Hello!

CineSavant will be going relatively quiet for a week or so across this year’s Holiday, so we’re getting our Horror fun out of the way now:

Here’s a Book Review for Tom Weaver’s latest fanta-opus, Sardonicus – Scripts from the Crypt #11, the book series through Bear Manor Media. This time around Weaver and his cohorts alight on a 1961 William Castle ‘shocker’ that’s maintained a certain reputation despite not performing as well as any of his previous 5 horror pix. I personally like it much better than Castle’s most successful, Homicidal. And this book review gives me an opportunity to detour into several personal tangents.

I wasn’t a horror film attendee as a tot but I was intrigued by the posters for House on Haunted Hill and The Tingler. I also remember being frustrated when my older sister got to see 13 Ghosts and then wouldn’t answer questions about the ‘ghost viewer’ she brought home . . . It must have been a family conspiracy not to warp my 8 year-old mind. The only actual Castle film I saw in a theater was the later The Night Walker, when the producer-director was fumbling several unfunny horror comedies and striking gold again with his bizarro Joan Crawford show Strait-Jacket. It didn’t matter, as all sins would be forgiven when Castle produced the superb Rosemary’s Baby, one of America’s best mainstream horror pix ever.

The center of interest is a scary makeup for the Baron, which in the film is briefly glimpsed only three or four times. The one classic sequence in the film is the graveyard scene, which benefits from Guy Rolfe’s sympathetic performance and a graphic shot of a decomposed corpse that seems very advanced for  1961 Hollywood — the darn thing made us jump back half a foot, even though Castle’s direction is merely adequate.

Why does Mr. Sardonicus remain a sticking point in my adult psyche?  I learned the lore of Castle’s Columbia horror oeuvre through Famous Monsters magazine long before I got a look at the pictures themselves. One early issue I saw at age ten printed a mug shot of Baron Sardonicus’s horror-face, an image that I found nightmarishly disturbing … that impossible rictus with more teeth than a Tyrannosaurus Rex, resting below eyes that looks relaxed, at ease. It took me years to figure out what was so psychologically unnerving about it.

Tom Weaver’s book is something of an organized collage. The backbone is Weaver’s own making-of essay chronicling the filming of the show, its publicity, its ‘Punishment Poll’ gimmick and the fallout from exhibitors and the public. Accompanying the film’s entire shooting script are chapters from other writers. Music expert David Schecter wades into Von Dexter’s soundtrack score, Laura Wagner contributes detailed career articles on actors Guy Rolfe and Audrey (swoon) Dalton, and Library of Congress archivist Rachel Del Gaudio writes up a combo- horror fan memoir and visual analysis of the film’s themes.

Weaver’s own writings give depth to a film that in many ways is not all that distinguished. Weaver has no illusions about William Castle, a director who started by emulating Alfred Hitchcock and attending to Orson Welles before settling into a minor groove at Universal and elsewhere. Castle’s hucksterism seemed derivative, even if his ‘carnival advance man’ appearances predated Hitchcock’s in-person presence in film trailers — Castle took his cue from Hitchcock’s marvelously droll bookend cameos in his TV show. It’s fun reading about Castle’s less than respected reputation in Hollywood, where crews either treated him as a pretentious pretender, or (more likely) a slippery climber. He must have been a special case to stand out from the 1,001 other obnoxious Hollywood climbers. Castle’s main writing collaborator Robb White couldn’t resist nailing his employer in an interview (from Filmfax, I think). Castle was in no way prosperous but went to great lengths to affect celebrity airs. ‘Forced’ to hitch a ride in White’s volkswagen, Castle brought along a phone receiver and cord, and pretended to be carrying on a radio-phone conversation in the car, so people would notice him at intersections and think him a bigwig. The joke is the fact that he’d try the gag in a lowly VW bug.

But back to the review. Tom Weaver offers more amusing examples of Castle’s odd methods of self-aggrandizement, along with the facts of the Sardonicus shoot. Weaver had access to a pre-production schedule but not actual production reports, so he’s careful when explaining which scenes were filmed in what order. He also must wade through every dubious publicity announcement, statement and interview quote from William Castle: the producer-director cultivated his mini-celeb persona through pure publicity flackery. Everything he said that wasn’t untrue, was an out-and-out lie. He gave out multiple stories for how shows began, who came up with what idea and how actors were hired.

Castle wasn’t psychotic, just practical: he made very cheap, un-newsworthy films, and knew that unless he hyped everything his work would be invisible. That approach worked well for several years. The cheapo pictures multiplied Columbia’s investment and gave him an excellent relationship with the front office.

