Rascals

Two Sixties flicks from Roger Corman, making a James Franco sandwich:
 
WILD ANGELS (1966) (C+) - Peter Fonda gives the hippie take on James Dean in this Hell's Angels hellscape of white-supremacist bikers rebelling against whatever the Man's offering in the mid-'60s. Fonda and Nancy Sinatra lead the charge across Southern California, while Bruce Dern and Diane Ladd provide some gravitas to what too often comes across as a disturbing take on Frankie and Annette in their beach movies of the day.

It's really hard to just pass off the Nazi symbols flaunted here as just an anachronism or a passing fad. Roger Corman's direction is clunky, even if his attempt at provocation is to be admired. The nihilism surely hit a nerve in the transitional phase of the 1960s, and the characters had cool names like Blues (Fonda), Loser (Dern) and Monkey (Sinatra). And Gayle Hunnicut shows up with sex appeal to burn. Points, too, for eventually inspiring "Weekend at Bernies." This one is not much more than a curiosity at this point.

RISE OF THE PLANET OF THE APES (2011) (C+) - This fairly ridiculous origin story places James Franco, of all hipsters, at the center of the cause of the planet getting overrun by apes. Franco's Will Rodman, looking for a cure for his father's Alzheimer's disease, "adopts" baby Caesar, who shows remarkable intelligence and bounds up a steep learning curve.

The dialogue is goofy, Freida Pinto does little more than bat her eyes at Franco throughout, the CGI is mildly entertaining, and the supporting characters are alternately cardboard and wooden. John Lithgow gets the thankless role of the father, and he just can't shake his sitcom shtick. The intrigue here rarely rises above the level of a "Batman" TV episode. The final reel offers some cool pyrotechnics and ape antics, but it's way too little too late.

THE YOUNG RACERS (1963) (C-minus) - This is a remarkably boring European-flavored character study of an asshole who races cars. William Campbell is a dud as Joe Machin, an American driver gliding along on a nasty reputation. He cheats on his wife and exploits the loyalty of his brother, who pines for Joe's wife.

Corman hopscotches across the Continent and serves up multiple racing scenes (too many to be effective). Joe bigfoots around, and the viewer must be patient awaiting Joe's comeupppance. This is surprisingly dull, considering it's Roger Corman, race car drivers, and swingin' Europe at the dawn of the '60s.

BONUS TRACK
Primal Scream memorably sampled Fonda's epic speech from "Wild Angels" in the song "Loaded." Blues tells the Man, "We want to be free to do what we want to do. And we want to get loaded. And we wanna have a good time."


 

Men Behaving Badly

Inadvertent double feature! A pair of offbeat comedies that happen to feature Jess Weixler (from TV's "The Good Wife"):

THE DEATH OF DICK LONG (B) - A dark suburban twist on "The Hangover," this one from director Daniel Scheinert ("Swiss Army Man") and debut writer Billy Chew deals with the aftermath of three garage-band members partying too hard, leading to an unusual death among them. Married Zeke (Michael Abbott Jr.) and slacker Earl (Andre Hyland) bumble like they are in a cross between "Fargo" and "Pulp Fiction," and even the clueless investigation by the small town cops (led by Sarah Baker's Officer Dudley) can keep up with these two losers.

Strong performances keep this one afloat. Virginia Newcomb (who has a vibe that crosses Kristen Wiig with Sissy Spacek) plumbs depths as Zeke's frustrated wife, and Jess Weixler backs her up as Dick's clueless wife, who takes his disappearance as the sign of an affair rather than the obvious.

This takes a super-dark turn in the final reel, as not only is Dick's death particularly disturbing, but the filmmakers allows the other men to reveal their embrace of Dick's deviant behavior. It's a twist that might put you off, but you'll have to admit it's unique. And the comedy works. It's just a bit of an acquired taste all around.

