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Tag Archives: 1970's cinema
6/6/14 (Part One): All the Little Devils are Proud of Hell
1970's cinema, Al Thomas, alcohol abuse, animal cruelty, animal massacre, Australia, Australian films, auteur theory, based on a book, bonded teacher, Bundanyabba, Chips Rafferty, cinema, civilized vs savage, depression, desolation, Doc Tydon, Donald Pleasence, drama, Film auteurs, film review, films, First Blood, gambling, Gary Bond, homoerotic tension, hunting, isolation, Jack Thompson, John Grant, John Meillon, kangaroo hunt, Kenneth Cook, male friendships, mining town, Movies, North Dallas Forty, obnoxious friends, Peter Whittle, Purgatory, repressed sexuality, school teacher, stranded, Sylvia Kay, Ted Kotcheff, the Outback, the Yabba, Tiboonda, Tim Hynes, Uncommon Valor, urban vs rural, Wake in Fright, wasteland
Many times, we discuss vacations in terms of "getting away from it all." The presumption, obviously, is that we're getting away from all of the tedious, mundane and unpleasant aspects of our daily lives: all of the annoying things like 9-5 jobs, chores, responsibilities and anonymous authority figures. People will hike deep into the woods, sail away to the middle of the ocean and climb the tallest mountains possible, all in the pursuit of "getting away from it all" and finding some internal serenity. In a day and age where we all seem to be alarmingly "plugged in" almost 24 hours/day, there's something not only attractive but downright necessary about dialing everything back to a more simple level: just "us" and nature, our phones on silent and our brains turned off. By "getting away from it all," we're actually hoping to get back to ourselves, that core version that exists below the commitments of civilized society.
But what if we went so far away from polite society that we ended up in an altogether darker place? What if our quest for internal peace and discovery of the self led us not to personal evolution but to devolution? Is it possible to embrace our primitive, savage ids so much that we become nothing but flesh-sacks for volcanic, primal emotions like lust, hate, fear and the need to inflict pain? Getting away from the everyday bullshit of polite society is a noble goal but it leads to a dangerously slippery slope: once we've begun to accept a more primal, savage lifestyle, we automatically become at odds with the rest of the "civilized" world. As Nietzsche so eloquently put it, "When you look long into an abyss, the abyss also looks into you." In Ted Kotcheff's disturbing Wake in Fright (1971), we get the distinctly perverse pleasure of witnessing someone not only stare into the abyss but get consumed and shat out the other end.
It's Christmas vacation for bonded school teacher John Grant (Gary Bond) and he eagerly closes the doors on his one-room schoolhouse in the tiny Outback town of Tiboonda, looking forward to his next six weeks of leisure. He's heading for the bright lights of Sidney but must take a train to the small mining town of Bundanyabba in order to catch his flight. Ostensibly only in town for the evening, John takes a rather dim view of the hard-drinking, overly "friendly" locals: their earthy behavior is at decided odds with his more "civilized" big-city upbringing. As a local tells him, however, the "Yabba" is actually the best place in Australia: no one cares where you are or where you come from, as long as you're a "good bloke". John meets one of these "good blokes" in the person of Jock Crawford (Chips Rafferty), a local state trooper who proceeds to buy him one beer after the other at a local pub. When John complains that he's hungry and would rather eat than drink, Jock thinks for a moment and does the most sensible thing: he takes John to a different bar so that he can order a steak along with the booze. "Best dollar you'll ever spend," Jock reckons, as he leaves John in the less than capable hands of local sawbones Doc Tydon (Donald Pleaseance).
Tydon is an amazing character, a slovenly, feral, ridiculously self-assured train-wreck who deflates the previously positive affirmations of the Yabba with the ominous declaration that "all the little devils are proud of Hell." It's here that John also gets introduced to the backroom gambling game of two-up, which involves betting on the flipping of a pair of coins. In a classic example of the fatal flaw, John initially scoofs at the game, before becoming intrigued, betting and winning. Unable to leave well enough alone, John continues to bet (and win), all with the hope of earning the $1000 bond necessary to buy his way out of Tiboonda and end his perceived servitude. He displays an amazing streak of luck, all the way up to the point where he loses all of his money. And, just like that, John's one-night stay in the Yabba is about to turn into a whole lot more.
Unable to pay for his flight, John watches helplessly the next morning as it flies away overhead. He visits the local labor exchange but it's closed: the only place that actually seems open is the bar (of course) and John drags himself there to spend his final coins on some sweet, if temporary, escape. Once there, John meets Tim Hynes (Al Thomas), another "good bloke" who buys him multiple drinks (after shouting down John's initial protests) and takes him home to drink some more (pretty much the official past-time of the Yabba). Once there, John meets Tim's strange daughter, Janette (Sylvia Kay), who mopes around silently while John and Tim continue to drink until they pass out, at which point they're roused by Tim's obnoxious friends, Dick (Jack Thompson) and Joe (Peter Whittle) for more drunken debauchery. After Doc Tydon shows up, Janette sneaks the blotto John away for a little drunken making out session, although his contribution to things pretty much begins and ends with puking on her. When John passes out, he wakes up in the Doc's absolutely filthy pigsty of a home, a place that looks just like the dreadful Turkish prison in Midnight Express (1978). This leads to more drinking, of course (as Tydon tells him, Yabba water is only for washing, not drinking), while leads to more debauchery which leads to an absolutely horrifying kangaroo hunt, drunken rampage and possible rape. As John gets further and further away from his former gentle "civilized" nature, he finds himself in a shadowy world where the only diversions from a brutally bleak life are drinking, fucking, killing, fighting and destroying. Will John be able to pull himself out before he's lost forever? Or will he end up just another permanent resident of the Yabba? And, in the end, can anyone ever really leave the Yabba?
It's quite possible for a film to be both utterly intriguing and fairly repellent and Wake in Fright is certainly both of those things. On a purely narrative level, the film makes imperfect sense, existing somewhere between a fever dream and the French New Wave. Thanks to the editing style, which helps to heighten the sense of disorientation, it's often difficult to establish continuity or, in some cases, even establish quite what's going on. More often than not, the film is aggressively unpleasant: 'roo hunt notwithstanding (and we'll address that shortly), there's a groddy, dirty edge to everything that makes a heady stew when combined with the sense of vast, open isolation and personal fatalism. The Yabba definitely appears to be some sort of a stand-in for Purgatory (or perhaps Hell, depending on how you look at it) and any satisfaction wrung from watching poor John Grant descend into its depths is grim, indeed. It's not so much that John is a really good guy: he seems like a perfectly average guy, which makes his destruction, somehow, more upsetting. We can cheer if a "bad guy" gets his come-uppance and smirk when an unnaturally pure "white knight" fails. When a "normal" person fails, however, especially if they fail thanks to essentially good reasons (John keeps betting because he wants to get out of Tiboonda so he can be reunited with his girlfriend in Sidney), it hits a bit closer to home. John could be any of us, under the right circumstances: his degradation and destruction could be ours.
Despite how unpleasant the film ends up being, it's a consistently fascinating film, thanks in no small part to the exceptional cast and stellar filmmaking. Donald Pleaseance, in particular, is absolutely amazing: Doc Tydon is the id in flesh and Pleaseance doesn't so much chew the scenery as immediately become the center of any scene he's in. Whether standing on his head while drinking a beer, cutting the balls off a dead kangaroo, graphically describing his sex life with Janette or engaging in a little drunken, homoerotic semi-nude wrestling with John, Doc Tydon is a ferociously alive, unrepentant, hedonist. More animal than man, Tydon may actually be the Yabba, a living personification of this hard-scrabble area that grinds men into pulp in the mines and pours the remains straight into the bars. I could practically smell Tydon's stench through the screen, thanks to Pleaseance's firebrand performance, and that's no small compliment.
Gary Bond is good as John Grant but there's not a whole lot required of his character: he's a strictly reactive force and spends more time wobbling about in a state of semi-coherence than actually developing in any given direction. While it's easy to empathize with John, it's difficult to truly like the guy: he's given the opportunity to climb out of the hole on multiple occasions but always seems to choose the path of least resistance (which, of course, is usually the worst path). Unlike Tydon, John takes no pleasure in his debauchery: as such, he tends to vacillate between confusion and moral agony.
From a filmmaking standpoint, Wake in Fright is exquisitely crafted. The cinematography is absolutely gorgeous and shows off the vast, epic emptiness of the Outback to great effect. The opening shot, a slowly revolving wide-shot that shows us the entire, tiny emptiness of Tiboonda in one, smooth 360-degree motion, is an amazing mood setter. Equally impressive is the score, which manages to swing from lighter to oppressive on the drop of a hat: the weird, eerie "sci-fi" theramins that kick in after John loses all of his money and begins his descent are a really nice touch, as are the droning tones that inform the latter half of the score. The score is a perfect example of subtly building atmosphere and mood without resorting to overly obvious musical stingers.
Despite all of the things to recommend here, I must admit that I didn't really care for Wake in Fright. The film left me cold, which isn't necessarily a problem, but it also left me queasy on many occasions, which is a more significant issue. One of the main reasons for this, although certainly not the only reason, is the astoundingly awful scene where Tim, Joe, Dick and the Doc take John out kangaroo hunting. I'd heard rumors about this scene, which apparently features actual footage from a real kangaroo hunt, but nothing I imagined could have prepared me for the actual film. The closest thing I can compare the hunt to would be parts of Pier Pasolini's Salo (1977) or the disgusting animal footage in Deodato's Cannibal Holocaust (1985). As with those films, I will freely admit to looking away from the screen at times: there's simply no way that anyone who loves animals (and I'm pretty much a fanatic) could watch the wholesale kangaroo butchery without dying a little inside. This is compounded with a bit (I'm assuming staged but only because I would never want to entertain the alternative) where John Grant graphically stabs a wounded baby kangaroo to death, while the guys cheer him on, hooting and hollering. Wake in Fright is not, technically speaking, a horror film but the kangaroo hunt is easily the most horrific thing that I believe I've seen in some 30 years of movie watching…and that says a lot.
Ultimately, I'm not sure whether to recommend Wake in Fright or not. The film will certainly not be for everyone and I can see quite a few people turning it off midway through (for better or worse, the 'roo hunt really does draw a line in the sand). There was also much about the film that still mystifies me, including the question of what, exactly, happened between John and the Doc. As an important piece of Australia's New Wave, Wake in Fright certainly bears discussion with films like Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975) and The Last Wave (1977), although I'm less fond of it than either of those films. In certain ways, parts of Wake in Fright even prefigure modern-day Aussie exports like Wolf Creek 2 (2013), which features its own variation on the kangaroo slaughter. Australia has always had a vibrant and fascinating film industry and astute viewers could do worse than rummage through their 1970's back catalog. That being said, Wake in Fright is pretty strong stuff and I can't honestly see myself revisiting it anytime soon. The Yabba might be an interesting place to visit but I sure as hell don't wanna live there.
6/2/14 (Part One): Taking Back the Cities
'70s films, '70s-era, 1970's cinema, actor's debut, based on a book, Charles Bronson, cinema, crime film, cult classic, Death Wish, debut acting role, drama, electronic score, film franchise, film reviews, film series, films, gang rape, Herbie Hancock, Hope Lange, iconic film scores, Jeff Goldblum, Kathleen Tolan, liberals vs conservatives, Michael Winner, Movies, muggers, New York City, Paul Kersey, rape, Robert Kya-Hill, Steven Keats, Stuart Margolin, vigilante, Vincent Gardenia, violence against women, William Redfield
