The Screengrab : monte hellman

Screengrab Presents THE TOP TEN BEST MOVIES EVER!!!! (Part Seven)

Andrew Osborne — Thu, 14 May 2009 23:00:00 GMT

Hayden Childs's Top Ten Best Movies Ever!

1. THE WILD BUNCH (1969)
2. THE SEVEN SAMURAI (1954)

Although I listed The Wild Bunch in the first spot, this one is equally deserving. Perhaps more. The story is simple: poor peasant villagers, beset by marauding bandits, hire a group of down-on-their-luck samurai to defend them. But this is storytelling at its finest: lyrical, universal, and profound. Akira Kurosawa was a great fan of John Ford, and the epic sweep of Ford's Westerns added to the majesty of The Seven Samurai. Look, I can hardly talk about this movie. It's just too much.

3. McCABE & MRS. MILLER (1971)

4. BADLANDS (1973) & DAYS OF HEAVEN (1978)

Terrence Malick's first two films are wondrous. I mean this in the sense that they contain wonders to behold and that they are themselves wonders. For one thing, they shouldn't work. Both movies are narrated by girls on the cusp of becoming young women, and both often suppress dialogue to emphasize through voiceover the inner lives of their narrators. Badlands recasts the story of serial killer Charles Starkweather into an insular fairy tale, a Brothers Grimm story about murderous innocence. Days Of Heaven is like an Andrew Wyeth painting given life, and like that other famous artwork that springs to life, Pinnochio, it's a much darker story with breathtaking beauty and sudden horror. (HC)

5. GRAND ILLUSION (1937) & THE RULES OF THE GAME (1939)

6. THE SEARCHERS (1956)

The Searchers is such a strange film, veering wildly between the unholy obsession, the blanket condemnation of racism, the anti-hero who might well be the hero, the cornpone humor, the score that screams of American exceptionalism even as the movie shows itself deeply ambivalent about America's past. This multifaceted approach is offputting at first, but utterly compelling over multiple viewings. John Ford and John Wayne made a hell of a lot of Westerns together, but this is the greatest. (HC)

7. THE GODFATHER PART II (1974)

8. UNFAITHFULLY YOURS (1948) & THE LADY EVE (1941)

9. VERTIGO (1958) & LA JETEE (1962)

Vertigo is Alfred Hitchcock's finest film, an echo chamber of fetishistic obsession with an almost indescribably weird plot. La Jetee is Chris Marker's most accessible movie, a short film captured almost entirely in still shots with a voiceover explaining key plot points. The plot revolves around an obsessive remembrance of an event from the protagonist's youth. One of the major scenes echoes a scene in Vertigo. In his film Sans Soliel, which almost made this list, Marker explains how obsessed he became with Vertigo, wanting to copy it as a means of understanding and possessing it. The embedded video below contains all 26 minutes of La Jetee in its totality. (HC)

10. COCKFIGHTER (1974)

Monte Hellman made some heady no-budget movies in his heyday, but this one, in which Warren Oates plays a cockfighter who has taken a vow of silence, is the headiest (sorry, Two-Lane Blacktop, but you're second in my heart). Let me be clear: cockfighting is one of the ugliest, most vulgar and inhumane sports known to man, and I find it reprehensible. Hellman looks at it without flinching and finds the beauty within. Oates is one of my favorite actors, and never is he better than here, a movie in which he has maybe five lines of dialogue, although he is in every scene. (HC)

11. TOUCH OF EVIL (1958) & YOJIMBO (1961)

Both of these movies make art out of sheer pulp. By almost any standard, Touch Of Evil should be unbelievably bad, but it's astonishingly great, better, I dare say, than Citizen Kane. It's a police procedural where the killing and killer are completely irrelevant to the plot. It's a movie about a corrupt cop who is always right about his suspect even when he plants evidence (and unlike, say, 24, the film doesn't condone police corruption). It's a movie with an unhealthy amount of cheese and ham - Charlton Heston as a Mexican cop!, a biker gang all addled on weed who abduct Janet Leigh!, Marlene Dietrich as a gypsy fortune teller! Orson Welles in a fat suit (or should that be an even fatter suit?)! - that somehow turns it all into the finest cinematic cuisine. Yojimbo also starts with a pulp premise, in this case a samurai version of Dashiell Hammett's The Glass Key and Red Harvest, and finds a way to frame it all into a stunning battle royale. (HC)

12. SINGIN' IN THE RAIN (1952)

What the first thing an actor learns? The show must go on!

Here's several other movies that ought to be on this list, and would have been if I'd figured out a way to stretch the idea of Top Ten any further:

Aguirre, Wrath of God (Herzog, 1972)
The Battle of Algiers (Pontecorvo, 1965)
Chinatown (Polanski, 1974)
Ikiru (Kurosawa, 1952)
Killer of Sheep (Burnett, 1977)
Miller's Crossing (Coen, 1990)
Night of the Hunter (Laughton, 1955)
Playtime (Tati, 1967)
Ride The High Country (Peckinpah, 1962)
Rio Bravo (Hawks, 1959)
Week End (Godard, 1967)

Click Here For Part One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Eight, Nine & Ten

Contributor: Hayden Childs

Not Readily Available on Legally Authorized Commercial DVD Release in the Continental United States: Jack Nicholson's "Drive, He Said"

Phil Nugent — Wed, 22 Apr 2009 15:00:00 GMT

[Note: When this feature premiered here some weeks back, it was under the title "Not on DVD". As several readers were thoughtful enough to point out, this was not technically accurate, because there isn't anything that you can't find in some version on DVD provided you have access to an all-region player, live at one of the far corners of the earth, and know a guy what knows a guy. Since then, researchers in the Screengrab test labs have labored to come up with a title for this feature that will be both honestly descriptive and pithy. As you can see, they failed. But you get the idea, right?]

Today marks the 72nd birthday of Mr. Jack Nicholson. In 1958, Nicholson made his movie debut in the title role of the 70-minute Roger Corman production Cry Baby Killer, which would lead to more than a decade's worth of solid employment in low-paying jobs in low-budget indie films, many of them for Corman, most of them exploitation and drive-in fare, though a few of them (such as Irving Lerner's 1960 Studs Lonigan and the pair of "existential" Westerns, The Shooting and Ride in the Whirlwind, that Monte Hellman directed back to back on Corman's nickel in the mid-'60s. (Nicholson also wrote the script for Whirlwind and had writing credits on a few other '60s films, including Hellman's 1964 Flight to Fury, The Trip, and the Monkees vehicle Head, with whose director, Bob Rafelson, he later made Five Easy Pieces, The King of Marvin Gardens, The Postman Always Rings Twice, and Blood and Wine.) The movie that made Nicholson a star, Easy Rider, was basically an art-house version of the biker movies that Corman had made, starting with The Wild Angels, which starred Easy Rider's Peter Fonda. Nicholson had come on board Easy Rider as an afterthought, when Rip Torn, who was set to play the good-hearted good ol' boy George Hanson, got into a bitch-slapping contest with Dennis Hopper and got his invitation to join the production rescinded. In fact, at the time, Nicholson thought that his acting career was over. He was tired of bashing his head against walls trying to break into the industry and had arranged to make his directing debut with an adaptation of Jeremy Larner's 1964 campus novel, Drive, He Said. It was only when he saw Easy Rider with an audience and picked up on the crowd's reaction to his performance that Nicholson realized that his career as a movie star had just begun.

