20,000 Leagues Under the Sea (1954)

Posted on November 28, 2011 at 5:00 am by Jeff Kuykendall

We typically put Disney movies in a category of their own; we exclude them from the greater world of twentieth century cinema, and discuss them only in the context of the history of the Walt Disney Company. Thus it’s often forgotten that 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea (1954) was, at the time, the most expensive film ever made, its costs surpassing Gone with the Wind, and threatening to ruin Walt if his product didn’t go over gangbusters with the general public. It was only the second film ever to be shot in anamorphic Cinemascope (only one Cinemascope lens was made available for shooting, thus extending the film’s production schedule and its budget). He enlisted an all-star cast with Kirk Douglas as Ned Land, Peter Lorre as Conseil, Paul Lukas as Professor Aronnax, and James Mason as Captain Nemo; and he hired the best Hollywood talent he could find, including cinematographer Franz Planer (Roman Holiday), production designer Harper Goff (Captain Blood), and editor Elmo Williams (High Noon). For director, he took a risk and hired Richard Fleischer, who had helmed one of the most exciting of film noirs, The Narrow Margin (1952), but had never tackled a big picture such as this. Fleischer was the son of animator Max Fleischer of Fleischer Studios, Disney’s rival back in the 20’s and 30’s. Richard sheepishly sought – and received – his father’s permission before accepting the job. The great success of the film allowed him to work steadily through the late 80’s; among his many notable films are The Vikings (1956), Barabbas (1961), Fantastic Voyage (1966), and Tora! Tora! Tora! (1970). For 20,000 Leagues, he shot on Disney backlots and soundstages – including a vast water tank constructed especially for the production – and filmed diving sequences off the coast of the Bahamas. Subtly fantastic but vividly convincing matte paintings were accomplished in-camera, sometimes by painting on glass and placing it strategically in the shot, and the result is a movie which looks like it was filmed all across the world, but also resembles a storybook illustrated by Howard Pyle or N.C. Wyeth. It remains one of the finest fantasy films ever made and hasn’t dated as much as you would think: a modern viewer might call it steampunk.

The Nautilus attacks.

When I was a kid, this was one of the first films I ever saw, or at least one of the first to be imprinted so permanently on my consciousness. I remember we rented a laserdisc player – always an event for us – and gathered excitedly around the only color TV in the house. As much as I loved the movie, it always seemed indigestible: impossibly long and episodic (and, thus, very Jules Verne). So I loved it in pieces. The sinking of the steamships by the Nautilus, which resembles a sea monster with glowing eyes. Kirk Douglas playing with the seal, Esmerelda. Nemo at his organ, looking tortured while he plays. The exploration of the ocean floor. The pursuit by cannibals. The attack of the giant squid. It sounds strange, but I always loved this brief bit which played on the Disney Channel in the 80’s (when we got cable, it was a big deal, and I watched the Disney Channel nonstop): it was a promo spot for the channel, which showed James Mason and Paul Lukas standing before the vast porthole as the window irises open, revealing the dark-blue depths of the ocean: “See how peaceful it is here,” James Mason says. That’s it. It’s still an awe-inspiring moment in the film, just as it is revealing of why Nemo does what he does. He sinks warships, but he also seeks isolation from the violence and chaos of the surface world. Having single-handedly invented the submarine, he gets the entirety of the ocean depths to himself. Peace at last.

Kirk Douglas, Peter Lorre, and James Mason stand astride the Nautilus. To maximize the anamorphic Cinemascope, few close-ups were shot.

Revisiting the film for the first time since the 80’s, I find the film to be nearly as wonderful as I left it. Yes, it is long: just over two hours, and just as episodic as I remembered. But, like Forbidden Planet (1956), it’s the rare fantasy film from this era with a handsome budget. It has the luxury to look as rich and sensational as a pulp paperback cover, or the detailed illustrations which accompanied each of Verne’s Les Voyages Extraordinaires. Disney actually hired an animator to bring to life deep-sea, phosphorescent fauna, but thankfully he left that footage on the cutting-room floor; he was able to achieve the fantastic through live action. As for the giant squid, it has its convincing moments, and is more an impressive achievement of editing than anything else. A stop-motion Ray Harryhausen beastie would have been nice, but for what’s essentially a gigantic puppet, Fleischer and his crew pull it off convincingly. (The entire sequence was reshot once they realized that filming the creature fully exposed in the light of a setting sun made it look ludicrous. The finished scene takes place during the chaos of a tempest, and is much more intense as a result.) The film is full of lush visuals, but thankfully is also perfectly cast. Douglas is at his robust prime, chewing the steel scenery charmingly, and to such an extent that when he bursts into song, it seems natural. Peter Lorre, won over to becoming his sidekick, is irresistible.