A middle-aged husband and wife frolic on a tropical beach, very much in love and having a blast. As they fall into each others' arms, the wife asks her husband if he'd like to go back to their hotel room. "What about right here?", he slyly asks. She rebuffs hims gently, reminding him that they're "civilized now." With a small sigh, the husband responds: "I remember when we weren't." Far from being just a wistful rumination on the trials of aging and the permanence of love, however, this reminder of our civilization has a far different meaning: we are civilized now…but at what price? For, you see, this isn't just any tale of love (whether found, lost or unrequited). This, after all, is Michael Winner's incendiary, though-provoking Death Wish (1974), one of the most popular, bracing meditations on vigilantism ever brought to the big screen. While it may have eventually turned into a rather silly action franchise, the original film is powerful, painful and asks the kind of questions that we, as a society, don't usually like to ask: How far would you go to protect your loved ones? How many would you kill to avenge them?
The husband in the opening, Paul Kersey (Charles Bronson), is a loving family man, architect and "bleeding heart liberal," at least as far as his co-workers are concerned. He shares a modest little home with his wife, Joanna (Hope Lange), and has a grown daughter, Carol (Kathleen Tolan), who's happily married to Jack (Steven Keats). In most ways, Paul is living the American dream. He's also living in New York City in the mid-'70s, however, several decades before Times Square morphed into a family-friendly playground. As his co-worker, Sam (William Redfield), is only too happy to point out, there were 15 murders in the city while Paul was on vacation: if it were up to Sam, he'd "put all of the underprivileged into concentration camps." It's a war-zone and they need more cops…but no one will pay for them. Paul brushes it all off, knowing in his heart that punishment and confinement won't do anything to stem the tide: you need to attack the core problems, deal with the crushing poverty, disenfranchisement and isolation that lead desperate people to commit crimes. For Paul, there are no lost causes, just people who have given up the fight.
Paul receives the ultimate test of his convictions, however, when his wife and daughter become the victims of terrible crimes within the "safety" of his own home: after a vicious gang of punks (led by a very young Jeff Goldblum, in his first acting role, wearing a ridiculous Jughead hat) follow her and Carol back their place, the monsters beat Joanna and brutally gang-rape Carol. When Joanna ends up dying from her injuries and Carol is reduced to a catatonic state, Paul sees his entire world (and everything he believes in) come crashing to the ground. When the police tell him that there's "always a chance" that they'll catch the animals responsible for the crimes but "just a chance," the message is loud and clear: in this world, you really are on your own. Paul decides to head out into the night, wielding a roll of quarters in a sock. After a would-be mugger receives a sockful of quarters to the face and flees (his expression is priceless), Paul suddenly feels like a million bucks: he's been reborn, reconnected with his "primitive roots" and rampages about his home like a frat boy on a bender. Taking charge of your life, as we see, is a helluva drug.
After Paul's company sends him to Tucson, Arizona, to work on a project, the next step in his "evolution" begins. Paul meets Aimes Jainchill (Stuart Margolin), a well-spoken, folksy and intelligent local land developer who's a study in contrasts. He's an uber-wealthy individual who wants to keep as much of the desert intact as possible, even if it means cutting into his profit margin. He's a plain-spoken, quiet man who becomes a friend (and father-figure) to Paul. He's also, perhaps most importantly, an outspoken supporter of the NRA and a gun enthusiast. After taking his "citified" friend to a shooting range, Aimes is surprised and delighted to discover that Paul is actually a crack-shot: he did grow up a hunter, after all, even if he hasn't touched a gun since his father was killed in a hunting accident. "Somebody once said he never looked back, because something was gaining on him. What's gaining on you, Paul?," Aimes asks, although we already know: Paul's primal self is gaining on him…and looks set to take the lead.
Upon returning home, Paul opens a mysterious wrapped package from Aimes and discovers that his friend has given him a gun: time to hit the streets and take back the city. As Paul walks his own nightly beat of the city, baiting and gunning down the muggers, creeps and thugs who rule the night, the NYPD finds themselves with a bit of a problem: they seem to have a vigilante on their hands…and the locals love it. Soon, Lt. Frank Ochoa (Vincent Gardenia) is in a bit of a bind: the crime rate is plummeting, civilians have become emboldened to take matters into their own hands (whether a hat-pin wielding granny or a mob of irate construction workers) and the unknown vigilante is becoming a bit of a folk hero. As the Police Commissioner (Stephen Elliot) and District Attorney (Fred Scollay) pressure Lt. Ochoa to "deal with" the issue, Paul goes deeper and deeper down the rabbit hole, putting his own life (and freedom) in jeopardy, all in his desperate quest to clean up his city and bring some meaning to the pointless death of his wife and abuse of his daughter.
In a way, Death Wish and Don Siegel's Dirty Harry (1971) are a matched-set: both came around early in the '70s, when the crime rate in metropolitan cities was on the rise; both films spawned franchises that became, over time, increasingly silly and action-oriented; both films take extremely black-and-white views on criminals (spoiler: they all suck); and both films see pacifism and anything short of Draconian law enforcement techniques as wins for the "bad guys." In many ways, however, Death Wish is the much more subtle and intriguing of the two (although I'll go to the grave calling Dirty Harry one of the single best films in the convoluted history of cinema), mostly because Bronson's Paul Kersey is much more sympathetic and "relatable" than Eastwood's "Dirty" Harry Callahan. While Dirty Harry is, for all intents and purposes, an "action hero," Paul Kersey is a broken, sad man who's attempting to regain control of his life. Whereas Dirty Harry comes into everything with a cynical attitude (when we first meet him, he's got a sneer on his lips and an implied eye-roll that most teens would kill for), Paul actually begins in a place of love and acceptance, before being hardened and made "feral" by the evils of the world. At the beginning, there is no joy for Paul in killing the muggers: he celebrates clocking the first guy with his "club" but pukes his guts out when he actually shoots his first bad-guy.
Despite Paul's initial reluctance to kill, however, it's important to note one thing: at no point in time do the filmmakers ever hedge their bets or waffle on their initial premise. Death Wish is very much about what happens when "civilization" fails and "good people" are forced to resort to brutal tactics. Although the police are usually depicted as being fairly benevolent in the film (especially the character of Lt. Ochoa), they're never portrayed as particularly effective. In this case, the message is pretty clear: buy into the fantasy about "law and order/punishment/rehabilitation" and get wasted or take matters into your own hands and survive. At the beginning, Sam's hardcore conservative bent seems to be played for laughs (this is the guy who advocates putting the "less fortunate" into concentration camps, after all, which seems kinda…well…bat-shit crazy) but we're later given a much more reasonable, well-spoken advocate for a similarly hard-line approach: Aimes Jainchill. Not only is Aimes one of the most well-spoken, charismatic characters in the film, he's also an avowed gun enthusiast and avid supporter of the NRA. In one of the film's least subtle scenes, Aimes takes Paul to an Old West gunfight re-enactment, where we get the necessary reinforcement about law and order back in the "good ol' days." As Aimes explains to Paul, the West is much safer than New York City: out here, you can just carry a gun and blow away the bad guys, before they get a chance to harm you.
This, then, becomes the true focus for the film: when society has degraded to the point where the traditional mechanisms of law and order no longer work, men and women must take the law into their own hands. At one point, Paul argues with his incredibly ineffectual son-in-law about the ramifications of self-defense versus "cutting and running." "If we're not pioneers, what have we become? What do you call people who, when faced with a condition of fear, run and hide?" "Civilized?," Jack responds. Paul snorts, derisively, shaking his head: "No." The point is clear: you can only back away for so long before you get pushed into a corner. Paul has decided to be pro-active and shoot his way out of the corner.
While the film does nothing to obscure its ultimate premise, it actually functions as a more thought-provoking than didactic. For one, the film is quite clear to spell out the inherent limitations of revenge/vigilantism: namely, people are humans and humans make lots and lots of mistakes. It's not difficult to cheer on the old lady who wards off a would-be mugger with a hat-pin but it becomes a little fuzzier when we get to the construction crew that chases down and enthusiastically "subdues" a would-be purse-snatcher. This, of course, is the gray line between legitimate "policing" and "retribution." It's quite interesting to note, in addition, that Paul never actually gets to kill the punks who destroyed his family: he shoots several people in the course of the film but we never get to see him take revenge on those particular individuals. In a way, perhaps this is the film's most subtle critique against vigilantism: ultimately, it can do nothing to bring back the dead.
Craftwise, Death Wish is gritty, tightly paced and well-acted. Bronson, obviously, is one of the chief draws here and he manages to blend just the right amount of "average, everyday Joe" with "steel-eyed, flinty killer." There's a reason why Bronson has always been considered one of the "old guard" of classic cinematic tough guys, along with Clint Eastwood: there's a vulnerability to him that's never completely subsumed by the fire inside. He's the epitome of the retired gunslinger, called back into battle for "one last fight," and his world-weariness marks a potent contrast to wise-cracking action heroes like Bruce Willis or Ahnald. The rest of the cast provides able support, with Vincent Gardenia being nearly a match for Bronson, as the equally world-weary but much more cynical Lt. Ochoa. His police-station address to his officers as the vigilante story blows up across the city is great ("We want to tell the American public that we're looking for this vigilante and have definite clues…we just don't want to tell them that we have about a thousand definite clues.") and Gardenia goes a long way towards putting a human face on the issue of law enforcement.
Unlike many popular "action" films, there's a dark, disagreeable heart that beats deep within Death Wish. The film is not simply one visceral thwarted mugging after another and, on occasion, can be downright difficult to watch. In particular, the scene where the punks bust into the apartment and attack Joanna and Carol is almost impossible to sit through: the rape scene is just as terrible, violent and graphic as any that came before or after (in particular, I was reminded of the rape in Irreversible (2002) and the pain and fear is almost too "real" for a fictional film. Similarly, many of the scenes where Paul "defends" himself are skewed to be more about chaotic activity than cinematic "badassery" – Paul is no trained killer, after all, but just your average dude.
For all of its lasting power, there are still several issues that I have with Death Wish. While the film is always careful to take a more even-handed approach, there really aren't any viable viewpoints on display, save the call for vigilantism. The police are never portrayed as effective (at one point, they seem to send a whole squad-room to tail Paul, which seems a little stupid since, you know, there's all that other increased crime to deal with) and any arguments for pacifism pretty much begin and end with the cowardly Jack, one of the most simpering creations in modern cinema. There's also no blurring of the line regarding Paul's actions: even if he baits his victims, each and every one of them obviously has it coming. At one point, Paul even steps in to prevent a group of men from assaulting another: his vigilantism is always more effective than law-and-order, mostly because the argument in the film is so one-sided.
From a filmmaking perspective, I found the film's score (composed, conducted and performed by Herbie Hancock) to be rather underwhelming and, occasionally, completely baffling. Whereas something moody and bluesy, like the score for Dirty Harry, would have helped to pull out the emotion, Hancock's score is too often experimental and propulsive, sort of like discordant cocktail jazz. While I have nothing but respect for Hancock, I can't help but feeling this wasn't his finest hour. There were also a number of scenes (in particular the repellent rape scene and the Old West shootout) that seemed to go on forever: whereas there's probably a spurious claim to be made regarding the overall impact of the rape scene, the shootout scene makes its point early and then beats it into the ground for what seems like an hour. It went on for so long, in fact, that my mind wandered from the actual film and began to consider the intense irony of veteran Western actor Bronson appearing in a film where he played a modern man watching an Old West gunfight. As a rule, the scene's not working if you have the opportunity to ponder the metaphysics of the actor involved, rather than the actual scene, itself.