Like Richard Farina's 1966 Been Down So Long, It Looks Like Up to Me, Larner's novel (which takes its title from a Robert Creeley poem) was published early enough in the 1960s to later seem prescient about campus unrest in the Vietnam era, and both books were turned into movies that were released in 1971, by which time the campus protest movement had peaked in the wake of Kent State. Nicholson's movie was filmed in Eugene, Oregon on and around the state university. William Tepper, who looks here like a stork-legged cross between Abbie Hoffman and the Robert De Niro of Mean Streets, made his movie debut as Hector Bloom, a star basketball player who is called out by his coach (Bruce Dern) for having an attitude problem. Hector, who could have any girl on the campus he wanted, has pulled the genius move of having an affair with Olive (Karen Black), who is married to a professor played by Robert Towne, who had also labored in the Corman factory as a screenwriter (The Last Woman on Earth, The Tomb of Ligeia) before writing a couple of movies that gave Nicholson two of his most memorable roles, The Last Detail and Chinatown. (Towne took the name of his Chinatown hero, J. J. Gittes, from Harry Gittes, a friend of Nicholson's who co-produced Drive, He Said. Though the script for this movie is credited to Larner and Nicholson, both Towne and Terrence Malick are said to have taken an uncredited crack at it.) Things turn out badly, but not necessarily in the way you might expect. It turns out that Olive's husband is an overly cerebral, phlegmatic type who knows perfectly well that Hector is balling his wife--it's not easy to miss--but wants to impress everyone with how well he's taking it; a part of him is sort of proud that the great athlete deems him worthy of cuckolding. Olive eventually pushes both of them away, telling them that they're "both big babies" who "deserve each other."

The surprising crosscurrents between the actors caught in this triangle, and also between Tepper and Dern (whose tightly focused performance as the hard-ass coach is some of the very best work he's ever done) capture what's best about Drive, He Said and suggest what Nicholson might have been able to bring to movies if he'd stuck with it as a director. Tepper himself gives an extraordinary performance as an inarticulate but deeply troubled man with the manner of a put-on artist and a romantic soul. (After Drive, He Said bombed, Tepper did some TV but disappeared from movies for a decade. In the early 1980s, he turned up in Miss Right, a comedy that reunited him with his co-star Karen Black, and he had supporting roles in the 1983 remake of Breathless and the 1984 Tom Hanks-Adrian Zmed comedy Bachelor Party, and hasn't been seen on-screen since.) Nicholson shows a free but sure hand with the cast, which also includes Michael Warren (of the TV series Hill Street Blues) and, in smaller roles, David Ogden Stiers (lean and hirsute and recognizable only by his voice, even though he's attempting a cracker accent), Cindy Williams, and June Fairchild, beloved to many for her role as the woman who snorts Ajax in the Cheech and Chong movie Up in Smoke.

For all that's brilliant (or at least brilliantly promising) about Drive, He Said, it's easy to see why it tanked in 1971. Nicholson doesn't seem to have any idea how to shape the material into a cohesive hold, so it feels like a succession of sequences rather than a movie, and the audience is left to get its bearings on its own. Probably a lot of people sat through as much of it as they could stand without ever getting them. There's also the subplot involving Michael Margotta as Gabriel, Hector's roommate, whose character must have struck some people as embarrassingly dated even in 1971. Nicholson fails to establish any basis for a relationship or even any kind of emotional bond between Hector and Gabriel, but what does come through is that, while Hector resists bending to the demands of The Establishment, Gabriel can't even consider it, and the pressure is driving him crazy, at a time when it was fashionable to view going crazy as a noble quest. Gabriel never has a quiet moment in the movie; he's always attacking the M.P.s during his draft induction physical, taking a sword to a TV set after screaming, "They staged the moon landing in Phoenix, Arizona!", throwing commodes out of second story windows, etc. At the climax, he tries to rape Olive, during an assault on her house (and body) that he (maybe with a little prodding from the director) stages as if it were a night of bad experimental theater, and after that doesn't work out, he walks naked into the campus biology lab and sets free the various critters caged there. It must be said, though, that even here Nicholson keeps a tight enough rein on Margotta's performance that only intermittently does this stuff play as foolishly as it sounds. (And in the scene in the lab, there is one glorious caught shot of one of the freed mice appearing to try to make out with one of the frogs, which spurns its advances and hops away.)

Nicholson didn't direct another movie until 1978's barnyard comedy Goin' South, in which he also starred, and that wasn't until after he'd added The Last Detail, Chinatown, and One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (for which he won the Academy Award for Best Actor) to his resume. After he won the Best Supporting Actor Oscar for Terms of Endearment, Nicholson began telling interviewers that his ultimate dream was to take home one more Academy Award, for Best Director. He pretty much stopped saying that after his third and, to date, last film as director, The Two Jakes, slithered out from under a rock in 1990. An attempted sequel to Chinatown from a fresh Robert Towne script that Towne had tried and failed to make himself five years earlier, it was the kind of movie that absolutely had to have propulsion and a clear plot line, and once again, Nicholson didn't know how to put it together so that the sum would amount to more than a pile of scenes strung together. Maybe it's not that surprising that, with so little practice sitting in the director's chair, Nicholson had gotten no better at what he had been hopeless at twenty years earlier, but he had also lost his touch at guiding his fellow actors: he couldn't even get a decent performance out of himself.

You'd have to be crazy to suggest that Nicholson took the wrong road after savoring that explosion of applause for his performance in Easy Rider. Chances are that Drive, He Said (which played at the 1971 Cannes Film Festival) wouldn't even have gotten as much attention as it did if its director hadn't been a movie star, and if Nicholson hadn't worked as hard as he did at his acting career in the early 1970s, he might not have stayed a movie star for long. (Peter Fonda, the real star of Easy Rider, sure didn't.) As it is, he became the biggest, most durable star of his generation. But he did have something special when he directed Drive, He Said, and it's a shame that, when he reached for it again, it had dissipated.

Set Your DVR!: March 13 - 20, 2009

Phil Nugent — Thu, 12 Mar 2009 18:00:00 GMT

After a demoralizing post-New Year's stretch where Turner Classic Movies' late-Friday-night "TCM Underground" slot seemed to have been turned into a dumping ground for toothless crap fit only for drive-ins catering to viewers who are still using training wheels--The Amityville Horror!? TCM, please!--things have started hopping there again, and I don't mean Night of the Lepus. Last week saw the channel's premiere of Willie Dynamite, a 1974 blaxsploitation movie about a flamboyantly dressed pimp played by Gordon from Sesame Street, and this week, March 14 at 1:00 am central/2:00 am eastern, TCM unearths a Cold War artifact beyond Rorshach's more feverish nightmares: Shack Out on 101 (1956), one of the strangest and most seldom-seen movies of its day. A poverty row production, it's set in a greasy spoon restaurant, with Keenan Wynn as the proprietor, Terry Moore (once the love object of both Howard Hughes and Mighty Joe Young) as the waitress, and Frank Lovejoy as a nuclear scientist--"a big, big man" in Moore's words--who regularly stops by to get into different kinds of trouble with Moore and with Lee Marvin, who plays the cook, known as Slob, who's moonlighting as a Commie agent. If the intense mixture of steaminess and paranoia and the energy that the cast gives off trying to keep the claustrophobic picture alive aren't enough to hold your interest in a vise, you can kill time during the dead spots by trying to figure out whether it's more implausible that Marvin would have been approved by the KGB recruiting office or the Board of Health.