Paul Lukas, Douglas, and Lorre try to appeal to Captain Nemo's well-shielded heart.

But the star is truly James Mason – the best Nemo of the silver screen – who battles his inner monsters while driving his Nautilus through the keels of his enemies. The close-ups of his enraged face while he sends out his ship like a torpedo are genuinely chilling. He’s a murderer whose goal is world peace; James Bond wouldn’t know what to do with him. And as James Mason plays him, we want to like him, even as he pushes his three prisoners away. It’s an iconic performance for a film chock full of iconic moments and images. The 2-disc Disney DVD, featuring the film in anamorphic widescreen and 5.1 surround sound, is still on the market and highly recommended. A 90-minute documentary, narrated by John Rhys-Davies, features interviews with Douglas, Fleischer, Roy E. Disney, and members of the crew. Since the Disney vaults are vast, it’s a treat to see that they haven’t thrown much away: to every personal anecdote, accompanying behind-the-scenes footage supplements their stories, even finding a shot of the two Bahaman extras, dressed as cannibals, who painted on their heads “Eat at Joe’s” and “I Ate Joe.” The discarded undersea animation is presented as an extra, along with some of the original squid-attack footage, the short which preceded the theatrical release, and other fascinating ephemera.

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Gremlins (1984)

Posted on November 25, 2011 at 5:00 am by Jeff Kuykendall

“They’re singing ‘Deck the Halls’/
but it’s not like Christmas at all.”
-Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)

Growing up in the 80’s, it was impossible to not see Gremlins (1984); in retrospect, it’s as key to that decade of film as Indiana Jones and John Hughes. But it’s very difficult, in 2011, to conceive of such a film being made: it wasn’t based on a known property (and it wasn’t a sequel or a remake); the director, Joe Dante, wasn’t a household name at the time; the gremlins themselves would be represented as puppets; and, most critically, the tone was very hard to describe. It didn’t fit into any one genre. The Muppet movies were a success, but these Muppets would kill people. To top it all off, the film is a Christmas movie, one in which Phoebe Cates (Fast Times at Ridgemont High) gives a speech about how she’s always hated the holiday ever since discovering her father, dressed as Santa Claus, dead and stuck in the chimney. Dante had to fight to keep that speech in the finished version of the film. He had some clout behind him: he was making the film for Steven Spielberg’s Amblin Entertainment, and Spielberg made sure Dante got his way. There wasn’t anything to compare Gremlins to, so executives had to take the risk. Luckily, a riotous test screening suggested they might have a sleeper hit on their hands, and a rushed merchandising campaign began.

Gizmo (voiced by Howie Mandel) sings for Billy (Zach Galligan).

And you couldn’t have lived through the 80’s if you don’t remember the toys. It seemed every kid had a Gizmo stuffed animal (I suppose some had Stripe and the other, nastier gremlins too). I had an activity/puzzle book and a picture storybook of the film as well. Parents would take their excited children and for the first half of the film, all would go smoothly: some goofy comedy with the father’s malfunctioning gadgets, some holiday music including the great “Christmas (Baby Please Come Home),” and, most of all, cute and cuddly Gizmo. Then all hell breaks loose. Gremlins spawn and go on a murder spree. Mom stuffs one gremlin in a blender, and another explodes in a microwave. Did kids leave the theater screaming and crying? You’d think so, but honestly, all I remember is the splattering gremlins, I mean my God. Certainly there must have been outrage, because this and the also-PG-rated Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (released the same year) prompted the institution of the PG-13 rating, which, these days, seems to have become America’s Most Popular Rating. It’s the sweet spot for studios: PG seems too kiddie for the teenage market, and R means no one under 17 can attend. PG-13 announces: don’t worry, this film’s for everybody, but it’s just a little edgy so the wee tykes can stay home (though they never do). Never mind that the rating has softened over the years, to the extent that Dreamscape (1984), one of the first films to receive the rating, would probably get an R today because of topless female nudity. Gremlins would enjoy the PG-13 that was created for it, but the kids would still cry, the parents would still complain to the theater management about false advertising.

Randall Peltzer (Hoyt Axton) tries to negotiate for Gizmo's purchase.