Ultimately, Death Wish is one of those rare films that's managed to lose very little of its original power as the passage of time puts it more and more in the rear-view mirror of life. Unlike the increasingly insipid (if much more action-packed) sequels, the original Death Wish is a film that asks some very serious questions (In an increasingly "civilized" world, what happens when you need to become "uncivilized"? When does "retribution" become murder? If the police can't protect you, does that mean you get to do whatever it takes to protect yourself? Can criminals be rehabilitated or is a bullet to the brain the best we can hope for?). If the movie already has its answers lined up (the film makes no bones about the fact that it is, in some ways, a love letter to the NRA), it at least has the courage to ask them in the first place. If you're one of the people who grew up thinking that Death Wish was simply a one-dimensional, gunpowder-scented, revenge fantasy, you owe it to the film to give it another look. Regardless of which side of the law-and-order debate you land on, Death Wish has been fostering conversations and discussions for the past 40 years: as our "civilized" society keeps evolving, I can only imagine that it will continue to be relevant for the next 40 years, as well.
5/30/14 (Part One): Beware the Melty Man
19 Thursday Jun 2014
'70s films, '70s-era, 1970's cinema, Alex Rebar, All Buy Mice Elf Film Festival, astronauts, B-movies, body horror, Burr DeBenning, cannibalism, cinema, drive-in fare, film reviews, films, horror, horror films, horror movie, Jonathan Demme, melting people, Movies, Myron Healey, Rick Baker, sci-fi, science-fiction, special effects, special-effects extravaganza, Steve West, Ted Nelson, The Incredible Melting Man, William Sachs, writer-director
While iconic villains are a vital component to horror films (particularly franchises), they're also one of the most difficult aspects of a film to nail. Despite the exponential increase in the sheer number of horror films, we haven't really added many "classic" villains to the roster since the '80s: while characters like Laid to Rest's (2009) ChromeSkull and Hatchet's (2006) Victor Crowley have been in a few films, by this point, they've yet to achieve any sort of cultural resonance. One could argue that Leprechaun's (1993) titular character counts, since he's now been featured in seven different films (after all, Freddy only had a total of 9 films, including the recent reboot). As with ChromeSkull and Crowley, however, the Leprechaun never really made it to Buzz Bin status: he's working-class but no hero. There have been many attempts to spawn a new horror icon, over the years, but very few ever end up taking off. One of the strangest of these attempts to craft a bit of zeitgeist came about in 1977 with The Incredible Melting Man, a B-movie with pretensions to immortality.
Despite some pretty impressive makeup effects by a young Rick Baker and a tagline that explicitly announced the filmmakers' intentions ("The first new horror creature"), The Incredible Melting Man did not go on to spawn a franchise…or even a sequel, as it were. Whether audiences had a hard time associating with the gloopy titular monster or whether the (decidedly rough) production-quality put them off makes little difference. As it stands, The Incredible Melting Man is a complete failure at creating a lasting legacy but pretty successful as a goofy, gory popcorn film.
Astronaut Steve West (Alex Rebar) is part of an expedition to fly through the rings of Saturn when something goes wrong: his nose begins to bleed, things get fuzzy and he wakes up in a hospital. After removing his facial bandages, Steve notices something: he doesn't look too hot. In fact, he seems to be rotting. This kinda ticks him off (wouldn't it bother you?) and he pounds the table, apeman-style, before trashing the examination room. A nurse returns in time to get chased by Steve in a scene filmed with the kind of gauzy slo-mo that usually ended '70s horror films, not began them. She crashes through a glass door (saved a second on opening it, I suppose), Steve's right there and it's "Good night, nurse!"
We now meet Dr. Ted Nelson (Burr DeBenning) and Dr. Loring (Lisle Wilson) as they examine the nurse's body. Ted knows a little about this situation, since he was Steve's friend and was involved with the Saturn mission. He's also the most laid-back, unflappable, milquetoast "hero" of all time: the scene where he describes to Dr. Loring how his wife, Judy (Ann Sweeny), is pregnant with their third child, after two previous miscarriages, has all of the emotional impact of a colonoscopy. Any "clues" he turns up along the way will be greeted with the mild distaste that one might express when finding caterpillars on the cabbages: Ted Nelson may be the "hero" in The Incredible Melting Man but the guy would be a zero just about anywhere else.
As poor Steve stomps around the countryside, leaving gloopy handprints here, a bit of his ear there ("Oh God…it's his ear," exclaims Ted, in a way that practically screams "Could I possibly have a refill on my glass of water, please, if it's not too much of a bother?") and dead bodies everywhere, Ted is forced to get General Perry (Myron Healey) involved. Together, Ted and the General set out to stop Steve's killing spree, albeit for different reasons: the General wants all traces of this disaster dead and gone, while Ted only wants to help out his soupy buddy. It all comes to a head at some kind of a factory, where Ted's friendship will be stretched to the limit and Steve will have to try, if only for a moment, to regain his basic humanity.
When The Incredible Melting Man is rough, it's really rough. The acting is rudimentary, at best, with some performances being so howlingly terrible that they achieve a kind of gonzo spectacle. Alex Rebar, in particular, is awful: were he to stay "normal" throughout the film, the movie would actually be unwatchable, although getting buried in the melting man makeup restricts his performance to strictly physical, which works wonders. While Burr DeBenning is nowhere near as terrible, he manages to possess as much energy and life as a department-store mannequin (and not the '80s kind, either). In the world of the over-actors, the under-actor is king and DeBenning rules his roost from a godly height. The musical score is also pretty ludicrous: the final pursuit in the factory is scored by some of the cheesiest wah-wah guitar possible, along with a pathetic rip-off of John Williams Jaws theme.
Among the shoddier filmmaking aspects are some genuinely "so-bad-it's-great" moments. My personal favorite has to be the one where Steve steps on the fisherman's sandwich. It's the oddest, most awkward and just plain confounding scene in the entire film (which is saying a lot): for some reason, we get a close-up of a plastic "monster" foot (think Gwar) stomping awkwardly on a sandwich, as if the "actor" accidentally tripped and was immortalized on film. Another forehead-slapper would have to be Judy's ridiculously horny mother and step-father, who stop for a little hanky-panky and orange picking in the middle of the night and get a nasty Steve-sized surprise: not only are the actors terrible (bested only by their avatar, Alex Rebar) but the situation makes no sense whatsoever.
Far from being a complete waste of film and time, however, The Incredible Melting Man is actually quite charming, believe it or not. It will never be accused of being a good film, mind you, but it's a pretty great B-movie. The movie is definitely cheesy (and very, very soupy) but it's also got a surprising amount of pathos wrapped up within the idiocy. Steve West, when he's not talking, is a tremendously sympathetic creature and not so far removed from Frankenstein's Monster or The Wolf Man. He's a normal man, with normal friends and a normal life, who is completely destroyed by forces outside his command. He's turned into a monster, hunted by the very government who facilitated his transformation and has his waning sense of humanity constantly appealed to by his former best friend. Steve West is no sadistic Freddy or Wishmaster: rather, he's a pitiable creature who seems to take no joy in his mayhem. There's one moment that perfectly illustrates the two halves of this character: after he's turned into a completely horrifying, shambling mess, Steve looks down into a water-filled barrel, right at his reflection. As he stares, a drop of pus, like a tear, falls into the water, rippling the image. Say what you want but it's a powerful, subtle moment that manages to perfectly blend pathos and ick factor: in other words, it's a picture-perfect horror movie moment.
Too much can't be said about Rick Baker's phenomenal special effects, which really give the film a sense of identity. While the makeup starts off a tad bit rough, we're in glorious hardcore mode once Steve really gets to rottin'. At first, I was wondering whether the version of the film I recently watched was censored: an early shot of the dead nurse seems surprisingly tame and cut-off and there's some weird editing going on. Once we get to the shot of the fisherman's body, however, complete with ripped-open ribcage and a severed head, it's pretty clear that not much hit the cutting room floor. Truth be told, The Incredible Melting Man, as befits its moniker, gets severely goopy, so much so that it begins to resemble one of those extended Family Guy vomiting scenes. If your stomach isn't fairly cast-iron, chances are that Steve's melted-wax look is really going to rumble your guts: make it through enough of the film, however, and it kind of fades into the background, sort of like all the nudity in Showgirls (1995). For my part, some of the most stomach-churning stuff came from scenes like the one where an unsuspecting young girl puts her hand into a nice, sticky bit of Steve slop: the thought, alone, is undeniably gross but the practical effects make it even worse. Ditto for the final melting scene, which would be echoed a decade later in the gross-out classic Street Trash (1987). While Street Trash would plumb it for laughs, The Incredible Melting Man goes straight for the heart-strings, reminding us that the disgusting pile of wet, red something on the ground used to be a pretty average (if terribly hammy) dude.
While The Incredible Melting Man may not have succeeded in adding another indelible villain to the collective conscience, it ended up being a more than worthy B-movie. It's not hard to imagine couples going to see this at the drive-in, covering their eyes whenever Steve shambles up into the camera-eye. For folks who grew up on this kind of sensational, B-movie fare, The Incredible Melting Man should more than fit the bill for a night of nostalgia. Just be sure to keep this one away from the dinner hour: for once, this is all about truth in advertising.
4/2/14: The Past Always Chokes Me Up
1970's cinema, alternate title, based on a book, Burnt Offerings, cinema, Don't Look Now, film reviews, films, Full Circle, gauzy camerawork, ghost stories, Ghost Story, horror films, Jill Bennett, Julia, Julia Lofting, Keir Dullea, killer children, medium, Mia Farrow, Movies, Peter Straub, revenge, Richard Loncraine, synth scores, The Haunting of Julia, The Sentinel, Tom Conti
We're all haunted, to some degree or another, by the past. For some, this haunting is a prison, forcing them to constantly relive past traumas, heartbreaks, defeats and lost loves. For others, the past is something more sentimental, a fond memory to be returned to in the same way that one remembers the smell of freshly baked bread or the unmitigated joy of a snow-day. Each of us must deal with the past in our own ways but few of us, thankfully, are actively hunted by our pasts, forced to look over our shoulders for that feared reminder of what's coming for us. Sometimes, the past can come back not to haunt us but to tear us limb from limb. In the Haunting of Julia, based on horror icon Peter Straub's novel Julia, the past is not only a terrible reminder of our own failings but a reminder that we know so little of the mysterious world around us as to know nothing about it at all.
Few popular authors, if any, have made as much of a cottage industry of the inherently sad, frightening nature of the past as Peter Straub has. Beginning with Julia (1975), many of Straub's best novels have dealt extensively with the ramifications of the past: If You Could See Me Now (1977), Ghost Story (1979), Floating Dragon (1983), The Talisman (1984) and the Blue Rose trilogy of Koko (1988), Mystery (1990) and The Throat (1993). Most of these novels deal with a protagonist who must confront some long-buried past trauma in order to deal with a current threat, usually some sort of vengeance-seeking specter. In this respect, Julia is a pretty typical Straub novel, although The Haunting of Julia ends up being a pretty mixed-bag, as far as films go.
The film begins in happier times, with Julia Lofting (Mia Farrow), her husband Magnus (Keir Dullea) and daughter Kate (Sophie Ward) sitting down for a cozy breakfast. In short order, however, Kate is choking and, in a split second, Julia makes one whopper of a bad decision, leading her beloved daughter to bleed to death in her arms. Needless to say, this puts the final nail in the unhappy coffin that is Julia and Magnus' marriage, leading her to flee to her own apartment, while Magnus' sister Lily (Jill Bennett) attempts to maintain some sort of presence in Julia's life. Julia, still shell-shocked from the traumatic death of her only child, only wants to glide through the rest of her life like a ghost