Then, a week later, March 20 at 1:30 am central/2:30 am eastern, TCM Underground has the greatest counterculture roap trip of them all, Monte Hellman's Two-Lane Blacktop (1971). James Taylor yes-that-James-Taylor, with a hawkish profile and great greasy-looking dark locks, is the nameless driver who tools around the country with his mechanic sidekick (the late Dennis Wilson, the drummer for the Beach Boys), getting into races for money; the magnificent Warren Oates is the middle-aged fantasist who finds their very existence so objectionable that he goads them into a race to Washington, winner take the other's wheels. Neither Taylor (who in an interview included in a 2007 Criterion Collection DVD release says that he's never seen the picture) nor Wilson ever acted again, and if Oates had never acted in anything else, his work here would be enough to secure him a position in Character Actor Heaven. When it was first released, Esquire ran a picture of its leading lady, Laurie Bird, on its cover and proclaimed it the movie of the year, a boast that the magazine later sheepishly retracted after it flopped in theaters. It would have to settle for being one for the ages.

TCM has so many hours of programming to fill up that it can hardly restrict the weird stuff to the witching hour, so Friday morning, March 13, 8:45 am central/9:45 am eastern, the network premieres Zotz!, a 1962 comedy directed by the scary-movie gimmickmeister William Castle. Little seen (and, like Shack Out on 101), not available on DVD), the film has acquired a cult reputation over the years based largely on its far-out title and the change of pace it marked for Castle, who soon moved back to plastic skeletons. It stars Tom Poston, the thinking man's Jim Nabors, who plays a professor who, Wikipedia says, "obtains powers to cause pain or slow movement, and even kill. He immediately suffers the consequences of his discovery: Jones realizes that when he points at another living creature, it causes a great pain. This prevents any intimate encounters with a woman. It is a metaphor of the age of nuclear weapons." Sounds hilarious!

Monte Hellman's Desert Island DVDs

Scott Von Doviak — Wed, 28 Jan 2009 16:00:00 GMT

What are Monte Hellman’s 10 favorite Criterion DVDs? The answers may surprise you! “Picking ten is worse than trying to choose between my wives, my dog, and my kids,” says Hellman, and…his wives? I hope he means his spouses served their terms consecutively, not concurrently. And if he has a current wife, I hope she doesn’t see this and learn that he’s having a hard time deciding between her and his past wives…or even his dog.

But I digress. The fact is that Mr. Hellman did manage to pick 10 Criterion DVDs, among them 8 ½ (“I had the pleasure of watching Fellini shoot a scene from City of Women at Cinecittá. I was flattered when he said, ‘Ah, you’re the young director I’ve heard so much about,’ although I was barely younger than he.”), Scenes from a Marriage (“At the time the film first played theatrically in the U.S., I was invited to a private screening of the five-hour television version. As one who’s addicted to marriage, it was a devastating experience.”) and Grand Illusion (“I had the privilege of being a member of a festival jury led by Jean Renoir, and subsequently replaced him as a cameo actor in a film.”) Hellman! What’s with all the name-dropping? Did Peter Bogdanovich ghost-write this list?

Other choices include Notorious and The Lady Eve, but Hellman’s top pick is a bit out of left field: Victor Erice’s The Spirit of the Beehive from 1972. “I’ve probably seen this film more than any other. Nestor Almendros turned me on to it when I was looking for a DP to shoot Iguana. He recommended Luis Cuadrados, but I soon discovered he’d died of a brain tumor, having shot Spirit while 95 percent blind.” You can check out the full list here.

Related:
Vanishing Act: Monte Hellman
Video of the Day: It's Monte Hellman Time!

Take 5: Character Actors Who Take The Lead

Hayden Childs — Wed, 12 Nov 2008 18:15:00 GMT

Film critics often love character actors more than leading men or women. With good cause, too: as we saw with our Leading Men and Leading Ladies Top 25 lists, some of the people at the top of the ticket couldn't act their way out of a wet paper bag. But they have charisma in spades, and that's what it takes for a leading actor to make the big bucks. Character actors, on the other hand, are the craftsmen of the profession, learning how to bring their own sense of self to many different roles. They have charisma, too, but it's a weird, flawed charisma. Character actors seem more like regular people, although they are usually the hardest-working actors in the trade. They often don't have the luxury of choosing their projects, and many seem happy to be earning a paycheck. But they don't just spin their wheels, no. They bring their game to even the paltriest of projects. For them, acting is about the love.

Often character actors gather around strong directors. John Ford had a company of them that appeared in various permutations in his films. So did Sam Peckinpah. David Milch brought together one of the greatest assortment of character actors in recent history for HBO's Deadwood (Brad Dourif, Ricky Jay, Powers Boothe, Molly Parker, Jason Jones, Brian Cox, Jim Beaver, and this list could just keep going) and returned to many of them for John From Cincinnati. But Judd Apatow's tv shows and films have done something exciting: they lift the weirdos who would normally be on the edge of the screen to the central spot. And Apatow is not the first person to think of this, just one of the more recent. The Coen Brothers have certainly played with the idea of leading actors, often pushing tried-and-true lead actors to their weirdest performances and othertimes asking honest-to-goodness character actors to take the central role of the film. Preston Sturges, a clear antecedent to both Apatow and the Coens, was a similar proponent of the charming weirdness of life, and his decision to hang a couple of his great movies on the nervous shoulders of Eddie Bracken is more than perversity.

Let's hope someone takes this to heart and makes a buddy movie starring Stephen Root, Ricky Jay, and Jon Polito. Sometimes filmmakers put a character actor in the lead role out of expedience or budget. Sometimes filmmakers want to let the world see just how special this actor on the periphery is. Whatever the reason, here's a list of five of the best character actors who have made classic movies when they ascended to the lead.

1. Warren Oates. With his droopy mouth and off-center face, Oates was the guy directors used to telegraph ROUGHNECK to the cheap seats. But Oates wasn't just any redneck peckerwood, but a powerhouse able to make the most stockish of stock characters bleed for you, and you for them. Consider his parts in the Peckinpah movies: the roughest Hammond brother in Ride The High Country, unwilling to bathe for his brother's wedding; the reddest of the Rebel soldiers in Major Dundee, who has a death scene that steals the whole damn movie away from Charlton Heston and Richard Harris; the skankier Gorch brother in The Wild Bunch, forever the butt of the joke. Phil Nugent just wrote a brilliant article about his all-too-small role in Monte Hellman's Two-Lane Blacktop, to which I'll link in lieu of adding anything. Then he popped up in Malick's Badlands as Sissy Spacek's doomed father, unprepared for the amoral type of generational backlash. That was the year before Hellman and Peckinpah independently put Oates front-and-center for two movies, each one among their finest, both impossibly uncommercial and both utterly raw and honest about the nature of human struggle and strife: Cockfighter and Bring Me The Head Of Alfredo Garcia.