Weaver adds some collected reviews and ‘script to screen changes,’ plus anecdotes and news blurbs about the director and his actors. We learn that Guy Rolfe was sickly, and that in England he had played mostly ‘handsome leading man’ parts. Audrey Dalton is still with us; she provides an introduction and does her best to recall good memories of the picture. She remembers Oscar Homolka as a big personality who gave the show a needed boost by purposely injecting some humor into his role. Why not?  Homolka got first billing, even above Ronald Lewis’s dull hero.

The best thing about Scripts from the Crypt / Sardonicus is what we learn about writer-screenwriter Ray Russell. With significant input from Russell’s children Marc and Amanda, Tom Weaver fashions an in-depth portrait. In the early 1950s Russell went from a barely-published short story writer to associate editor for Playboy magazine, all on the basis of two stories he’d submitted to Hugh Hefner after they were turned down elsewhere. Russell spent a decade in Chicago overseeing most of the text content of Hef’s magazine; he’s the one responsible for hiring fantasy-friendly writers like Ray Bradbury and George Langelaan. Russell also used Playboy to get more of his own work in print, such as the novella Sardonicus. We get the full story on Russell’s ambitions, his migration to Los Angeles courtesy of William Castle’s film, and his subsequent writing work on the two excellent Roger Corman pictures that became his most prestigious credits.

Finally, the book reprints the entire original Sardonicus novella. It is easy to see why it appealed. Russell affects a vintage writing style, making full use of antiquated formalities, that gives it a great ‘curling up with a spooky old book’ feeling. William Castle’s film has its moments but comes off as mostly flat and conventional when it needed to be stylish and mysterious. I dug up my copy of a Playboy reprint from 1964 (just above, with its color illustration). The novella seems more like a short story — it fills just 11 pages.

Scripts from the Crypt / Sardonicus also discusses the film’s bizarre makeup at length. The book is informative and its affectionate ribbing of William Castle is funny. Even with only a moderate interest in the movie, I found it to be a rewarding, valuable read, especially the Ray Russell bio.

And we hear from correspondent & advisor Gary Teetzel once more before 2021 sinks into the past … this time he’s come up with a Variety article from April, 1959 that’s an early trade paper look the increasing popularity of Kaiju Pix on American screens: Rashomon may win awards but big rubber monsters were doing booming business. The writer Dave Jampel appears to be unaware of Columbia’s Toho aquisitions, but he has good research on the little business partnership that imported and re-worked the original Godzilla and good info on some subsequent imports and retitlings — with production and licensing price tags attached.

The helpful article confirms a bit of arcane Kaiju lore: Toho indeed initially formatted its movie Daikaiju Baran (later, Varan The Unbelievable) as four half-hour TV shows, and tried to sell them to American television. That really makes sense considering that the show appears to conclude more than once. The article calls the movie “Valan” — did Jampel hear the title over a telephone?  The reporter offers some quotes from Eiji Tsuburaya; we wonder if he simply translated them from a Toho publicity sheet. In any case, the article is at this link, bearing a very Variety-speak title headline: Japanese Arters Wow Critics, But Horror Films Get Coin.

On the same Variety page we’re told that Carol Reed’s Our Man in Havana is about to shoot in Cuba, just four months after Castro’s revolution — and our film Guilds ask that all foreign-produced ‘runaway productions’ be banned because they employ communists!

Thanks for reading! Enjoy the holiday — Glenn Erickson

Hello!

Some mighty impressive disc announcements today — just when I think the companies have exhausted the resource of desirable titles, more keep rolling in. Things once seemed to slow down after the Christmas holiday, but not this year.

The Criterion Collection has announced its March 2022 offerings, which include three vintage enticements. One of Robert Aldrich’s very best pictures, The Flight of the Phoenix will make its Region A debut with interesting extras, including the input of the Aldrich authority Alain Silver. Martin Scorsese’s concert show The Last Waltz will debut in 4K, and Jean-Pierre Melville’s crime thriller Le Cercle Rouge jumps to 4K as well. Also coming from Criterion are the newer pictures Adoption (1975) by Márta Mészáros) and Love Jones (1997) by Theodore Witcher. All for March.