SOMEBODY UP THERE LIKES ME (2012) (A-minus) - This quirky, absurdist deadpan comedy spans three decades in the lives of two improbable friends linked by a woman they both married. This valentine to Austin (akin to Noel Wells' "Mr. Roosevelt") comes from Bob Byington, who would go on to score with Jason Schwartzman in the similarly skewed "7 Chinese Brothers."

This time we get Max (Keith Poulson, a favorite of Byington's and director Alex Ross Perry, who makes a cameo here), an uninspired slug who befriends Sal, a fellow waiter at a local restaurant. Sal is played by Nick Offerman, always the reliable anchor in a film that craves gravitas to offset its effervescent mien. Even though "Somebody" clocks in at a trim 76 minutes, it spans 35 years, sprightly jumping five years at a time, where we see Max get married and divorced, followed by Sal marrying and divorcing the same woman, Lyla (a delightfully silly but sad Jess Weixler). The twist here is that, as it becomes fairly apparent early on, Max never seems to age while those around him do. Is that significant? Or is that just an eccentric accent to everything? Meantime, a deep male bond develops between Max and Sal, who eventually open their own eatery together.

Full of non sequiturs, the script has a casual feel to it, yet its precision is a wonder to behold. A solid supporting cast embraces the idiosyncrasies that pass through effortlessly. Indie legend Kevin Corrigan nails a cameo as a relationship malcontent. Stephanie Hunt is kittenish as the gum-snapping nanny whom Max can't resist. Offerman's wife Megan Mullally hides behind a wig and glasses as a laconic therapist. Marshall Bell is perfectly creepy as Lyla's father, a cop who shouldn't have as much money as he does. And Kate Lyn Sheil smolders and bookends the storyline as Max's placid ex-wife in a canary yellow dress. (There are many nods to Godard's color schemes throughout.)   

It's hard to capture the grounded goofiness of the proceedings, especially the stop-and-start banter. There is almost Groucho Marxist level wordplay, such as a malapropism-driven reference to the word avuncular. Here is a representative sample of the wry, disjointed dialogue of two characters following a funeral:

Sal: It seems weird that more people didn't turn out. I expected a turnout, a better turnout.
Lyle: Eh, you could have invited some people.
Sal: You don't invite people to a funeral; it's in the newspapers.
Lyle: Who reads newspapers?
Sal: The French! That's who. The French read the newspaper.
Lyle: You don't have to remind me. I went there once.
Sal: Everyone in France has a house that belonged to their parents.

Byington puts it all together elegantly, with an assist from cinematography by Sean Price Williams, interstitial animations by Bob Sabiston ("Waking Life"), and music from Albert Hammond Jr. of the Strokes. This one is a little gem.

BONUS TRACKS
Here's a pair from Hammond on the "Somebody" soundtrack. First, "In Transit":



And the lullaby "Cartoon Music for Super Heroes":



And Bob Schneider appears to sing a cover of the Cars' "Double Life" from "Candy-O":


 

New to the Queue

Caught in a loop ...

Jia Zhang-Ke ("The World," "Mountains May Depart") sees the release of his 2010 documentary about Shanghai, "I Wish I Knew."

A drama born out of the #MeToo movement, Julia Garner stars as "The Assistant."

From Russia, a harrowing drama of two women coping in the aftermath of World War II, "Beanpole."

A maker of exquisite documentaries, Patricio Guzman ("Nostalgia for the Light," "The Pearl Button") contrasts his own exile from Chile with the lives of those who endured the Pinochet regime in "The Cordillera of Dreams."

A documentary about the origins of the ground-breaking Americana music group, "Once Were Brothers: Robbie Robertson and the Band."
  

R.I.P., Kirk Douglas

In tribute to Kirk Douglas, who died last week at age 103, we reprint this essay we wrote for the Albuquerque Tribune in 2007 about the obscure classic he made with Billy Wilder, "Ace in the Hole":

"Ace in the Hole" might be the greatest movie you've never seen. Lucky for you, our culture's collective cynicism is finally catching up with the 1951 gem that was ahead of its time.