After Julia begins to experience odd things, including some stereotypically haunted incidents at home and increasing visions of her dead daughter, Lily decides to help by organizing a séance. This goes about as well as can be expected, especially if you've seen any other films that feature a séance, and leads the medium, Mrs. Fludd (Anna Wing), to issue one of those classic haunted house warnings: leave this place immediately. Julia doesn't, of course, and begins to investigate the history of her new abode, with the assistance of her good friend Mark (Tom Conti) and a helpful next-door-neighbor (Pauline Jameson). The more she learns about the mother and daughter who formerly lived there, however, the more that Julia becomes convinced that something very sinister is going on, possibly involving the decades-old murder of a young boy. She's right, of course, but the truth is a lot more terrible than she figures…and a whole lot more deadly, to boot.
The biggest problem with The Haunting of Julia (alt title: Full Circle), a problem that prevents the film from being completely satisfying, is how similar in tone, plot and look the film is to a grip of existing film. The film has a look (ultra-gauzy camerawork, sepia-tones) that immediately recalls the similarly paced Burnt Offerings (1976), while Julia's first meeting with Mrs. Braden looks strikingly similar to one of the attic scenes in The Sentinel (1977). Most tellingly, however, is the fact that The Haunting of Julia bears more than a passing resemblance to Nicholas Roeg's classic Don't Look Now (1973). In certain ways, The Haunting of Julia is almost a companion piece to Don't Look Now: both films have similar looks and color palettes, camera movement, pacing and settings, as well as the obvious connection that both films deal with parents coping with the death of a child. I've never been the biggest fan of Don't Look Now, to be honest, mostly due to the ridiculous "twist"ending that still makes me smack my forehead after all these years. The ending to The Haunting of Julia is much more poetic and "serious," although it's just as non-sensical.
In fact, one of the single biggest issues with The Haunting of Julia is how little sense it ultimately makes. Many of the revelations seem to be rather arbitrary and I'm still not sure what the overall point was: I'm inclined to think that the film was a thinly veiled treatise on the inherent issues associated with divorce in the mid-'70s but what do I know? Once the film settles down into its "vengeful ghost" scenario, it barrels ahead boldly, rarely looking back but never bothers to do anything about the rapidly growing plot holes. By the end, the film has, essentially, collapsed into a soggy mess that's one part Final Destination, one part Don't Look Now and a little bit Repulsion. While the ending is quite beautiful, visually, and leads to a tremendously effective final image, it makes absolutely no sense. After it was over, I found myself thinking back to see if I might have missed something that would clear things up: although I'm pretty sure I didn't, it's also possible that the film's structure was a bit thornier than I gave it credit for. Regardless, the finale is certainly a textbook example of "style over substance."
On the plus side, the atmosphere in The Haunting of Julia is genuinely effective and frequently quite chilling. The synth score, which frequently reminded me of Goblin's work for Argento, was pretty fantastic and the acting is pretty even, although Farrow has a tendency to be a bit hysterical at times (which often suits the character…until it doesn't). Perhaps I would have enjoyed the film more if it had managed to stake out a little more original territory. As it stands, however, The Haunting of Julia spent so much time reminding me of other, better films that I had a difficult time really appreciating it on its own merits. If you're a fan of glacially-paced, slow-burning ghost stories, The Haunting of Julia should have enough genuine chills to entertain on a sleepy weekend. Otherwise, you'd probably be better served checking out one of its undeniable influences.
3/24/14: The S.S. Low Expectations
1970's cinema, adventures, Anjelica Huston, B-movies, Beau Bridges, cinema, film reviews, films, Genevieve Bujold, Geoffrey Holder, Jamaica, James Earl Jones, James Goldstone, Movies, odd movies, Peter Boyle, pirates, Robert Shaw, silly films, slapstick, Swashbuckler
Most of the time, even if I can't quite understand a film, I can at least get myself into the mindset of seeing where the filmmakers are coming from. This can apply to things as complex and fairly inscrutable as Primer, Upstream Colour or Sauna, as well as films that are relatively brainless but hopelessly complicated, such as The Last Rites of Ransom Pride, The Box or Stardust. In most cases, the filmmakers' intents are relatively clear, even if their final product is hopelessly muddled or head-scratchingly confusing. Every great once in a while, however, I'm faced with a film that completely baffles me, not necessarily because I can't follow the plot but because I have absolutely no idea what the filmmakers actually intended to do. These films, rare as they are, can either function as delicious treats or obnoxious puzzles, depending on how much collective good will the films manage to accrue across their running times. In the case of Swashbuckler, featuring the intriguing pairing of Robert Shaw and James Earl Jones, I found myself with but one coherent thought after the final credits rolled: what the hell did I just watch?
The film begins with pirate captain Ned Lynch (Robert Shaw) and the merry crew of the Blarney Cock showing up to shell a coastal fort, disrupting the planned hanging of fellow pirate Nick Debrett (James Earl Jones). Ned and Nick are old friends, of course, and what would any good adventure be without a good wingman? In no time, the pair are sailing the high seas, disrupting the dastardly activities of crooked governor Lord Durant (Peter Boyle) and earning the admiration of comely lass Jane (Genevieve Bujold). You see, Lord Durant is attempting to take over Jamaica, placing the islands under his iron-fisted, weirdly sadomasochistic control, and there are only three things that stand in his way: Ned, Nick and Jane. Hold onto your tri-cornered hats, ladies and gents: it's gonna be an awfully bumpy ride!
Unlike other genuinely strange films, Swashbuckler actually has a pretty easily digestible plot-line: it's just your basic pirates against the government tale, after all. Shaw and Jones are fantastic as Ned and Nick, possessing an easy rapport that marks the two as old, fast friends. Truth be told, Shaw and Jones are so good and so natural that Swashbuckler is never a difficult or unpleasant film to watch: it just never makes a whole lot of sense, that's all. Bujold is good as the stereotypical noblewoman/firebrand but her part is pretty cookie-cutter for this type of film. The pirate crew, which includes familiar genre faves like Sid Haig and Geoffrey Holder, make a great team and many of the sword-fighting, swashbuckling scenes are quite rousing. That being said, however, the film still manages to stuff ten pounds of weird into a five-pound sack.
Without a doubt, one of the strangest, most jaw-dropping aspects of the film has to be Peter Boyle's genuinely bizarre performance as Lord Durant. Boyle plays Durant like some sort of space alien martinet: his performance includes back-waxing scenes, bathtub romps, multiple yelling fits and more psuedo-sadomasochistic affectations than you can shake a switch at. The giddy apex of insanity has to be the part where Durant punishes his loyal second-in-command Major Folly (Beau Bridges) by having him remove his shirt while Durant's weird assistant menaces his bare chest with a device that seems to be Freddy Krueger's razor-glove re-imagined with spoons. Honestly. I couldn't make this up if I tried, ladies and gents. Even better, the creepy assistant reappears during the climatic final battle, where he attempts to fight swordsmen with his spoon-glove hand-thing. The best way to sum this up, quite frankly, would be with a question of sorts: what the fuck?
We also get wonderful moments like the bit where Beau Bridges overacts so much that he actually cracks up his co-actors (no mean feat when everyone is chewing scenery by the yard), Anjelica Huston playing a mysterious, mute woman who goes by the name Lady of Dark Visage in the credits and Genevieve Bujold's skinny-dipping for no apparent reason (although good ol' Robert Shaw seems to get a couple of eyefuls. Shaw makes his grand entrance in the film wearing a skin-tight, bright-red jumpsuit that's more Studio 54 than Blackbeard and the vast majority of the cast (main and supporting) spend the entire film with giant, goody grins plastered on their faces. Was everyone high on set? At the very least, I'm willing to wager that someone made use of a pretty decent-sized tank of nitrous: the looks on the various actors' faces are positively beatific! Special mention must also be made of Geoffrey Holder's Cudjo. Between his super-sized appearance and patented, booming laugh, Holder is a complete delight and the sequence where his acrobats help them infiltrate Durant's compound reminds me of nothing so much as the various circus action scenes in Octopussy.
Ultimately, the main source of my confusion (Peter Boyle weirdness notwithstanding, of course) is the mixed tone of the film. At times, the film seems to be a fairly straight-forward, if rather silly, pirate adventure: nothing too strange there. At other times, however, the film mixes more straightforward, Goonies-esque action, comedy with straight-up, breaking-the-fourth-wall satire. There's the aforementioned Beau Bridges performance (those other actors are definitely cracking up: I rewound and watched it just to make sure), as well as the scene where he attempts to fight off Ned and Nick in a low-roofed carriage, only to have his sword continually hit the ceiling whenever he draws it from his scabbard. More telling, however, is the climatic moment where Lord Durant meets his fate (no spoilers here, folks: if you didn't see that one coming from the first frame, you weren't paying particularly good attention. Boyle overacts like a champion, clutching his breast and lurching about as if performing a dinner theater version of Hamlet's climax. The scene seems to go on forever, Boyle shamelessly mugging as if his melodramatic eye-rolling might stave off death, itself. Finally, he tumbles through a window, uttering the immortal final line: "Pull the curtain: the farce is ending!" Normally, I might assume this was just some attempt at a "badass" last line. As it stands, however, I find myself wondering if the filmmakers weren't actually making some sort of comment on the film, as a whole. Was this supposed to be a farce all along? Had I actually missed something (or several somethings) along the way? Perhaps…but I'm not rewatching to find out!
At the end of the day, Swashbuckler is many, many things (including a tremendous mess) but it's never boring. Most of the time, in fact, the film is great, goofy fun. Everyone involved, especially Shaw, seems to be having a blast and no one seems to be phoning in their performances. If anything, so much scenery is chewed that the poverty-row production values (the transfer is simply awful and the whole film has all of the visual panache of a dreary made-for-TV film) tend to fade into the background…at least somewhat. In this "glory day" of the "so-bad-it's-good" film, where intentionally terrible movies are routinely churned out with a wink and a nod, it's somewhat refreshing to see an honest-to-god B-movie that's just what it advertises: a silly, goofy, fun time. I doubt if this film will ever hit anybody's "Best of…" lists but I doubt if that's why it was made in the first place. For my money? Swashbuckler ain't a classic but it beats getting tortured with a spoon-glove any day of the week.
2/1/14: Your Mind Will Betray You
06 Thursday Feb 2014
'Nam, 1970's cinema, absurdist, Academy Award Nominee, Academy Awards, Adrian Lyne, Alexandra Stewart, Alice in Wonderland, Alois Nebel, animated films, Au revoir, auteur theory, avant-garde, battle of the sexes, black market, Black Moon, bureaucracy, Cathryn Harrison, cinema, Cold War, Czech-Polish border, Czechoslovakian films, Danny Aiello, dark films, drama, Elizabeth Pena, experimental film, fall of Communism, Fatal Attraction, Film auteurs, films, foreign films, French cinema, French films, French New Wave, homeless shelter, horror films, hospitals, Indecent Proposal, insanity, isolated estates, Jacob Singer, Jacob's Ladder, Jan Svankmajer, Jason Alexander, Joe Dallesandro, les enfants, Louis Malle, Movies, post-office, psychological horror, Rotoscoping, scary faces, Silent Hill, strange families, talking animals, Therese Giehse, Tim Robbins, Tomas Lunak, train conductor, unicorns, veterans, Vietnam vet, Vietnam War
Although I didn't really plan it that way, last Saturday's screenings definitely had a theme: the unreality of reality. These were films that may (or may not) have been about insanity or they may (or may not) have about something more tangible and bizarre. All three of the films challenge audience perceptions of what is real and imaginary, proving that we really don't know as much about our world as we like to pretend we do.
My immersion into dark animated fare continues with Alois Nebel, an Oscar nominated Czech film from 2011. As I've mentioned before, animation style can, often, be the biggest impediment to my initial enjoyment of animated films. In the case of Alois Nebel, however, this issue was pretty much thrown out the window early on with the film's gorgeous black-and-white imagery. At first, the animation style reminded me of a more severe, serious version of Archer. Upon closer examination, however, I realized that the animated images were actually Rotoscoped. Now, in general, I'm not the world's biggest Rotoscoping fan: up to this point, my go-tos for that style would have been either A Scanner Darkly or Waking Life, neither of which really blew me away. The images and animation in Alois Nebel, however, are certainly the best Rotoscoping I've yet seen and have given me a new benchmark for stuff like this in the future. As always, I heartily approve of anything that expands my horizons.