Taking the prize for sheer volume is Kino Lorber and its associated labels. Toplining their January slate is a 4K Ultra-HD of United Artists’ crowd-pleaser The Great Escape. It’ll be interesting to see what 4K adds to the experience … if I close my eyes I can remember it from the screen of the Fox San Bernardino, back around 1966 or so. The same goes for Billy Wilder’s Some Like It Hot, which might undergo a quantum image jump in 4K — it was stunning on a big screen. The onslaught of notable KL Studio Classics titles continues with Alfred Hitchcock’s not-well-known Rich and Strange and a pair of pre-Code mystery thrillers, The Crime of the Century and Double Door.

Continuing with Kino, there’s Loretta Young, Alan Ladd and William Bendix in John Farrow’s China; Ray Milland and Marlene Dietrich in Mitchell Leisen’s Golden Earrings; Arthur Miller’s excellent All My Sons with Edward G. Robinson and Burt Lancaster; James Cagney and Dana Wynter in Michael Anderson’s Shake Hands with the Devil; William Holden, Susannah York and Capucine in The 7th Dawn; Michael Caine and Shirley MacLaine in Gambit (the only M. Caine movie that didn’t hold my attention, oddly); Bill Forsyth’s Breaking In and several others. Releasing through Kino, Code Red gives us a rarity (maybe with good reason): the Hugh Hefner- produced The Naked Ape the documentary (?) about the evolution of sex that features Johnny Crawford and introduced Victoria Principal. All for January.

Thanks for reading! — Glenn Erickson

Hello!

Trying to find some information about the best way for Canadians to order U.S. discs, I got a number of helpful suggestions from north-of-the-parallel correspondents. The problem one reader had was mainly with the Warner Archive Collection — Amazon.ca simply doesn’t list all of them, or are understocked. He encountered downside issues ordering from Amazon.com U.S., with an unfavorable exchange rate, etc..

Several responses came back right away — unfortunately I didn’t mention Warner Archive discs very prominently, so I only got limited help on that one. The helpful readers that wrote in are Joel McCaull, Verel McElravy, Bryan Barrow, John Prins and Nigel Jahrles. Actually, some of what they said contradicted the experience of my concerned reader:

“Unobstructed View became Criterion’s Canadian distributor a few years ago and now we can get our own version of the Barnes & Noble sales. They also distribute Kino, Arrow and many more. I highly recommend them.”

“I’ve ordered 20+ times in 2021 from Amazon.com U.S. and have found the exchange rate to be fair & the delivery service very fine, if sometimes slow; Amazon’s tracking feature often even works for Canada which is a plus. Another possibility is ordering directly from Kino Lorber which I do quite a bit; they’ve got a lot of good movies at fair prices & right now they’re having a sale.”

“The source I use is Unobstructed View out of Toronto. Their prices are better than Amazon.ca, and they are official distributors for Criterion, Kino Lorber, Arrow, and many others. They have frequent sales, including sales that mirror the official Criterion sales. They even have free shipping for larger orders. Titles I can’t find at Unobstructed View, usually Warner Archive titles, I usually order from the TCM site.”

“My number one tip: open up the sidebar in amazon.ca marked ‘new from,’ and if importcds shows as a third-party vendor, use them. No more than 2 wks. delivery time, and only a $3.49 CAD shipping charge.”

“Unobstructed View are the official Canadian distributor for most of the boutique labels. They also run sales to match the ones happening elsewhere for Criterion & Arrow, which means you can expect at least 4 sales events for each label per year.”

I’m assuming that these are all legit responses, and not from ringers . . . although I’d never know the difference. I guess this ends up looking like an ad for Unobstructed View and “importcds” . . . which I looked at and definitely saw Warner Archive discs for sale. That said, I’ve never personally checked out these sites and cannot personally vouch for them. So chalk this up as more iffy journalistic ‘recommendations’ from CineSavant . . . I hope my reader solves his problem.

Now to catch up on some quality, undemanding reading: correspondent Lino Benvenuto passed on a link to The Chiseler, a site with a selection of good articles about older movies. The Chiseler prides itself for writing about, quote: Forgotten Authors, Neglected Stars, and Lost Languages Rediscovered.

The present page has articles I ought to read to broaden my mind. I gravitated toward some brief, thoughtful pieces on Spanish filmmaker Segundo de Chomón by David Cairns, silent movie actress Florence Turner by Imogen Sara Smith and some Depression-era William Wellman movies, by Daniel Riccuito.