Hellman's Cockfighter, which Paul Clark recently reviewed here, is stunningly simple. Oates plays Frank Mansfield, a competitive cockfighter who has taken a vow of silence until he wins the cockfighting championship. The sport - as unsportsmanlike as it is - is appalling, and the movie doesn't try to hide that. But the characters are immersed in it. Most of them being products of farm life, they don't even notice the dubious morality. It's hard to value the life of a chicken when you've raised them. The vow of silence, explained in a flashback, means that Oates hardly speaks a word in the whole movie, despite being in every scene. But Oates carries the character through body language alone, and there's no doubt whatsoever about who Mansfield is and what he's about. I can hardly think of another actor who could come close to doing what he does here. Paul neglected to mention my favorite scene, the last in the movie, where Mansfield rips the head off of a chicken and presents it, plumage upwards like a flower, to his disgusted lady love. It's equal measures horror and beauty. You will never forget it.

Peckinpah's Bring Me The Head of Alfredo Garcia is another celebration of ugly beauty. It's unbelievable crude in parts, but it's the crudity of a master craftsman. Oates plays Bennie, a down-and-out pianist who takes a road trip through Mexico with his prostitute girlfriend to recover the head of her deceased ex-lover. A powerful man has put a bounty on the head, and Bennie sees the money as a way to turn his life around. He's very wrong. The movie follows him from debasement to debasement until there's nothing left, which is where he finds his last shred of dignity and humanity. I don't know if I can overemphasize the intensity of this movie, especially through the second half, but I will say that it's a completely rewarding and powerful experience, and no one other than Warren Oates could have played Bennie.

2. Forest Whitaker. Whitaker is a huge presence in the movies that he's in, but he's also always on the sidelines. He had almost no words in Fast Times At Ridgemont High. He smiled at Robin Williams a lot in Good Morning, Vietnam, for which he was awarded a Purple Heart. He played the lead in Bird, Clint Eastwood's stillborn ode to Charlie Parker, but let's not speak of that. Since Bird, he's made a lot of movies where he plays key supporting roles, often involving that "still waters run deep" face that he has perfected, where his smile is tempered by the pain in his eyes. However, Jim Jarmusch made him the lead again in Ghost Dog: The Way Of The Samurai, which was batshit crazy enough to assert that the hulking Whitaker could be a whisper-silent urban ninja taking down hardened mobsters. Jarmusch's movies never bat an eye at the battiest behavior, and many of his movies allow guys with a character-actor affinity (like Johnny Depp and Bill Murray) to pretend they haven't moved up to the major leagues as leading men. But Ghost Dog was special sort of pastiche, a movie where the Wu-Tang Clan met The Sopranos in a Shaw Brothers kung fu movie. Well, there's no real kung fu in Ghost Dog, just the apparent agreement of everyone involved that kung fu is awesome. And Forest Whitaker, playing the same damaged-but-noble guy he often plays, makes you believe that this tremendous bear of a man is capable of these amazing feats of stealth and cunning.

3. Richard Farnsworth. Farnsworth went from stuntman to character actor to The Grey Fox and The Straight Story, all in 62 years. That's a heck of a career arc! Although he started off doing stunt in Westerns in the 1930s, his acting career didn't take off until the 1970s. His IMDB page shows that he appeared mostly uncredited and unnamed in a number of great movies in the early 70s, but by the end of the decade, he'd been nominated for a Best Supporting Actor Oscar for his role in Comes A Horseman. In 1982, he played the lead in the entertaining train robber throwback The Grey Fox. Seventeen years later, David Lynch cast him as the lead in his only G-rated movie (produced by Disney!), The Straight Story. Lynch is fascinated by the weirdness that crops in on everyday life, and The Straight Story was both deeply weird and as wholesome as apple pie. Farnsworth plays the same old-timer that he usually played, but his Alvin Straight was a man who knew how to look beyond his limitations. In the movie, he leaves his mentally-challenged daughter (played by Sissy Spacek, who might have been a character actor if she hadn't crossed over to leading lady so early in her career) to travel across the Midwest by lawnmower so that he can make up with a long-estranged brother (Harry Dean Stanton, keeping the weirdness real). It's an amazing movie, and it was also his last film.

4. Takashi Shimura. Shimura, like Oates, has a great droopy face that carries the weight of the world. Perhaps he was a great star in Japan, but in almost all of the movies I've seen, he's the guy on the side. Toshiro Mifune usually plays a guy who either looks up to him or treats him like trash (if he even notices Shimura's character at all, that is), but in every case, Shimura's characters have been passed by time. His hangdog look is the crux of his lead role in Kurosawa's Ikiru, one of the finest films made by anyone in cinema's all-too-brief history. Ikiru (Japanese for "To Live") is about a bureaucrat who, upon discovering that he is dying, decides to leave a tiny little legacy after a lifetime of invisibility. It is also, by a large margin, the most tearjerking tearjerker ever made. Shimura is a master of conveying his character's every little emotion, often without saying a word, and one would need to have a heart of dust not to be moved by his final scene.

5. Klaus Kinski. Is Kinski a character actor or a leading man? I really don't know. I have not seen many of his pre-Herzog movies, but my impression is that he was too odd and spooky for leading man status. In For A Few Dollars More, he doesn't have much to do other than creep out everyone around him. I'd forgotten he was in Doctor Zhivago, which may say more about how long it's been since I watched it than his performance. None of his many, many spaghetti westerns seem to center on his character. But then Werner Herzog made put him front-and-center for Aguirre, Wrath of God, and thus loosed his insanity on the world, as ordained in the Book Of Revelations. Herzog and Kinski had a complicated relationship, to say the least. I'm fairly certain that Kinski had a complicated relationship with any and all other human beings and several inanimate objects, as well. As Burden of Dreams shows, Herzog was coming fairly close to completely losing his mind during the midpoint of their collaboration. Still, after being the Wrath of God, Kinski appeared as the lead in Herzog's remake of Nosferatu, then in Woyzeck, Fitzcarraldo, and Cobra Verde. All are worth a viewing, but none matches the greatness of Aguirre, Wrath of God. Kinski appeared in a number of other movies around the same time, mostly European productions. He doesn't appear to have played the lead in any of them. Too weird, as I say. Too uncontrollable. One would have to be used to exploring human behavior at its breaking point to even attempt to deal with Kinski's mad energy.

Reviews By Request: Cockfighter (1974, Monte Hellman)

Paul Clark — Tue, 14 Oct 2008 19:00:00 GMT

Note: Since the poll format of selecting movies for future Reviews by Request columns worked so well last time, I’ve decided to keep it for the time being. See the bottom of this piece to pick a Halloween column from five horror favorites I’ve never seen. But before you do, enjoy this review of the movie that was chosen by popular vote two weeks ago- Monte Hellman’s Cockfighter.

I honestly have no excuse for not seeing Cockfighter before. After all, I’ve long been a fan of Warren Oates, who I believe to be one of the finest and most undervalued of all screen actors. And I’ve enjoyed a number of Monte Hellman’s films in the past, particularly The Shooting and Two Lane Blacktop, both of which also starred Oates. So why have I taken so long to see Cockfighter? It wasn’t the violence against animals, which I’ve been able to handle in numerous other films. Maybe I was just waiting for the right occasion to see it. So thanks to those of you who voted for it.