Tomas Lunak's film begins in a small town on the Czech-Polish border in 1989, at the tail end of the Cold War. The titular character is a quiet, reserved train conductor who first comes to us via voice-over as he unemotionally recites the train schedule, his droning voice taking on the feel of a litany or a mantra. He lives in a town that seems to exist outside of the current world, a town where the black market is in full swing, thanks to the local military and one of Alois' "friends", a fellow switchman. Alois has been having dreams of his childhood, specifically about events that happened in 1945, when German citizens were expelled from Czechoslovakia. His caretaker was one of these people and Alois never ceases wondering what became of her. His dreams become interpreted by those around him as a mental breakdown, however, and he is committed to a pretty wretched insane asylum (electro-shock therapy and Rohypnol appear to be the standard treatment choices). When he is released, Alois ends up homeless and falls in with a former train conductor who now resides at the local homeless shelter. He begins a tentative romance with the woman who runs the shelter before events around him conspire to throw him back into the mystery of his missing caretaker, Dorothe, and her fate. Into this mix we pour a mysterious mute man with an ax and a grudge, the collapse of Communism and a harrowing finale involving betrayal, a torrential downpour and washed-out roads.
There's an awful lot to take in with Alois Nebel and I'll be honest: even with an extremely close reading of the film and copious notes, I'm still not sure that I understand everything. In particular, I found many of the relationships to be a bit confounding, especially when dealing with older/younger versions of the characters. There are times when I was positive that I was following one character, only to find out that it was someone else, entirely. The stuff about the mute man is especially confusing, which can be a bit of a critical wound when one realizes how intrinsically he's tied into everything.
There also seemed to be a lot of very casual betrayal going on, so casual, in fact, that I keep wondering whether I missed something: surely these people couldn't so actively fuck each other over without incurring any sort of ill-will from those around them, could they? Again, I'm not sure if the intent was to highlight institutionalized duplicity, point out how naive Alois was or if I just managed to misread it but there seemed to be quite a few examples of characters doing everything in their power to step on someone else.
For as confounding as Alois Nebel can be, however, the film is also powerfully hypnotic and flows with a beautifully lethargic sense of dream-like wonder. The sound design is exquisite and, when paired with the stunning imagery, combines to create a truly immerse experience. At times, the film almost seems like a partial horror film (there is a particularly nasty ax murder that occurs) or nod to German expressionism (the combination of Rotoscoping and black-and-white imagery makes for some truly sinister shadows), although the slow pace and dour attitude definitely place this squarely in the "serious art film" category.
More than anything, I found myself wondering just what, exactly, this film would look like as a strictly live-action affair. From what I can imagine, it would still look pretty darn interesting. The shot composition and framing is nothing if not reminiscent of live-action films and the frequent silent scenes, showcasing only subtle facial expressions or, in some cases, no expressions at all, would certainly play well with "real" actors. Ultimately, however, the Rotoscoping helps to add an unearthly edge to the film which is perfectly in tune with its themes: Alois Nebel is about a man who doesn't quite fit in anywhere and the film, itself, really doesn't, either. Patient viewers (or anyone with a sense of Cold War Czech politics) will find much to like and appreciate here but those expecting more action may find this to be a bit inert. Odd, unsettling and slightly too confusing to be a complete success (for me, at least), Alois Nebel is still a fascinating film.
I've always had kind of a love/hate relationship with Adrian Lyne's Jacob's Ladder. As a rule, I'm not really a fan of Lyne's oeuvre: his career has tended towards Hollywood potboilers like Fatal Attraction, Nine 1/2 Weeks and Indecent Proposal, none of which I'm a big fan of (I do tend to have a soft-spot in my heart for Flashdance, however: that film is just so stupid that it's kind of brilliant). Jacob's Ladder always stuck out like a sore thumb, at least to me: the closest any other Lyne film got to that little psychological shocker was Fatal Attraction, which wasn't particularly close.
Jacob's Ladder deals with the struggles of Jacob Singer (Tim Robbins), a Vietnam war vet who currently works at the post-office, romances his co-worker (Elizabeth Pena) and has extremely unsettling flashbacks to his war-time experiences. You see, Jacob was part of an army platoon that experienced…something…during the war and he's never been quite right ever since. He goes to see his friend and chiropractor Louis (Danny Aiello, in a truly great supporting role) whenever he needs an adjustment but there's no adjustment that will fix his bizarre dreams or the creepy imagery that has begun to seep into his waking like, including strange creatures with no faces and demonic lizard-men. Jezzie, his girlfriend, is starting to get fed up with his problems, especially once he has a complete freakout at a nightclub and begins screaming about monsters and demons. He might just be ready to confine himself to the loony bin until he happens to reconnect with one of his old army buddies and realizes that he's not alone: everyone in his former platoon is experiencing the same issues. Jacob tries to take action, even going so far as to initiate a class-action lawsuit with lawyer Jason Alexander (a mere one year into his tenure on Seinfeld), but is stymied at every turn by his own comrades, shadowy mob figures and those damned creepy faceless critters. Will Jacob finally get to the bottom of his problems or is this all one big exercise in futility?
For most of its run-time, Jacob's Ladder is a pretty effective, nifty little chiller. The visuals may seem commonplace nowadays but it's interesting to note that the "scary-quick-changing-face" effect that's become all too ubiquitous in modern horror films actually got its start here. In context, it works well but I can't help but hate its genesis on principle, alone: if Jacob's Ladder could only see what it wrought with Paranormal Activity…
The acting is, generally, pretty good, with Robbins giving a nicely nuanced performance as Jacob and Aiello providing just the right amount of mystery as his "is he/isn't he?" friend. Pena wears out her welcome fairly quickly, unfortunately, playing her character with so much anger and aggression that she seems sorely out-of-place in the film: she even seems pissed off when she's making love. Her attitude works in the scenes where it's necessary (blowing up after the dance-floor fiasco, for instance) but fails completely in those scenes where she's actually supposed to act loving. I never bought Robbins and Pena as a couple, ever, which seems like a real lost opportunity.
The film has an interesting, atmospheric quality to it, although the horror elements are really only paid off in a few scenes. One scene, in particular, is a real corker and the true horror centerpiece for the film: after escaping from abductors, conking his head on the pavement and getting his wallet stolen by a Salvation Army Santa, Jacob is taken to a hospital and sent for X-rays. As he's being wheeled down the hallway, going down first one corridor, then the next, Jacob's surroundings gradually change, going from normal hospital sterility to the kind of gore-drenched, body-part littered hellscapes that one would normally find in Silent Hill. The truth? The hospital scene in Jacob's Ladder was actually a big influence on the seminal horror video game. At any rate, it's an amazing scene and goes a long way towards cementing the film's horror cachet.
So, with all this to recommend it, why do I have a love/hate relationship with the movie? Well, you see, it happens to have one of those twist endings and this particular one manages to undo the entire film as surely as if it pulled on a loose shoelace. This isn't the kind of ending where you say, "Eh, it was alright." It's the kind of ending that makes you say, "Hey, wait a minute! How is that possible if this and this and this actually happened?" It's the kind of ending that seems powerful and emotional, for about 30 seconds, before you start to really think about it. Once you let it bounce around in your noggin, however, you realize that the ending is pretty much impossible: if you accept it, you basically end up discounting the entire film. If you choose to toss the ending out the window, however, then you're provided with absolutely no sense of closure or resolution. In other words, a lose/lose situation. Ultimately, this will always make Jacob's Ladder a good, rather than great, film as far as I'm concerned.
There are times when you can be completely unprepared for a film, even if you've been anticipating it for some time. Case in point: French auteur Louis Malle's 1975 surreal oddity, Black Moon. I'd read about the film for some time and had become quite curious to actually see it. After finally viewing it, however, I find myself nearly as perplexed as I was before I saw it. Sometimes, seeing does not bring clarity.
Although he had a distinguished career (including a 1956 Academy Award for Best Documentary and several nominations after) in France before he made his first English-language films, it will probably be a trio of these American films that he's best remembered for: Pretty Baby (1978), Atlantic City (1981) and My Dinner with Andre (1981). These films, along with Au revoir, les enfants (1987), showcase Malle as a filmmaker as comfortable with testing film's technical constraints as he is with pushing the emotional limits. Although Malle was a constant presence during the French New Wave of cinema, his work never really fit explicitly into that movement. At least, it didn't really fit into that movement until he released Black Moon in 1975, however, only a decade or two since the movement ran its course.
Black Moon is many things but plot-driven is not one of them. Nonetheless, there is a plot (of sorts) and it will sound imminently familiar to anyone who's read Alice in Wonderland: a young, inquisitive blonde girl wanders about a strange house, meets bizarre individuals, talking animals and, gradually, comes to learn something about herself. The young girl, in this case, is named Lily (Cathryn Harrison, a mere 16-years-old at the time of shooting) and she's on the run from some kind of lethal gender war: men and women have taken up arms and proceeding to blast each other to kingdom come. Lily takes refuge in a mysterious estate and meets the eccentric family who lives there: Brother Lily (Warhol regular Joe Dallesandro, who gets by his acting inadequacies by way of remaining mute for the entire film), Sister Lily (Alexandra Stewart, as mute as Joe) and the Old Lady (Therese Giehse, who died shortly before the film was released and to whom it's dedicated) and her husband, Humphrey the rat (yes, he really is a rat).
After introducing these decidedly odd elements, Black Moon does what any good absurdist film would do: piles one absurd event on top of the other. Lily discovers the family's pet unicorn (a creepy-looking pony-thing that looked, to my disturbed eyes at least, as if it had a skull for a face: I don't think it does but I could probably be forgiven for thinking that); drinks milk out of an absurdly large glass, while a pig looks on from a high-chair (hello, Alice, my old friend…); has to constantly pull up her constantly falling-down knickers; runs over a badger and suckles the old woman. We see naked children leading around a giant pig (shades of Jodorowsky); crying flowers (don't ask) and creepy people in gas masks.
In many ways, Black Moon does come across as a kinder, friendlier version of a Jodorowsky film or, possibly, a version of Waiting for Godot enhanced by three sheets of acid. As with any absurdist/avant-garde film, the visuals are at least as (make that: much more) important than the actual story, although I think that the description of this as a "post-Apocalyptic Alice in Wonderland" is as good as anything I could come up with.
This is a defiantly weird film (Brother Lily can communicate via thought but only while touching someone; the Old Woman appears to die in one scene only to be fine in the next) but it's also a pretty interesting one, anchored by the wide-eyed performance of Harrison as the surrogate Alice. She sees a lot of weird stuff, no doubt about it, but she always seems to be ready for more, which, consequently, makes us pretty game for more, too. When faced with the bizarre, Lily grits her teeth, puts her head down and says, "Just a minute, please," whether dealing with hawk-slaying siblings, talking unicorns or hungry old women.
Whatever Black Moon actually ends up being about (Is it a strange Alice in Wonderland adaptation? A dialogue about the battle of the sexes? A story of a girl becoming a young woman?), the film is quite lovely to look at and filled with just enough absurdity to make one wonder what could possibly be around the corner. At times, it reminded me of the unholy offspring of Jan Svankmajer's Alice and Hardy's original The Wicker Man, a gauzy, odd landscape with any number of potential horrors just over the horizon. At other times, my wife and I turned to each other and shrugged in complete bafflement. Without a doubt, this is a strange one.