I knew it would be fixed, somewhere: 11 years ago at ‘DVD Savant’ we reviewed the Warner Archive Collection DVD of Operation Daybreak, and were fairly certain that an entire subtitle track had been left off the disc. Operation Daybreak is an excellent account of the assassination of ‘The Hangman’ Reinhard Heydrich, the Reichsprotektor of Prague and the architect of the Holocaust’s Final Solution. It stars Timothy Bottoms, and as Heydrich, the dependably villainous Anton Diffring.

In the movie, the Czech dialogue is spoken in English, and the German dialogue in subtitled German … but the subtitles were left off the WAC’s 2010 DVD. A couple days back Turner Classic Movies cablecast Operation Daybreak, with subs intact. I now know what’s being spoken in scores of important scenes.

One plus for the Made-On-Demand production plan is that there is no huge standing inventory of product for every title made. I’ve seen the WAC quietly correct understandable ‘mistakes,’ even going so far as to restore a censored shot to the horror film The Cyclops.

So only one question remains: was this flaw ever corrected in the Warner Archive DVD?  I never followed up. Has any CineSavant reader purchased a newer WAC copy of Operation Daybreak?  Does it carry restored English subtitles for the German dialogue?

As a postscript, TCM also showed a restored, wonderfully pristine print of Francis Coppola’s You’re a Big Boy Now last Saturday Night … a real treat. Catch it if you can next time it’s up.

Thanks for reading! — Glenn Erickson

Hello!

It looks like the dependable UK disc folk at Powerhouse Indicator will be filling a huge gap in horror film history next March, with Blu-ray discs of two legendary Mexican horror films: Ramón Peon’s La Llorona and Fernando de Fuentes’ El fantasma del convento, both 1933. They’re said to be highly atmospheric — with the Catholic culture weighing heavily on them — and only slightly influenced by American horror. Can’t wait to see PI’s extras.

You’d think that the tale of ‘La Llorona’ would be better known, as it’s also the ghost-story used in a murder plot in Hitchcock’s Vertigo. These two will be very welcome; a couple of years ago Criterion gave us a restored Dos monjes, a spooky love-murder-romance tale that also involves a monastery.

Also from PI for March is Budd Boetticher’s final western A Time for Dying, an oater without big stars. Victor Jory and Audie Murphy each have small roles, as Judge Roy Bean and Jesse James. It’s a tiny production and may be just for completists . . . but we know western fans that have been waiting forever to see it properly restored.

This next item is in answer to a request from a Canadian reader who often finds it difficult to order Blu-rays and DVDs — he reports that Amazon.ca is almost always understocked, and that Amazon.us gives him an unfavorable exchange rate and iffy shipping. If any CineSavant readers to the North care to send in links to reasonable alternative online sources or workarounds, we’d like to know so I can pass them on and mention them here.

Years ago I read the wailings of Australian disc collectors, whose problems obtaining product sounded pretty terrible. Perhaps they found a solution or two over time?  The fact is that we here in the U.S. are pretty spoiled — when I’ve ordered from the U.K., France, Italy and Germany I’ve always gotten good prices and delivery in less than a month.

And a mini- Book Review:   Correspondent Ted Haycraft asked me to take a look at author DeWayne Todd’s
The Buckaroo Banzai Collectors’ Compendium and I’m happy to give it a plug/mini review here. The softbound book carries the sub-title “A Marketing and Promotional Odyssey,” and that’s exactly what it is, sort of a giant scrapbook, collector’s corner and arcane trivia depository for one of the more tenacious cult features of the 1980s. Buckaroo Banzai is a convoluted filmic adventure about the heroic Buckaroo and his Hong Kong Cavaliers, a tight-knit group of dandified specialists and men-of-action that travel the world righting wrongs, in the old Republic Serial sense. My Blu-ray review is here.

Todd’s text wanders afield explaining the appeal of various characters and the one-film franchise as a whole, as expressed through marketing material and ephemera. Collector-level detail is the book’s main draw: it documents just about every iteration of ads, premiere heralds, distributor’s pressbooks and posters for territories both domestic and foreign. Author Todd includes rare items, such as prototype toys that were never (I think) mass produced, etc.

And we’re also taken on a full trip through the film’s home video history, beginning with VHS tapes and CED video discs. The writing style is friendly; it’s the kind of book that one reads the opening chapters to understand the format, and then drops in whenever something grabs one’s attention, which is like every third page. A couple of comic book adaptations are present. There’s even full coverage of fanzines based on the Banzai cult, lobbying for the launch of a sequel, or a reboot.

The book is 152 pages including a bibliography; quite a few pages are in color. The cover illustration is by Mark Maddox.

Thanks for reading! — Glenn Erickson