As those of you who haven’t seen it might guess from the title, Cockfighter tells the story of a man who raises gamecocks to fight for sport. The man’s name is Frank Mansfield and is played, of course, by Oates. Cockfighting isn’t a lucrative line of work, but Frank seems to be pretty good at it. He’s got a house, a farm, and a mobile home- that is, until he loses it by making a too-rich bet against a longtime rival, played by Harry Dean Stanton. It’s not the first time that Frank has let his greed get the best of him, and the film flashes back to a previous occasion when he lost his best rooster and his chance at the Cockfighter of the Year medal by running off his mouth. Since then, he’s maintained a vow of silence (though he’s prone to talking in his sleep). It’s Frank’s quest to make it to the top that serves as the film’s story.

Given its subject material and Deep South setting, it should go without saying that Cockfighter is a B-movie. But like all of Hellman’s best-known work, it’s a B-movie of the highest caliber, which is to say that it takes advantage of the possibilities of working quick and cheap. A more extravagantly-budgeted film on the subject would spare no expense to re-create the world of Southern cockfighting. But because all Hellman could afford was to film real cockfights, the world more or less created itself. The fans don’t feel like extras because they aren’t, and the blood from the fights is real. It’s this aspect of the film that troubles many viewers, who object to the non-simulated violence against the animals. But Hellman directs these scenes in a matter-of-fact style that avoids the cheap thrills that are often part and parcel with exploitation movies. Cockfighting is a way of life for these people in the movie, and for the most part they’re long past the point of being affected by the violence they see in the ring.

My only prior experience with cockfighting, either in real life or onscreen, came from Claire Denis’ No Fear, No Die. The difference between the two films is striking. In Denis’ film, cockfighting is an underworld activity, run by criminals and dominated by immigrants, with fights taking place in shady back rooms. By contrast, Frank’s world is out in the open- there are special cockfighting arenas, police officers are seen at the fights, and the final tournament is sponsored by a Senator. Everyone involved in the cockfighting world- be they trainers, sponsors, or fans who bet on the matches- accepts the way it is, which makes it all the more affecting when an outsider is invited in only to discover she can’t take it. A lesser film might take the side of Mary Elizabeth (Patricia Pearcy), who loves Frank before seeing the disgusting business he’s in. But the film is above all a character study of a man who has chosen a less-than-savory path, but is committed to riding it as far as it’ll take him.

For this reason, Oates’ presence is invaluable. Hellman fills the film with plenty of vivid character actors- Harry Dean Stanton, Richard B. Shull, Laurie Bird, a young Ed Begley Jr., the inimitable Millie Perkins- but Oates owns the film. Cockfighter was released the same year as another of Oates’ too-rare lead roles, in Sam Peckinpah’s Bring Me The Head of Alfredo Garcia, and the differences between the two performances illustrate Oates’ formidable acting talent. In his own way, Frank is just as desperate as Garcia’s Benny, but whereas Benny was a down-and-out loser, Frank sublimates his desperation into the pursuit of his goal and blocks out anything that’s unrelated to it. And Frank’s vow of silence allow Oates to demonstrate his gift for physical acting, which often leads to priceless bits of comedy (the film is sometimes very funny, something I’ve somehow neglected to mention before).

All the while, Oates never allows the character to become too charming or too heroic. Perhaps that was his greatest asset as an actor- his ability to keep his characters human-sized, with all the frailty and foolishness that implies. Rather than serving as larger-than-life vessels for audience wish fulfillment, Oates’ performances reflect the way we believe (or fear) that we ourselves would react to life’s biggest challenges. And while that’s not the stuff of top-flight movie stardom, it’s real grown-up acting of the highest order, and few did it better than Warren Oates.

So, what’ll it be? The Hammer release that introduced the world to Christopher Lee’s Dracula? A semi-forgotten Euro-zombie movie that’s allegedly ripe for cult resurgence? A late-period Jacques Tourneur fright favorite? A Criterion-anointed Japanese classic? Or will it be a Dario Argento giallo, a subgenre in which I’m woefully underversed? You decide!

Choose a movie for my next Reviews By Request column: | BuzzDash polls

As always, feel free to stump for your favorites in the comments section, or suggest possibilities for upcoming columns. See you in two weeks!

Take Five: Road Trip

Leonard Pierce — Fri, 26 Sep 2008 20:15:00 GMT

Opening this Friday, Neil Burger's The Lucky Ones is a bit of a gamble as a follow-up to The Illusionist. Following the plight of three soldiers recently returned from Iraq (played by Tim Robbins, Michael Pena and Rachel McAdams), it quickly turns into a sort of social statement-cum-sign o' the times story as they find themselves on a road trip together across the country. It's hard to predict how The Lucky Ones will be received; Iraq movies are always a crapshoot, and the movie's curious blend of comedy and drama may not fit in with the subject matter. But it's always fun to see a new road movie, especially this late in the year when the possibility taking real-world road trips becomes more and more daunting. Road pictures have a long and storied history in Hollywood, and filmmakers have managed to fold everything from bone-chilling noir to high-concept comedy to existential drama into the format. America is especially adept at making road pictures, not only because of the grand canvas that is the national geography, but because of our total immersion in car culture. Here's five of our favorites.

DETOUR (1945)

Film noir, despite its association with the urban environment, was never afraid to take its show on the road as long as there was a nice juicy crime at the center of the story, and Detour serves up a doozy. A grade-z Poverty Row picture made for the cost of Clark Gable's lunch, Detour nonetheless proved to be one of the most effective noir films of its day, thanks to its relentless, grubby energy. Tom Neal, who starts the picture looking like he's had his insides scooped out and just gets worse from there, plays a sad-sack piano player who just wants to get to the west coast so he can be united with his former flame. But along the way he gets framed for murder after running afoul of Ann Savage in one of the most terrifying femme fatale roles of all time. A terrific, unsparingly bleak little film that proves a little can go a long way.

ROAD TO UTOPIA (1946)

The term "road picture" was more or less invented to describe the handful of movies made in the 1940s to showcase the comedic talents of the Bob Hope/Bing Crosby team. The movies, which always featured the boys making an arduous comic trek to some picaresque location, were of varied quality, but were alway huge moneymakers. The last of these was the best; it featured Hope and Crosby (accompanied, as always, by Dorothy Lamour) as turn-of-the-century con artists heading to Alaska to strike gold. That was just the set-up, though, for one of the most anarchic comedies of the decade; scanning more like a Marx Brothers movie, Road to Utopia featured in-jokes, metahumor, wordplay, surreal gags, and even some inexplicable albeit hilarious voice-overs by master humorist Robert Benchley.

TWO LANE BLACKTOP (1971)

A beloved film among your loyal Screengrab scribes, Monte Hellman's throat-clutching existential race movie Two Lane Blacktop opened to great praise and almost as quickly faded out of existence. It's not hard to see why: for all its greatness, it's a remarkably strange little flick, curiously aimless despite its implacable velocity, with characters who are little more than cyphers, as much as they intrigue us. Two of its 'stars', James Taylor and Dennis Wilson, basically never acted again, and Warren Oates turns in a performance -- as the impenetrable, self-inventing G.T.O., named after his car -- that's bizarre even weighed against his filmography. Still, it's probably the pinnacle of the road movie as metaphor for existence, and once seen, it's never forgotten. A real underground classic that's finally gotten its due.