And so, the final entry in the 2013 Advent Calendar. I think this recording, Sleigh Bells, Reindeer And Snow by Rita Faye Wilson, fell into obscurity not long after it was recorded, circa mid-Fifties. But then John Waters included it on a 2004 compilation album entitled A John Waters Christmas, and since then its profile may have been raised a bit. Marginally, but still. If I can make sure a few more people will hear it, then I will have done at least one good deed this year.
Rita Faye Wilson, aka just Rita Faye, apparently made a more familiar contribution to the Christmas music genre with I Fell Out Of A Christmas Tree. She also recorded a religious album in 1961, entitled Rita Faye's Autoharp, on the cover of which she does indeed pose with an autoharp, presumably also played by herself on the album.
With this piece of more-than-you-needed-to-know information, I'd like to thank everyone who has kept up with this year's Advent Calendar. Thanks for all your comments and Facebook likes. And last but not least, in the words that finishes Rita Faye's recording: Merry Christmas!
So, in yesterday's Advent Calendar post, Santa got stuck in the chimney. Ella Fitzgerald's solution was to build a bigger chimney for Santa. In today's offering, however, Colin Butler has an alternate suggestion: no chimney at all, and so Santa won't have to bother with it.
Canadian Colin Butler was 12 years old when he recorded his Christmas album A Million Dollar Christmas, on which this track can be found. Young Mr Butler puts a lot of energy into his singing, I'll say that for him. A whole album's worth may be too much of a good thing, though.
This year's Advent Calendar started with a mambo, and I'm sure you will agree there can never be enough mambo at Christmas. So, to put my money where my mouth is, without further ado, here is Big John Greer's contribution to the Christmas mambo genre, originally released in 1954. Mambo on!
The Advent Calendar has been sort of wild and loud for the past couple of days, so I thought it might be appropriate to tone things down a bit. Roger Miller, of 'King Of The Road' fame, released this self-written Christmas single in 1967. I don't think it was much of a hit at the time, which is a shame since it's kind of sweet.
If you're looking for lyrics with several layers to them, open for a multitude of different interpretations, speaking to you on manifold levels all at the same time - well, I'm afraid you've come to the wrong song. Let's put it this way: there is a shortage of subtle metaphors and clever conceits here. The message is quite simple: I wish you a merry Christmas, and not much else. But sometimes that's all we need to hear, right? Especially when delivered in the happy and carefree manner of this splendid recording by Big Dee Irwin and Little Eva. Oh, and the song was written by Gerry Goffin and Carole King. Need I say more? I think not.
Tuesday and Wednesday are girl group days in the Advent Calendar. Yesterday we had The Puppini Sisters and today we fly back 48 years to 1965, when The Supremes recorded this Motown take on 'Santa Claus Is Coming To Town'.
The song was first heard in 1934 and has, of course, been recorded innumerable times since then. The Supremes' version comes from their Merry Christmas album, and I think it's kinda' groovy.
At the merest hint of 'Last Christmas' by Wham!, some people put their fingers in their ears and run in the other direction. I have to confess that I've always loved that track (a fantastic single with 'Everything She Wants' on the other side as well), and have never really grown tired of it.
Often you will find that when someone tries an alternate interpretation of a really familiar tune, it gets a little strained. Not so in this case. The Puppini Sisters' take on 'Last Christmas', included on their 2010 album Christmas With The Puppini Sisters, really works for me, making it a little more sly, for want of a better word, without overtly advertising that thats's what they're up to. And those harmonies are to die for. What do you think?
Today the Advent Calendar is taking it easy with Sergio Mendes & Brasil '66 and their version of Mel Tormé's 'The Christmas Song'. It seems this recording was originally released on an A&M Records Christmas compilation album entitled ¡Something Festive!, released in 1968.
I really love Sergio Mendes & Brasil '66, and although this arrangement perhaps isn't very Christmassy, it's still a great recording of a great song.
Here's something grooovy for a Sunday. The Soulful Strings, about whom I don't know much, released an album of Christmas tunes in 1968, entitled The Magic Of Christmas. From this I have selected their super-catchy interpretation of 'Sleigh Ride', written by Leroy Anderson in the late '40s.