I can say with confidence that the film still works exactly as it should because Joe Dante came to Madison earlier this month for a weekend of film screenings launching a November series called “Joe Dante Selects.” At a 9:30 screening at the brand new UW Memorial Union South, Dante introduced his personal copy of the Gremlins preview print – that is, the version of the film which played test screenings (the film is about six minutes longer than the final version, and is preceded by a title card apologetically explaining that some of the music and sound effects are unfinished). I was under the assumption that most of the audience had seen the film before, but it became evident as it progressed – with its vicious right-angle turn from gentle holiday comedy to black-humored horror romp – that many of the college students were new to the experience. Gremlins played the crowd beautifully. The laughter turned to screams, and then back to laughter. Sure, there were a few giggles at some dated references and fashions, but this movie worked. I was surprised to hear a student tell his date that it was the best horror movie ever made. Because, you know…it’s PG and has cuddly puppets for God’s sake.

Kate (Phoebe Cates) flirts with Billy at the bank.

This was not a film I frequently revisited – which is why I can’t get specific about what those extra 6 minutes entailed, though Dante says they’re included on the “deleted scenes” supplement on the Blu-Ray. When I saw this that recent Friday night, it was surely for the first time since the 80’s. I wondered why I didn’t watch Gremlins over and over as a child; I mean, I did that for so many other 80’s movies, including many of Dante’s (like Explorers and The ‘Burbs). The only conclusion I could draw was that the film somehow bothered me. I’m not sure that I was terrified by it, exactly – not in any traumatic way, at least – but as a child I had a hard time with black comedy. Maybe it was too sophisticated a flavor, but I didn’t want to see characters get murdered in a movie that was also making me laugh. (I remember disliking the 1983 Alien parody Spaceship for that reason, although, in retrospect, why was I watching that if I hadn’t seen – and wasn’t allowed to see – Alien?)

Stripe threatens to replicate in a department store water fountain.

But Gremlins was really introducing me to horror. In 1984 Joe Dante was still best known as the director of The Howling (1981), and the script he was hired to direct (by Home Alone‘s Chris Columbus, of all people) was for a harder, R-rated horror film. The gremlins were supposed to kill the dog, not just abuse it. There was bloodshed and decapitation, as well. It only became apparent when Dante and Spielberg realized how expensive the film was going to be – given the special effects, puppetry, and specially-constructed sets to accommodate the puppeteers – that the film would need to be softened and made more accessible to general audiences, not just fans of The Howling and Piranha (1978). Still, this black humor was black as pitch. There’s Cates’ speech about discovering her father’s body, and a few vivid murders, including a Scrooge-like old woman in a wheelchair getting rocketed out of her second-story window to hit the pavement hard. Watching this film as an adult, I naturally found the film funnier than I did as a child – I could better appreciate that oddball tone – and rather enjoyed the perversity of the incessant experimentation on Gizmo and his offspring; I mean, this is not a Muppet movie. A decent role for Roger Corman regular Dick Miller and cameos by Chuck Jones, Robbie the Robot (spouting Forbidden Planet dialogue), and George Pal’s Time Machine also add to the film’s value for any genre buff; there’s even a climax which deliberately apes the Peter Cushing/Christopher Lee showdown in Horror of Dracula (1958). I’ve grown up, but maybe I had to grow into Gremlins. There aren’t very many holiday movies like this one. The gatekeepers just don’t let them through.

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World on a Wire (1973)

Posted on November 23, 2011 at 5:00 am by Jeff Kuykendall

Rainer Werner Fassbinder directed World on a Wire as a two-part, four-hour science fiction program for German television in 1973. The subject matter was not typical Fassbinder: based upon the 1964 novel Simulacron-3 by Daniel F. Galouye (also the basis for 1999’s The Thirteenth Floor), it posits a future where users of a computer program can be projected into a virtual environment as simulacra, completely unaware that they and their world are false. The concept was new to science fiction novels in the late 50’s and 60’s, and groundbreaking authors like Galouye and Philip K. Dick essentially predicted the virtual, reality-teasing environments with which we interact today, although the technology has not yet evolved to the point where we need to begin questioning whether or not we’re just avatars trapped within Second Life. But while Dick struggled through the 70’s for recognition, and had his hopes for a film adaptation of one of his novels repeatedly dashed until Blade Runner (1982) finally came along (the same year he died), World on a Wire plays like the 70’s low-budget PKD adaptation that never was. It could almost be the cryptic science fiction film described in VALIS (1981) which helps its protagonist decode the cosmos around him. If such a thing were to exist, it would be fitting if it were World on a Wire: hitherto one of the most obscure and difficult-to-see films from one of the major directors of the New German Cinema, an avant-garde, genuinely nutty high-concept satire that picks up where Godard’s Alphaville (1965) left off.

Barbara Valentin as the mysterious secretary Gloria Fromm.