NATIONAL LAMPOON'S VACATION (1983)

Nowadays, the presence of the National Lampoon imprint is practically a guarantee that a movie is going to be a colossal pile of shit. There are those of us old enough to remember how lucky we were back in the days when only the next installment of the venerable National Lampoon's Vacation franchise was going to be a piece of shit, but even for us old cranks, it does us good to remember that the original was actually a pretty solid ensemble comedy. Directed by a still-fresh Harold Ramis, written by John Hughes (who adapted his own story, with surprisingly few changes, from the old NatLamp magazine), and starring Chevy Chase when "starring Chevy Chase" was a preferable alternative to suicide, Vacation has held up surprisingly well, both on its own merits and as, essentially, the blueprint for every road comedy since.

BROKEN FLOWERS (2005)

Even for fans of Jim Jarmusch -- a group of which I am a proud member -- there was a lot not to like about Broken Flowers. Though the music, by Ethiopian jazzman Mulatu Astaque, was fantastic, it felt like it was driving the aimless plot, and the hip-music-plays-as-America-flashes-on-the-windshield device was getting a bit tired. Bill Murray's aging sad sack character was becoming less of a revelation and more of a routine. The incomprehensible ethnic as source of boundless wisdom device was wearing thin. All in all, parts of Broken Flowers played like a pardoy of Jarmusch rather than the real thing. But the parts that worked, including some stunning acting by the movie's female leads and the whole road-trip-to-nowhere angle which Jarmusch has done so well before, remind you why you put up with the parts that don't.

Related Posts:

Take Five: Taxi!

Take Five: Ride Hard

Vanishing Act: Monte Hellman

Scott Von Doviak — Tue, 19 Aug 2008 20:00:00 GMT

Hellman! His is one of the great “What if?” stories in American cinema. As in, “What if someone had given the poor guy some money to make a few movies over the past 40 years or so?” The beginning of Hellman’s career bears a close resemblance to that of many heavy-hitters from his generation, including Francis Ford Coppola, Martin Scorsese and Jonathan Demme. That is, he got his filmmaking education on the cheap from Roger Corman, churning out quickies like Beast from Haunted Cave and Flight to Fury. Once Hellman had put in enough hours in the basement, Corman teamed him with fellow stalwart Jack Nicholson for a pair of offbeat westerns, The Shooting and Ride in the Whirlwind. Hellman’s breakthrough and downfall arrived simultaneously with 1971’s Two-Lane Blacktop, declared “The Movie of the Year” by Esquire and then released to general indifference.

Had the movie caught on with the youth culture in the same way Easy Rider did, Hellman’s subsequent filmography might have been a treasure trove, but instead it’s more of a trivia quiz. There’s Shatter, a 1974 Hong Kong action picture Hellman departed after three weeks of shooting; China 9, Liberty 37, a Spaghetti western in which Warren Oates and Sam Peckinpah appear in support of the immortal Fabio Testi; The Greatest and Avalanche Express, both of which Hellman took over after the original directors died; Iguana, a seafaring tale of a disfigured sailor that never received a theatrical release; and Cockfighter, the only one of the bunch that lives up to the promise of the early westerns and Blacktop – and even that one had its original theatrical release sabotaged when Corman recut it to add more action.

By 1989, it was as if Hellman had come full circle to his disreputable early days with Corman, as he helmed the horror sequel Silent Night, Deadly Night III: Better Watch Out! His best shot at a comeback arrived in the form of Quentin Tarantino, who approached Hellman to direct his script Reservoir Dogs. Of course, Tarantino eventually decided to direct it himself, leaving Hellman with only an Executive Producer credit. That led to pretty much nothing.

So where is Hellman now? He’s got a teaching gig at CalArts, helping to educate future filmmakers who may someday hire him and then decide to direct themselves, leaving him only with an Executive Producer credit. He was heavily involved with Criterion’s superb 2-disc DVD release of Two-Lane Blacktop, which includes commentary tracks, a documentary field trip to some of the film’s locations as well as an uneasy conversation between Hellman and Blacktop star James Taylor, who has never seen the film. And after seventeen years, he finally returned to the director’s chair for a segment of the horror anthology Trapped Ashes.

Having recently watched Ashes, just out on DVD, I can attest that Hellman’s segment, “Stanley’s Girlfriend,” is worth a look. Although it’s never explicitly stated, the Stanley of the title is clearly Kubrick, and Hellman has fun with what we know of the legend, weaving the 2001 filmmaker’s love of photography and chess into a supernatural explanation for his permanent exile from the United States. “Stanley’s Girlfriend” isn’t much more than a doodle, but it’s easily the standout in a movie that includes a cautionary plastic surgery tale about vampiric breast implants. See for yourself:

Previously on Vanishing Act:
Christopher McQuarrie
Savage Steve Holland

DVD Digest for July 15, 2008

Paul Clark — Tue, 15 Jul 2008 14:00:00 GMT

This week, a comedic visionary gets the Criterion treatment, Jack goes nuts on Blu-Ray, and the unholy pairing of Martin Lawrence and Donny Osmond hits DVD.

DVD of the Week: Jacques Tati was one of the greatest comic filmmakers ever to man a camera, a brilliant visual filmmaker whose skill at engineering gags was only matched by that of Buster Keaton. Criterion has previously released Tati’s classics M. Hulot’s Holiday, Mon Oncle, and Play Time, and now they’ve made available a snazzy new edition of Tati’s final theatrical feature Trafic. In Trafic- also the final onscreen appearance of Tati’s signature character Monsieur Hulot- Tati takes on car culture, as Hulot takes to the highways in a souped-up camper and encounters all sort of automotive mishaps and outrageous technology. Compared to the almost impossibly ambitious Play Time, Trafic’s humor is quirkier, but Tati’s sense of timing and gentle humanism are as present as they ever were. The DVD also includes the two-hour documentary In the Footsteps of Monsieur Hulot from 1989, as well as a number of interviews with the filmmaker and a new essay from critic Jonathan Romney. Trafic may not be as well-known as many of Tati’s beloved classics, but it’s nonetheless an important title in his filmography, definitely worthy of the attention Criterion has lavished on it for this release.

This week’s recent releases on DVD include: College Road Trip (Disney, also Blu-Ray), the aforementioned Lawrence/Osmond vehicle; Jason Statham in the true-crime inspired The Bank Job (Lionsgate, also Blu-Ray); Step Up 2 the Streets (Disney, also Blu-Ray), a sequel no one actually asked for; Aaron Eckhart in Meet Bill (First Look); the Christina Ricci-starring fractured fairy tale Penelope (Summit Entertainment); and the Brazilian Oscar submission The Year My Parents Went on Vacation (WEA). In addition, this week brings a trio of horror releases- Asylum (MGM), Shutter (Fox, also Blu-Ray), and the omnibus film Trapped Ashes (Lionsgate), whose participants included Ken Russell, Monte Hellman, and Joe Dante.