text:
Q: Tkinter transparency on label from tkinter import *

master = Tk()
master.resizable(False, False)
master.geometry('430x480+50+50')
master.title("Ping Check")
master.config(bg="#222")

layer = PhotoImage(file ="logo.gif")
topFrame = Label(text="Ping Checker", image=layer, fg="#fff", font="Bahnschrift 14")
topFrame.place(x=11,y=10)

I'm using the following code, which displays the image, however, the label seems to have a background, which I do not want.
 and the file https://imgur.com/a/JR4Hc

A: It's not that the Label can't show a transparent image, it's rather label has its own background color which is not transparent or the same as its parent. One workaround would simply be using its parent's bg as its own bg:
topFrame['bg'] = topFrame.master['bg']

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaStackExchange


Not a Rehearsal: Um... and this helps the children how????
Um... and this helps the children how????
I am lifting this straight from Crikey.com.au as I am too mad to write something and besides it says it all!!!
B) How exactly does this help the children, who are the whole point of the exercise, when all it does is increase the poverty in the community, which any social commentator will tell you WILL increase child abuse?
C) How can J-Ho still say it is all about child abuse with a straight face?
I would say more but I am just too mad right now!


hello everyone! I'm reaching out to look for anyone whoever had a crazy spike in HWmonitor particularly with the package temp reading! i have been working out a glitch of intermittent random freezing while playing forza 4, watching my thermal margin for throttling n everything else like VRM overheating. that i think is high? my real question right now is i got a crazy interment reading of 129c on my package temp in HWmonitor! that's 263 F!!! it happens when i idle or under load!
I'm using AMD overdrive n HWmonitor to help find my glitch.. but is this a possible glitch I'm seeing or a real reading? this glitch happened with older version of HWmonitor and the newest one!
update!! while i type this just got one for 225c!!! taking screen shot!!
I'm running a fx 9590 overclocked around 5.2 MHZ @ max 1.500 volts my temps are just under throttling when doing stress test but 10 + degrees under while I'm gaming or lower!!
tomorrow ill be re-doing my chip with liquid metal n re-doing my VRM heat sink with quality thermal past to see if that helps VRM temps that read 136 degrees F ( these readings come from a cooking thermometer laying on the heat sink.. I'm going to try to add screen shots to my post!
if they don't work hope i gave enough info for some feed back.. thanks!!
When you are using a thermocouple to measure temperature the connection has to be secure. It literally determines the temperature by measuring the very small changes in resistance. So any problem with the leads or the connector will result in those spikes that you mention due to just vibration.
It is a very common issue.
Especially if there is a weakening of the leads, the spikes will get worse. And eventually one of the spikes will become permanent.
thanks for your reply! but I meant ( thermometer ) like the one you use to check temp in a cooler! I'd love to have real test equipment and a oscilloscope !! i do have a small amount of electronic ability, and your post just reminded me to look for bad solder point..but i doubt that could be it.. i found a lot of post about temp glitches with monitoring programs. or it's a voltage spike on my board possibly or a component not handling the voltage I'm applying with one of my settings. i did re-do my CPU with liquid metal and it dropped my temps down 7 degrees at idle and 11 to 13 under stress test. I haven't done the VRM heat sink' yet. I'm going to keep reading n get more knowledge on overclocking I'm close to hitting 5.3 mhz about 50 MHz off... i guess it up to the CPU n motherboard if it will let me, but the VRM temps bother me. when they hit 145 F while playing my game i get studdering n seems to stop when i let every thing cool down.
i'm open to any idea's or knowlage that could help! again thanks for the reply!
The motherboard uses thermocouples to measure the CPU temperature and motherboard temperature. Those are available in the BIOS. HWmonitor just reports those values.
A thermocouple is essentially an electronic temperature sensor (or thermometer).
There are problems with some monitoring applications. Those are usually a driver issue. HWMonitor is usually a good choice. But those issues are mostly because the temperatures are not what is reported in the BIOS. The best option is the motherboard monitoring utility.


Hundreds of residents, organizations, businesses, local governments and elected officials are endorsing the effort to designate a Nation's Oldest Port National Heritage Area to permanently recognize the region's rich maritime and multicultural heritage and significant contributions to American heritage.
As we proceed with the feasibility process and work together to foster and support regional partnerships in heritage and nature preservation and promotion, our list of supporters grows (see the list).
Additionally, local organizations are volunteering their time and resources to guide the feasibility effort. This group is referred to as the Nation's Oldest Port Heritage Area Alliance. This working group meets frequently to advance progress on the feasibility document being prepared for review by the National Park Service and Congress. Heritage Area Alliance meetings are open to all stakeholders. Click here to see how you can help.
If you are interested in learning more about the local National Heritage Area effort, please contact us. A letter of support from you or your organization is important. Click here for a sample letter that you can personalize and return by mail or by emailing a scanned copy.
St. Augustine Lighthouse and Museum, Inc.


text:
/**
 * @author Intel, Salikh Zakirov
 * @version $Revision: 1.1.2.1.4.3 $
 */

#ifndef _characterize_heap_H_
#define _characterize_heap_H_

extern bool characterize_heap;

#if (!defined(PLATFORM_POSIX) && defined(_DEBUG))

extern void heapTraceInit();
extern void heapTraceBegin(bool before_gc);
extern void heapTraceAllocation(Partial_Reveal_Object* p_object, int size);
extern void heapTraceObject(Partial_Reveal_Object* p_object, int size);
extern void heapTraceEnd(bool before_gc);
extern void heapTraceFinalize();
extern bool is_long_lived (Partial_Reveal_Object *p_obj);

#else

#define heapTraceInit()
#define heapTraceBegin(before_gc)
#define heapTraceEnd(before_gc)
#define heapTraceFinalize()
#define heapTraceAllocation(p_object, size)
#define heapTraceObject(p_object, size)
#define is_long_lived (p_obj)

#endif

#endif // _characterize_heap_H_

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaGithub


Since the dawn of time man has always sought to climb the highest peaks and for modern day travellers, it's no different. The desire to feel like a giant is almost immediate when arriving somewhere new. Looking out at sensational vistas gives you a sense of calm, allows you to pick out famous spots and draw a mind map of the place you are visiting. While Berlin may be lacking in mountains, it more than makes up for it with great spots to gaze out over the city.
€5 = approx 138CZK (depending on the currency rate). Prague is a super cheap place so you'll be surprised how far exactly 138CZK can get you. At HostelCulture, we know how important keeping to your budget is, so I've compiled a list of the best things to do for under 138CZK!
Coming to the Czech Republic can be overwhelming, especially as the language is so totally different to those of Western Europe. Which makes finding food (and knowing what it is) that much more difficult. Below I have compiled a list of the most popular (read: delicious) local foods, which are always, ALWAYS super cheap.
As most avid travellers know Budapest is a pretty cheap place to visit, and that it is! But what, where, what can you do if you're on a really cheap budget? We've got 15 pretty great things you can do to enjoy Budapest all without spending more than €5!


text:
Q: How can I make my search give results based on strings from a multi-line column on a list? I have created a list, and added a multi-line column to the list called "Description".  When I search I would like the search to provide results from what is in the "Description" column.  Currently my search results do not return anything related to what is in the "Description" column.  I tired to see if I could index the column, but that is not available to do.  Any help would be appreciated.