Appropriately, Alphaville‘s Eddie Constantine has a cameo in World on a Wire, though it serves no essential plot purpose – just one more bizarre moment in a film that’s glutted with them. Klaus Löwitsch (The Odessa File) plays Fred Stiller, who works for the company which has developed the virtual world, where “identity units” are placed like chess pieces by the controllers, sitting in booths with giant helmets covering their heads. The purpose of the program is to mimic reality in all its minutiae, so future events in the “real” world can be accurately predicted using the simulation. For a long while we don’t actually see the inside of the program – which is referred to as “below,” this world being “above.” Instead, we’re entangled in a Surrealist’s mystery: Stiller is investigating the mysterious death of the creator of the program, Professor Vollman, and trying to determine the fate of another employee, Günther Lause, who actually vanishes into thin air while Stiller is holding a conversation with him. Just as strangely, it’s not long before Stiller is the only one who remembers that Günther Lause even existed. His investigations take him to burlesque clubs where Marlene Dietrich lookalikes are singing torch songs and bodybuilders dance with topless women; through white-walled offices where corporate players hatch murky conspiracies for control of the company; into apartments and bedrooms; and “below,” into the simulation itself, where Stiller meets an identity unit named Einstein which is plotting escape from the prison of its reality.

Fassbinder's restless camera, framing a drawing-room mystery set in corporate boardrooms.

Part One introduces us to a large cast of characters, and, like Stiller, we don’t know who to trust: to name just a few, there’s the professor’s daughter, Eva (Mascha Rabben), with whom Stiller is in love; a smirking executive for the company named Siskins (Karl Heinz Vosgerau, The Lost Honor of Katharina Blum); Stiller’s kind, voluptuous, but vacant-eyed secretary, Gloria Fromm (Barbara Valentin, Ali: Fear Eats the Soul); and an investigative journalist, Rupp (horror director Ulli Lommel), who suspects that Stiller might be mad. But by the end of Part One, our hero comes to the conclusion that we guessed long ago: the world he thinks is real is just another simulation. Which would certainly help explain World on a Wire‘s utter strangeness, from its improbably hard-boiled dialogue to its dramatically random events: such as the moment a pallet of cinder blocks is dumped suddenly on a woman’s head, and Stiller merely borrows a match from the corpse to light another cigarette. When Einstein defies the software and leaps from “below” to “above” to deliver Stiller the message that this reality is just another false layer, Stiller suffers an electronic-music-induced migraine. (The score, by Gottfried Hüngsberg, is electronic a la Forbidden Planet, with occasional snatches of songs and surf music.) Part Two is less Godard and more authentic Fassbinder: now Stiller knows his reality is false and that he might be no more than an artificial construct, but he’s stuck here. It’s the familiar Fassbinder existential crisis. While he tries vainly to find the contact sent from the world “above,” his colleagues think he’s gone insane; continuing the parodic film noir vein, soon Stiller is falsely accused of murder and on the run (“I’m the man who knows too much!” he explicitly laments). But he runs half-heartedly. If all of reality is false, why should he participate in it? He stumbles lethargically away from the corporate thugs sent to grab him and mobs of German cityfolk who chant “murderer”; he tries to find seclusion, longing for his love Eva, and seemingly prepared to drink himself to death. Yes, this is how Fassbinder does science fiction – not too far removed from his other work, such as The Merchant of Four Seasons (1971).

Klaus Löwitsch as Fred Stiller

But there is a playfulness, and a sense of humor, which relieves the misery and despair. Those with a casual interest in Fassbinder will find World on a Wire an interesting but flawed work that foreshadows David Cronenberg’s PKD homage eXistenZ (1999) and, of course, The Matrix (1999). Fassbinder enthusiasts may find the film a revelation; and indeed some consider it their favorite of his brief but deep filmography. But it’s a sloppy work at times, filmed quickly (he made three other films in 1973), with a protracted story that’s often plodding. His trademark lack of rehearsal is evident: in one tracking shot, which swoops completely around a log cabin in a forest, Fassbinder doesn’t seem to account for the sun, so that the camera’s shadow is cast upon the wall. It’s like a failed attempt at Antonioni. But the hurried approach lends an interesting facet to Klaus Löwitsch’s lead performance: though he was reportedly drunk through much of the shooting, it’s not inappropriate for a character reacting to reality crumbling around him. In one scene he abruptly bumps into one of the actors in what appears to be an accident, but they carry on; I would have kept the take too. Out of circulation for years, World on a Wire was recently restored and premiered at the 2010 Berlin Film Festival in its full, two-part, 212-minute glory. After making the revival circuit, it’s headed for Blu-Ray and DVD via the Criterion Collection this coming February. This work of genuine schizophrenia will find an appreciative audience weaned on Twin Peaks, A Scanner Darkly, and Alphaville. I confess I don’t love it, but I’m glad it exists.

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