TV-on-DVD releases this week include Birds of Prey: The Complete Series (Warner) and Saving Grace: Season 1 (Fox).

Finally, the week’s sole Blu-Ray only release is One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest (Warner).

Alex Cox: Revisiting "Walker"

Phil Nugent — Tue, 26 Feb 2008 21:00:00 GMT

The director Alex Cox drove his career off the rails a while back, and he's kind of self-congratulatory about it, and a lot of his movies, well, suck, but he did make Repo Man, and there's something likable about him. Like John Sayles, Cox sets an admirable example as an ornery, self-supporting filmmaker even if you'd rather not watch at least half of his movies (and can't locate copies of the other half), and he makes for a better interview. Dennis Lim talks him up on the subject of his "Waterloo moment", Walker, on the occasion of that badly received movie's debut on DVD as part of the Criterion Collection. The film itself remains one of the strangest of all relics of the Reagan era. It was loosely inspired by the historical figure William Walker, a medical doctor, lawyer, newspaper editor and journalist, and soldier of fortune who, in 1853, briefly installed himself as president of part of Baja, California after he and a force of forty-five men "conquered" it from Mexico. After the Mexicans drove him off, Walker signed on with the rebel forces in Nicaragua, and in 1855 he took the capital of Grenada and installed himself as ruler of the country, first acting through a puppet leader and then having himself "elected" to the position of president. He was driven out of the country after a year and ultimately executed by firing squad while futzing about in Honduras.

When Cox encountered the story of Walker, he saw it as a chance to stage an action-adventure that would serve as an eerie parallel to the Reagan administration's then on-going proxy war to drive out the Sandinista government in Nicaragua. He actually managed to persuade the Sandinistas to let him shoot the movie on location in their beseiged country, and perhaps more remarkably, he got Universal to pay for the thing. (He also made the spaghetti Western parody Straight to Hell, featuring Joe Strummer, Elvis Costello and the Pogues, as a sort of warm-up, saying that he wanted to work on his action-filmmaking skills by staging a bunch of shoot-outs with his cast, which was largely made up of politically like-minded musicians who had the time on their hands because a planned tour of Nicaragua had just been scuttled.) Cox wanted a sort of Sergio Leone-Sam Peckinpah flavor for Walker, and to that end he hired Rudy Wurlitzer, who had written the script for Peckinpah's Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid — though granted, when he first wrote it, he thought it was going to be for Monte Hellman — to whip up a screenplay. By the time that Cox, Wurlitzer, and a cast that included Strummer, Xander Berkeley, Rene Auberjonois, Alfonso Arau, Gerrit Graham, Miguel Sandoval, Sy Richardson, and Ed Harris as Walker, were shooting in Nicaragua, the Iran-Contra scandal had broken, Oliver North was a television star, and Nicaragua was bigger news in America than it had ever been. Lines such as Walker's ominous, taunting "You may think there will come a time when America will leave Nicaragua alone" would have had some special resonance. But when Walker opened in December of 1987, you could all but hear crickets chirping.

Twenty years ago, the conventional wisdom regarding the movie's commercial failure was that it was snide and self-congratulatory yet underbaked, unrealized, and disposable. Cox has other theories. As he sees it, he actually set out "to make a broadly popular film, which is why it's full of jokes and violence and beautiful women." He also clearly thinks that his sins were political, not aesthetic. Cox may have expected a bad reaction from conservatives, but he also thinks that lily-livered liberals such as Robert Redford were too soft and pious to appreciate his brand of audacity and the film's mix of gore and anachronistic sight gags (Walker appears on the cover of Time magazine and is choppered out of the collapsing country by an American helicopter) and random punk gestures (Marlee Matlin, whose role as Walker's deaf-mute fiancee was her first movie appearance after winning an Oscar for Children of a Lesser God, gets to sign "Go fuck a pig"). Weird thought this seems now, Walker was Cox's big one for an American study, and he says that "since 1988 I have not had one offer of work from any of the Hollywood studios. I've existed entirely independent of the studios. You make one political film, and that's it — blacklisted. But that's okay, it's a good film to be blacklisted for."

Criterion’s Shaman of Design

Scott Von Doviak — Thu, 14 Feb 2008 20:30:00 GMT

In addition to their many other virtues, Criterion Collection DVDs are justly praised for their lavish packaging. Not content to simply slap the old familiar one-sheets on their covers and stuff two-page booklets inside flimsy slipcases, Criterion often starts from scratch, creating all-new key art and design elements that lend fresh context to the treasures inside. One of the artists responsible for this shelf candy is Marc English, profiled this week in the Austin Chronicle. Once you learn that English is member of the Austin Film Society’s board of directors, it’s no surprise to learn that his first assignment for Criterion was their 2004 edition of Slacker, directed by Film Society founder Richard Linklater.

“From a corporate identity standpoint,” English explains, “the existing Slacker logo had a certain amount of equity, so I didn't want to mess with it too much. What I did was take the iconic image of Pap smear girl [Teresa Taylor], print it out on a laser printer, soak it in water to make it look beat, duct-tape it to a telephone pole, and then just hold a stencil of the title up in front of it and shoot the whole thing in camera. Which created an instant extension of the film's DIY edge.”

English is also responsible for the recent Criterion edition of Two-Lane Blacktop, which has met with director Monte Hellman’s enthusiastic approval. “His work just exemplifies Criterion's style in that it catches your eye immediately…I'm just really overwhelmed by Marc's work on the design. I think it's one of the most gorgeous packaging jobs I've ever seen. I just like everything about it.”

The artist’s latest effort will be on shelves next week, as Alex Cox’s much-maligned Walker finally makes its DVD debut. The Chronicle site features a number of cover designs English produced before arriving at the Cox-approved version below.

That Guy! Classic: Warren Oates

Leonard Pierce — Wed, 23 Jan 2008 20:00:00 GMT

As character actors go, they don't come much more iconic than Warren Mercer Oates. A tall Marine Corps vet from rural Kentucky's Muhlenberg County, Oates came west in the 1950s and, after working a number of menial jobs, started to get a string of acting jobs in western movies and televisions shows, thanks largely to his hunched six-foot frame, throwback looks, and thick rustic accent. But it was his acting chops that won him the attention of some of Hollywood's greatest directors; over the years, he worked with, among others, Norman Jewison, Monte Hellman, Stephen Spielberg, John Milius, William Friedkin, Terrence Malick, and Philip Kaufman. But it was with Sam Peckinpah that Oates found his greatest success; the two shared a no-nonsense approach to filmmaking and a similiarly straightforward (and sometimes abrasive) personality. After first working together on Ride the High Country, Peckinpah and Oates worked together repeatedly over the years, and Peckinpah even gave Oates one of his few leading man roles in the controversial and underrated Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia. Extremely prolific during his 25 years in Hollywood, Warren Oates and his sneering, crooked smile became one of the few character actors as immediately recognizable as many lead actors of his day. Sadly for the many fans of this gifted actor and storyteller, he didn't live to enjoy his greatest success: he died unexpectedly of a heart attack just months after completing Stripes. His role as the straight-edge Sgt. Hulka won him legions of new fans and scored him more money than he'd made in any of his previous movies, but he would make only three more films, both of which were released after his death. Since then, a posthumous cult has grown up around Warren Oates, and it's hard not to read various bits of casting without imagining what he'd do with the role. Luckily, he left us with a lot of good work to chew on.