A: Unfortunately, the Multiple Lines of Text column cannot be Indexed!

Workaround
Try to create a column with a single line of text and mention the main keywords that already exists in the Multiple Lines of Text column

Unsupported Column Types for indexing

*

*Multiple lines of text

*Choice (multi-valued)

*Calculated

*Hyperlink or Picture

*Custom Columns

*Person or Group (multi-valued) (Lookup)

*External data
Supported Column Types for indexing

*

*Single line of text

*Choice (single value)

*Number

*Currency

*Date and Time

*Person or Group (single value) (Lookup)

*Managed Metadata (Lookup)

*Yes/No

*Lookup (Lookup)


Create a fantastic look with these Funky Eyes Violet contact lenses. These violet contact lenses comes with 3 tons color combination which gives you more vivid color on your eye. Best for everyday usage or any occasion.


text:
Veterans Share Their Stories
Resolve, Ambition, and Family
Often lost in the oncoming rush of the holiday season, it's important we take time to remember Veterans Day. It is, after all, our veterans who have secured the very liberties we enjoy throughout the year, but particularly during the holidays. So today, we're sharing stories from a few veterans who have served our country and helped protect our freedoms. From joining the military to becoming parents and adjusting to civilian life, they discuss the experiences that made them who they are.
Jeff, an Army Ranger turned firefighter, has seen his share of violence and treacherous circumstances; but it's his relationship with his daughter that has shaped him the most.
Growing up, Jeff was very close to his mom and sister, relationships that deepened after his own father "checked out" when Jeff was young. After graduating high school, Jeff spun his wheels for a few years, trying college but deciding it wasn't for him. Inspired by the 2001 film Blackhawk Down, Jeff found direction in the Army Rangers. With Operation Iraqi Freedom and Operation Enduring Freedom in full swing, Jeff's time in the Rangers was extremely active.
"Once we surpassed 300 combat missions, I stopped counting. I got scuffed up a few times. My first IED was in a Humvee and all I remember was being blown up and the wheels were off the ground and I was like woooo!" But when a third encounter with an IED blew up his Stryker armored vehicle just 2 months before his daughter was due, Jeff knew it was time for a change. "We just ran over the sucker, and it went boom." Knocked unconscious, he awoke to screams from a badly injured buddy who would survive multiple broken bones and bad burns. "That was the catalyst for me." Jeff left the military when his term of service expired and transitioned to a job in a suburban fire department. Having narrowly escaped death multiple times, he was ready to focus on his role as a father.
Now a single father and primary caregiver to his daughter, Jeff credits strong relationships with his mom and sister with preparing him to be a 'girl dad' and connect with his daughter on an emotional level. Still, navigating the early teenage years, or as Jeff calls them "blunder years", has been a unique challenge. "You spend a decade raising this sweet little perfect angel, and then…" It can seem like overnight your daughter has disappeared. But that's when it's more important than ever to tune in and stay involved. A lot of dads struggle when the relationship changes here. Emotionally, it's a difficult transition for any parent. As Jeff says, "Only my daughter can make me cry."
But seeing the impact his own father had on his sister by walking out, Jeff has made it a point to give his own daughter everything she needs. To that end, Jeff intentionally "dates" his daughter––going out to eat every Thursday to find a new restaurant together, put the phones down, and just talk. Time spent together like this helps to build trust in the relationship. For the emotional needs he can't meet, Jeff and his daughter talk to a therapist, sometimes together, sometimes apart, to discuss with a third party any issues in their relationship.
Jeff has led an adventurous life. He's met and worked with great people. But raising a daughter, teaching her what a good man is, what respect looks like, and acting as a role model for her is undoubtedly his most fulfilling role yet.
Hear Jeff share more of his story on the official TBG Podcast.
Listen to the Podcast with Jeff
JADE:
Finding out she was pregnant just before entering the Marine Corps was not in Jade's plans.
A graduate of the US Naval Academy where she starred on the basketball team, finishing with over 1,000 career points and rebounds while making three appearances in the NCAA tournament, Jade grew up in Minnesota riding dirt bikes and strengthening her athletic skills competing against an older brother. It was her talent on the hardwood developed during those years that eventually earned the attention of recruiters and led her to the Naval Academy.
A shy teenager with little idea of what life was like at the Academy, Jade was unprepared for what awaited. "I didn't even know the 5 basic responses", she recalls. "What a bozo!" But pulling on her upbringing, she refused to quit. "My mom was like, 'You don't quit.' I attribute all that to me finishing the Naval Academy, especially Plebe Summer." Plebe Summer, similar to boot camp, did not start well for Jade. "I lost my boots the first day." But it was her experiences there that prepared her for life in the Marines. "My Sophomore year we went and saw all the different things we could sign up for. I instantly fell in love with the Marine Corps."
While pregnancy altered the course of her career in the Corps to some extent, it changed her mentality even more. There was someone watching now. After four years in the Marines as an Aviation Supply Officer responsible for ensuring the jets were mission capable, it was time to spend more time with her daughter, Brantley. Experiencing more of life with her daughter has been a rewarding aspect of civilian life for Jade. "This girl is my hype woman!" On a recent run, while pushing Brantley in the stroller, Jade took a break to walk for a moment. "She turns around and says 'Mom, run. There's not time for walking. Run!'"
Jade continues to push ambitious goals. She recently received her personal trainer certificate and has plans to complete nutritionist training as well, with a goal of competing in the World's Toughest Mudder competition.
Whatever she does, whether on the court or at the gym, Jade believes in going hard. Now an Executive Assistant at Tactical Baby Gear, she works to ensure the entire team stays on task. From Marine to Mom, Jade has had plenty of different roles, but wherever she is, you can be certain she's ready to slay her goals!
Hear Jade share more of her story on the official TBG Podcast.
Listen to the Podcast with Jade
BRADY:
Brady always knew he wanted to be a Marine. Inspired by his grandfather who spent 32 years in the Corps, Brady joined in 2004, fresh out of high school. After his enlistment––which included two overseas tours––was complete, Brady took the advice of others and enrolled at Rutgers where he earned a bachelor's degree.
Diploma in hand, Brady found a job in Executive Protection. Under threat from the mob, a high-powered Philadelphia businessman turned to Brady to ensure his family's safety. From sunup to sundown, Brady was responsible to protect the man's wife and two children. Sharing in the family's daily life for so long, Brady became in many ways a part of it. The children, ages 2 and 4 when he started work, came to see him as a regular member of the family. Tasked with blending in, Brady joined in many family activities over the course of his 4-year assignment. "You can't look like a bodyguard", he explains. This landed him in a number of situations outside his comfort zone, including unsuccessful forays into spin bike classes and hot yoga. "Almost died in that yoga class", he recalls.
Brady's career trajectory abruptly changed one night while driving the husband home after a late night. With FBI raids complete and the immediate threat abated, he asked Brady what was next. Brady explained his lifelong love of dogs and desire to train them full time someday. When they arrived at the home, Brady's boss presented him with a check for $25,000––along with an ultimatum to go follow his dreams. "You come into work tomorrow, you're fired. And I'm tearing up the check." Just like that, Brady was professional dog trainer.
He started slowly, training a few dogs to work in drug rehab facilities where they could locate contraband materials and support resident recovery efforts. From there, Brady's vision grew to a 26-acre, 50-kennel facility which supported short-term boarding as well as dog training.
Brady placed a special focus on training the trainer, particularly young dog owners. This program helped children learn how to effectively handle their dog and consistently enforce the rules. In addition to teaching personal responsibility, the training helped young handlers better appreciate the long-term commitment their four-legged friend required.
Brady is often asked to share advice on dog training, and he consistently comes back to one of the primary lessons he's learned: every dog different. Treating every dog as unique and taking the time to understand how they learn is critical to effective training. Just like parenting, there's a necessary balance between enforcer and friend.
As with many companies, Covid-19 forced Brady's company, K9 Gunner Tactical, to reevaluate and reset. They've started incorporating video courses and plan to continue developing more content. But Brady's previous roles prepared him for this moment. When pushed to the edge of your comfort zone, he's learned, just go for it.
Hear Brady share more of his story on the official TBG Podcast.
Listen to the Podcast with Brady
The Stroller Wagon that Saved our Family Adventures
2021 Holiday Gift Guide for a New Dad (Plus Stocking Stuffers!)
What's in My Newborn Diaper Bag

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl