmmaking -- you can pretty much guess everything that is going to occur for the next hour-and-a-half. A surprise then that Cameron recognizes the story's importance of keeping his drill-rig team as just that: a team (and surrogate family) that sees each other through every variation in the plot. Sure, peripheral characters meet their doom, but the core of the group is their strength as a team. Rather than take the film down to just Harris and Biehn, Cameron takes the time to let us know that these characters will have each other's backs, and more often than not, this will see them through even the roughest patches.

    There is another element that makes the movie for me: the jagged romance that nips around the edges of the plot. For the film is not just about a salvage mission for a stranded nuclear submarine; it also becomes a salvage mission for a damaged marriage. Perhaps the film sparked something deep in me due to my own travails in that department; strange that this film could be such a personal one for both my ex- and myself, and yet not enable either one of us to make the necessary steps to salvage our own doomed mission. Still pretty much newlyweds when this film came out (which was a first day of release must-see: I was a nut for Cameron at the time; she had a crush on Biehn), our bonds were already starting to unravel, Unlike Harris, surely, our marriage was a step off the wall that we never should have made...

  • Rixflix A to Z: Abbott and Costello Meet the Killer, Boris Karloff (1949)

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    Perhaps, "A Killer", not "The Killer", would be more appropriate. Karloff's "phony", as the police put it, swami may have no qualms about hypnotizing Costello's bellhop character into offing himself, but he is only one of many suspects residing in a hotel swarming with police looking for the murderer of an attorney. Karloff is great fun in the swami role, but he also disappears largely from the film after some good early scenes. Costello booby-traps his room to try and catch the real killer, but naturally his traps backfire in numerous places. Of course, many murders occur in the meantime, and of course, Lou will get the blame for all of them, but that's the fun part, right? Watching the pudgy little guy bluster and whistle and sweat his way from bad situation to worse situation, all the while both aided and blocked by his best pal Abbott. That's what A&C are all about, and this one delivers the goods, albeit in a reduced fashion. Still fun...

  • Rixflix A to Z: Absolute Beginners (1986)

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    When this movie came out in 1986, I saw it four times. Four. Dragged friends to it, went by myself, took a date to it. Four times. Why? I had read the excellent novel a couple of years before, but that wasn't the reason. I told myself that it was the chance to see David Bowie and Ray Davies singing and, yes, in Bowie's case, tap-dancing on the big screen. But, no, that wasn't the reason. I was in immediate head over heels love with Crepe Suzette. Or was it Patsy Kensit? No matter; it turns out, neither girl, either the character of Suze, or the real-life actress/singer Kensit, were my type nor really worth the attention. But at that time, I didn't care. And in truth, I was in love with the whole glorious mess that was Absolute Beginners, from its Touch of Evil-style knockout of an opening shot (not really the opening shot, but close enough...) to Davies' music-hall stylings, and yes, to the Bowie production number, which seems Sinatra/Kelly old school cool, but is still coldly weird in the signature Bowie form.

    In 1986, I loved every bit of it, even when telling myself privately that "that bit didn't work" or "that scene bothers me". Twenty years down the road, I will freely admit to the parts that I believe drag it down, and will also admit that I don't enjoy it half as much as I once did. More than ever, Kensit seems to barely inhabit her role, or my heart, for that matter -- she really wasn't my type at all, and while I can forgive my heart or dick for leading me wrong, I can't forgive the film for it. The problem is that all of this hubbub in the story develops because of the lead character's love for this girl, but she is hardly worth it. The film separates the pair, but when he goes to save her from the trouble she and fate have gotten her into, she really hasn't done anything to earn this affection and devotion. To a certain extent, with its cut-and-paste musical references and wayward emotions, I also got the feeling that this film was the 80's version of Moulin Rouge, and I wouldn't be surprised to find that Baz Luhrmann was a big fan of it.

    And the political content in the film, that of the Notting Hill racial riots in the late 50's, seems to take the film far, far from the young teenage rumble that the film plays out for the first hour plus of its running time. While this material is part of the book, it should be in the film, but as the film starts off as a grand Julian Temple musical experiment, it jettisons this appealing vision just after Sade's excellent Killer Blow sequence, and the last half hour descends into the quite jarring riot material, which is punctuated jerkily with
    West Side Story-style dance violence, which simultaneously seems out of place and old hat.

    It is the remainder of the film: the solid musical sequences, and the youthful drive of the "teenaged" cast that gives it what joy it has, which is still considerably, despite its demerits as either successful musical or drama. The score by the great Gil Evans is as sharp as Bowie's suit, and it was through this film that I developed a love for the music of Slim Gaillard, the man who invented the Flat-foot Floogie (with the Floy-Floy). Even after twenty years, the film is still enjoyable enough for me to still consider Selling Out.

  • Rixflix A to Z: The Abominable Dr. Phibes (1971)

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    "Nine killed you. Nine shall die. Nine times, nine! Nine killed you! Nine shall die! Nine eternities in DOOM!" - Dr. Anton Phibes (Vincent Price)

    Poor Dr. Phibes... his wife dies tragically on the operating table after only six minutes in surgery. He gets in a tragic car accident, burnt and disfigured and thought to be dead. And the thought that the chief surgeon, the surgery nurse and seven consulting doctors who presided over his wife's death are still alive fills him with the purest sense of revenge. To gain this revenge, he will reconstruct (with slight variations) the Biblical plagues of Egypt, doing in each of the guilty with a different plague (boils, blood, rats, etc.)

    It seems simple enough, but this film takes a basic potboiler premise and takes it to an amazing level of sublime and artful horror. Phibes isn't just mad with lust for revenge; he is a genius of high order: a doctor, an inventor, a scientist, a concert musician... Phibes manages to weave all of his various skills and interests into his revenge, and still takes time out of his murderous rampage for a waltz with his stylish assistant Vulnavia. A ballroom in his art deco palatial estate is filled with clockwork musicians, and while no one is there to see any of this silliness, the pair seem to stage Broadway-style pageantry with Vulnavia in elaborate costuming, all of which Phibes accompanies on a grand organ, which rises out of the floor and also serves as an elevator to his hidden den. (It also lends the film an appropriate nod to The Phantom of the Opera, if not also a reminder of Captain Nemo, himself a creature whose genius is also fortified through hatred and revenge against the human race.)

    And the murders are nothing simple, but sometimes quite involved set-pieces of intellectual construct and scheming. Dr. Phibes is always there, lurking about the scene, but as no one believes he is even alive or even that he exists, the police are baffled constantly. It wouldn't do them any good -- they wouldn't know him from Adam: Phibes, you see, has no face, and can only talk through a device that he has designed and implanted in the side of his neck. (He has another such device hidden unseen behind his head for drinking and eating, which is used to most humorous effect.) The Vincent Price face that we see throughout the film is merely a mask, and even when we know this for much of the running time, the reveal of his true self is still shocking, even when viewed numerous times.

    A most enjoyable time even for those most hardened against genre filmmaking, because the film succeeds outside of this realm as pure, although out-of-left-field, entertainment. It's not surprising that my three favorite films that came out of the same year, 1971, were Harold and Maude, A Clockwork Orange and this film. While the intent and the subject matter of the three films could hardly be more different, from three wildly diverse filmmakers, there is still an overriding sensibility at play in all three that appeals to the same exact place in my movie-mind. Call it my need for artful subversiveness (even if Orange still comes on as fascistic); even with the pretentious strains evident in all three (least of all in this one, though), I love them all the same.

 

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