Despite an impeccable pedigree — it was written and directed at the height of his powers by the beloved Billy Wilder, and it starred Kirk Douglas — this biting noir drama bombed at the box office in the United States in 1951 and never got a video release until this week.

As fresh in 2007 as the vulture coverage of the death of Anna Nicole Smith, "Ace in the Hole" is a smart, scathing indictment of an opportunistic media in a nation of shameless rubberneckers, all devoted to the almighty dollar.

And it all takes place under the harsh glare of the New Mexico desert sun.

Shot mostly in Gallup and Laguna Pueblo, "Ace in the Hole" finds Chuck Tatum (Douglas), a failed big-city reporter, stuck in Albuquerque and begging for a job at the lowly Sun-Bulletin (with an embroidery of the editor's slogan, "Tell the Truth," hanging on the wall) and hoping for a big story to put him back on the map. A torturous year later, his prayers are answered when he and cub reporter Herbie Cook (Robert Arthur) stumble on a cave-in that has trapped a scavenger of Indian artifacts, poor Leo Minosa (Richard Benedict).

Minosa's callous wife, Lorraine (Jan Sterling), considers it the perfect opportunity to bolt from the fictional hick town of Escudero, until Tatum connives to turn the tragedy into a media circus - so many people come to gawk at the spectacle over the course of a week that a carnival literally pops up on the site - and the Minosas' diner/trading post rakes in a fortune.

"It was one of Billy Wilder's favorite movies, and I was honored to be in it," said Arthur, now 82 and retired in his hometown of Aberdeen, Wash.

Arthur was a rosy-cheeked 25-year-old when he shot "Ace in the Hole." He sounded a bit surprised to be tracked down for a phone interview this week, especially considering that Criterion, the elite video archivists, didn't find him to contribute to the DVD extras.

Arthur remembered hanging out in New Mexico working with Wilder, whom he called "a brilliant man."

"We stayed in Gallup in a wonderful timber lodge. I enjoyed the Indian artifacts and the Navajo caves," he recalled. "It was barren, dusty and windy, but I liked it."

Arthur said the film shocked the critics and confused moviegoers because of its unrelenting pessimism in an America on the brink of the Eisenhower era.

"I don't think people understood it," he said. "I don't think they understood the dark side of it."

He befriended Sterling and said Douglas was a true pro but not very accessible.

"I never got close to him," Arthur said. "I think he was always in character."

Nonetheless, the two are a dynamic duo on screen.

"I was a perfect foil for him, because I was innocent and humble," Arthur said.

Douglas was ferocious as the arrogant reporter who smooth-talks the victim, schmoozes the county sheriff and schemes to slow down the rescue effort in order to heighten his scoop and make his old employer in New York beg and bid for juicy copy. And Sterling spits out stinging one-liners as the would-be widow.

The dialogue crackles from start to finish.

When Lorraine figures out Tatum's game, she tells him, "I've met a lot of hard-boiled eggs in my life, but you, you're 20 minutes."

He doesn't want for comebacks. "When they bleached your hair," he snarls at her, "they must have bleached your brains, too."

Early on, Tatum makes it clear to his straight-arrow Albuquerque editor that ethics are for suckers. "Bad news sells best," Tatum explains. "Because good news is no news."

In a 1980 interview on the bonus DVD with the film's release, Wilder wears the badge of cynic proudly. He always defended the film as one of his best.

And that's saying something. In 1951, Wilder was in the middle of an amazing run. He splashed the indelible "Double Indemnity" in 1944 and won the grand prize at Cannes and two Oscars the next year with "The Lost Weekend," the raw story of an alcoholic. By 1950, Wilder was on top of the world with "Sunset Boulevard."