Where to see Warren Oates at his best:

THE WILD BUNCH (1969)

Outside of Stripes, Warren Oates' best-known, and most beloved, film role is that of the bandit Lyle Gorch in Sam Peckinpah's The Wild Bunch. Gorch combines Oates' two most common roles in western genre pictures — the craven and the brute — into an incredibly memorable, whore-chasing, washer-stealing character. Better still, Oates is paired in the barrier-busting revisionist western with Ben Johnson, another genre great, as his conniving brother Tector. An essential role in an essential film.

TWO-LANE BLACKTOP (1971)

Monte Hellman was the director Warren Oates worked with most often outside of Sam Peckinpah (Oates claimed that he would work with either man at any time on any film for any reason). This bizarrely minimalist existential road picture was probably their finest collaboration, though Cockfighter has its partisans: Oates plays "G.T.O", an enigmatic, constantly self-inventing figure who becomes embroiled in a cross-country road race for the same reason men climb Everest: because it's there.

BADLANDS (1973)

Oates has only a minor role in Terrence Malick's stunning retelling of the story of Charlie Starkweather and Caril Ann Fugate, but it's an undeniably effective one. Playing the father of Sissy Spacek's Holly Sargis, Oates' laconic performance contains unexpected depth, and his character, by acting as the barrier between the two callow young lovers, is the one who sets off their oddly casual, affectless killing spree. Proof that even in small parts, Oates could make a huge impact.

Two-Disc "Blacktop"

Phil Nugent — Thu, 20 Dec 2007 18:10:00 GMT

Monte Hellman's Two-Lane Blacktop was last released to home video in an Anchor Bay edition that came out on VHS and DVD in 1999, and it's been out of print for the better part of the twenty-first century. This past week, the movie has been released in a handsome, "director-approved", two-disc edition from the Criterion Collection, and this news will divide the public into two groups: the ones who are turning cartwheels down Main Street and the ones asking, "What's that about Diane Lane's black top?" It was always thus. When the movie was about to be released in the summer of 1971, Esquire put its female lead, Laurie Bird, on the cover of an issue that included the text of the entire shooting script, along with the claim that this readymade cult item was destined to become "the movie of the year." Six months later, that claim was included in the magazine's annual "Dubious Achievements" feature. Hellman's scheduled follow-up project, to direct Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid, from a script by novelist and Blacktop screenwriter Rudolph Wurlitzer, was quickly reassigned to Sam Peckinpah.

In retrospect, it's easy to see how the studio and the media might have gotten their hopes up that they had the next big thing on their hands. It's also easy to see why those hopes were so quickly dashed. Two-Lane Blacktop was produced by Universal as part of its short-lived "youth division", which was set up as a direct reaction to the success of such films as Easy Rider and the old studio bosses' dawning realization that they had no idea what the kids out there wanted to see. Whatever they wound up making in this case, it sure isn't Easy Rider, and it's harder now than it must have been in 1971 to see that as a failing. It is in fact a mesmerizing film, especially if you just stumble across it--as your humble correspondent did when, as a sleep-deprived adolescent, he first encountered it on TV one night around four AM--but it was probably always too abstract for mass popularity, and it doesn't flatter anyone on either side of the generation gap the way the big counterculture hits did. As Dennis Lim points out in his appeciation of the film the director Richard Linklater has described it as being both the last film the 1960s and the first film of the 1970s, and he has a point. It does feel as if it were taking place in the wake of something and that it marks the subsequent beginning of something, something uncertain and with wide-open possibilities that may or may not be acted upon. (By contrast Easy Rider looks and feels like something that Time once did a cover story on, back before you could read.)

Our heroes are the nameless driver (played by lanky-haired James Taylor--yeah, the singer), who pilots his '55 Chevy from town to town getting into drag races for money, his mechanic (Dennis Wilson, of the Beach Boys), and Laurie Bird (a non-actress with a period-specific look) as the girl they pick up hitching. This near-mute trio meet up with Warren Oates, an older man in a GTO who seems to regard their existence as some insufferable challenge to his very being, and they agree to race him to Washington, D.C., with the loser agreeing to forfeit his car to the winner. But this turns out to be not so much an actual plot as an excuse to keep the characters tearing across the back roads, taking in the scenery and interacting (or, in the case of Taylor and Wilson, not interacting) with a procession of folks who briefly drop into the movie and drop out again. (One of them is Harry Dean Stanton, who has a memorably squirmy encounter with Oates.)

Seen now, the movie has a special tension that develops between the characters and the landscape they pass through. The small roadside lunch counters and empty country roads have the attraction of an lost, unexplored, now unexplorable America, yet neither the driver nor his mechanic nor the motormouth "GTO" seem to be really interested in taking it in. They just want to keep in motion, perhaps as a distraction from the fact that they obviously aren't going anywhere. Taylor and Wilson don't seem able to focus on anything beyond their forelocks, and their antagonist is busy tailoring and re-tailoring his fantasy persona; he sees every meeting with a new person as a curtain going up, reeling off a different back story for everyone who steps into his car. Oates was in full bloom as a character star in 1971, and his funny, strangely beautiful performance here serves the movie well, even as it turns it on its head. This middle-aged fantasist, who might be the last of the Beats--the one who never got off the road long enough to write his book-- envies Taylor and Wilson for their youth and inscrutable cool and longs for their approval, but he takes the movie away from them as easily as breathing. The younger men are locked inside their affectless poses, cool in a way that looks comatose. Maybe someday, if they ever develop their imaginations, and they'll be so regretful about all the things they've passed through without noticing it that they'll be trying to fill in the blanks of their past by making up stories about it, like GTO. Maybe not; maybe the simulated immolation of the film print that ends the picture amounts to the burning out of whatever life is in them.

Now that it's once again available for home viewing, and just in time for Christmas, Two-Lane Blacktop is primed to excite and bewilder people again. Here's hoping that a lot of people whose families know that they like racing pictures and "Sweet Baby James" are going to find this beautifully packaged DVD under the tree next week, just waiting for the chance to perplex and bewilder them. The circle of life continues.

Video of the Day: It's Monte Hellman Time!

Peter Smith — Wed, 05 Dec 2007 19:00:00 GMT

Cult director Monte Hellman may be one of the few major influences on Quentin Tarantino whose films it's still somewhat difficult to see. While his major achievements, like Cockfighter and Two Lane Blacktop (one of the most famous scenes from which is above, followed by an interview with the director) have been released in swanky critic-baiting editions, some of his other films aren't even copyrighted and end up in those fifty-DVDs-for-ten-bucks anthologies you get at drugstores. Witness his first film, the freaky vampire schlocker Beast from Haunted Cave, or his revisionist western China 9, Liberty 37, neither of which are available in anything but the jumbo family pack edition. (The kung-fu movie he partially completed in between Two Lane Blacktop and Cockfighter is allegedly available as a two-pack, but we've never seen it, and even YouTube couldn't find us a clip. Where's Rolling Thunder when you need them?) — Leonard Pierce