After his box-office bomb, his next three pictures (as he called them) were memorable: "Stalag 17," "Sabrina" and "The Seven-Year Itch." And he was to peak again around 1960 with "Some Like It Hot" and "The Apartment," which swept the top Oscars.

"Ace in the Hole" was the beginning of the end of Wilder's long affiliation with Paramount Pictures. The studio cut short the movie's run, retooled it and re-released it as "The Big Carnival." It bombed again.

The movie, though, gained cult status among scholars of cinema and the next generation of filmmakers.

"It was way ahead of its time," Arthur said. "I've been to film festivals where it's used as an educational film for students."

The DVD liner notes feature a gushing essay by cult director Guy Maddin. The bonus disc features "Malcolm X" director Spike Lee, who says he cribbed Wilder's memorable closing shot.

"For me, one of the great final shots in cinema," Lee raves.

In a 1984 interview, Douglas also praised Wilder's technical prowess, both as a director and writer. One memorable script flourish has Douglas' hotshot holding a match to the roll of a typewriter and hitting the carriage return to make it zip across and strike the match.

"He was brilliant with little touches," Douglas said.

Wilder, an Austrian immigrant who fled Germany when Hitler gained power in 1933, wasn't shy about shining a harsh light on American culture. The media spectacle he creates in "Ace in the Hole" (complete with reporters from KOAT radio and KOB-TV) is a direct challenge to audiences who consume entertainment and information without questioning its origins or motives.

And not only is the reporter Douglas portrays absolutely irredeemable, but the grieving wife definitely isn't the saint you'd expect. Both characters are contrasted with the quaint folks of "small town" Albuquerque and New Mexico.

As Tatum spins out of control and threatens to bring the innocent young reporter down with him, he confronts the old-fashioned Albuquerque editor (an ultra-conservative sort who wears both a belt and suspenders).

"It's the 20th century - the second half," Tatum rants. "The kid wants to get going."

The editor — Jacob Q. Boot — is quick with his reply: "Going where?"

In 2007, we are better equipped to answer that question.

BONUS TRACK

Some epic Billy Wilder one-liners are peppered throughout "Ace in the Hole":

• Reporter Chuck Tatum, giving the editor of the Albuquerque Sun-Bulletin his opinion of the paper: "I don't mean to tell you I was expecting the New York Times, but even for Albuquerque, this is pretty Albuquerque."
• Lorraine, the cave-in victim's wife, explaining her aversion to praying: "I don't go to church; kneelin' bags my nylons.
• Tatum, in a reverie about the joys of New York: "You know what's wrong with New Mexico? Too much outdoors."
• When Tatum asks the office secretary if she's ever heard of Yogi Berra, her response is, "Yogi — that's a religion, isn't it?" He quickly replies, "You bet it is! Belief in the New York Yankees."

 

Cloud Somethings

The Cloud Nothings shredded Sister Bar last Friday, essentially rendering the band they were opening for (Cursive) an afterthought. I've always thought the Cleveland thrashers drew heavily from the Replacements and Paul Westerberg's songs and vocal style. (Though, like every band since the '80s, they are missing that essential element of the Replacements: Bob Stinson's guitar genius.) The Cloud Nothings, one of the most vital bands of the past decade, remind me of the Replacements in the same way that Nirvana did when they launched their polished big-label album "Nevermind."

Dylan Baldi and the boys launched into "Now Hear In," the opening track from 2014's "Here and Nowhere Else," and we were off to the races.



The band positioned drummer Jayson Gerycz up front with the others, and the machine-like assault on his compact kit was mesmerizing. The band displayed a measured improvisational ease with each other. They would speed up and slow down songs in sync, and their goal for the night seemed to be to feel out a song, deconstruct it and then somehow put it back together without losing their mutual thread. Impressive. This might be the most the most melodic of their Westerbergian recordings, "I'm Not Part of Me."



Here's a full set from the Pitchfork festival in 2014: