In the last month or
so, I’ve not only rescreened William Friedkin’s films Sorcerer (1977) and The
French Connection (1971), but also caught his latest movie, Killer Joe (2011), as well as read his
recently-published autobiography The Friedkin Connection: A Memoir.
An iconoclastic
autodidact, director Friedkin has always been interested in morally
questionable people doing bad things (sometimes with good intentions, sometimes
not) and the consequences of their actions.
It has been several
years since I last saw any of WF’s work, and for some reason (probably raw,
ugly contrarianism), he had fallen out of favor with me. Wow, was I stupid! His
flicks are GREAT!!!!
Influenced by his
background as a documentary director, Friedkin’s flicks are more akin to the
“Ripped From the Headlines” filmmaking of Sam Fuller, and completely representative
of the bad-vibe zeitgeist of the 1970s. Unlike the “Movie Brats” who eventually
took over H’wood, WF didn’t hide his head in the sand of recreating the
feel-good flicks of moviedom’s “Golden Age.” He was about the here and now,
warts and all.
Like a prophet,
Friedkin spoke a truth, and was eventually punished for it—not that his
admitted arrogance didn’t play a part in his downfall.
While I cannot say
that I like all of WF’s films that I’ve seen (despite going to see To Live and Die in L.A. twice during its
initial release, I’ve grown less enamored with it since then), I admire his
style and verve: Even his movies with “happy” endings are grim, grueling
affairs, almost anti-entertainment. Yes, the man has made some “smash hits,”
but with nearly all his films, you sometimes have to ask, “Who the heck was
this movie made for?”
Friedkin was a
product of/influenced by the forces which helped create the paranoid nightmare
of the Nixon years, and with The French
Connection and The Exorcist (1973),
WF managed to ride that brutal zeitgeist’s wave to great success.
But after being a (very important) hired hand/collaborator
for producers Phil D’Antonio and William Peter Blatty, for The French Connection and The
Exorcist, respectively, the director set out to be his own producer—the
result being Sorcerer, released in
1977, the flick that essentially derailed his career. (I won’t say “ruined”
because he did go on to make some fascinating
flicks after.)
Beset by a myriad of
technical and location problems, Sorcerer
took a long, long time to complete, and had WF managed to get his personal
demons reigned in and released the flick in 1975 or 1976 (or even early 1977),
I’m sure it would be better remembered today. But coming out after
paradigm-changer Star Wars, Sorcerer was clobbered at the box
office, and being a remake of the classic The
Wages of Fear (1953) did nothing to endear the film to the snobbish critics
of the day, most of whom were proud Francophiles. The film was as doomed as its
protagonists.
Not necessarily “feel
bad,” but deffo a downer, Sorcerer is
the ne plus ultra of grim 1970s actioners, and through its small base of loyal
fans, has grown into a cult favorite. The director’s uncompromising vision
creates a ruthless atmosphere of grime and sweat, with several nail-biting
setpieces, as four losers try driving nitroglycerine over the Andes: a bleak,
extremely tense mediation on men at the end of their ropes. (BTW, my wife will
only refer to this film as “Four Doomed Men,” a title I’m surprised the studio
never tried to foist on Friedkin.)
Screened at the
Brooklyn Academy of Music in anticipation of a director-supervised
DVD/Blu-Ray release (with the loquacious director in attendance for a post-show
Q&A), Sorcerer had lost many
details during its previous home-viewing formats (usually a cruddy pan-&-scan).
The 35mm print used at BAM was swell, and if WF’s supervising the transfer, we
can all hope for the best.
Meanwhile, a recent
viewing of The French Connection has
convinced me that it is one of the greatest films ever:
With multiple
subtexts (the never-ending drug war; urban racism; police brutality; class
warfare; social climbing), and heavily influenced by Costa-Gavras’ excellent Z (1969; and a great film in its own
right), The French Connection is an
almost-perfect neo-documentary about a mean, rage-drive NYC cop hunting a
super-suave international heroin trafficker.
While the infamous
car-train chase still holds up (Boy, does it!), I actually now prefer the
cat-and-mouse foot chase between cop Popeye Doyle (an incredible Gene Hackman)
and dope kingpin Charnier (Bunuel regular Fernando Rey—and I wonder, did the
great Luis B. ever see The French
Connection, and if so, what did he think of it? I bet he liked it).
The car chase is an
orgasmic explosion—a relief—while the footchase is pure screw-tightening,
nerve-wracking tension, ending with utter frustration as Charnier tricks Popeye
into getting off the subway car. In the film’s overall gestalt, I love that
while sly Charnier waves “bye-bye” with a sardonic smile, later, when Popeye
does it back to him, there is no smile. This is no damn “gentleman’s game” to
the pugnacious cop.
Meanwhile, The French Connection is also a fabulous time capsule of a NYC that will
never exist again: a crazy town that was equal parts fun and genuine danger, a
neon-lit, garbage strewn concrete-jungle where every block had a burned-out
building or an empty lot full of rubble, and everybody had style.
After the crash of Sorcerer, WF returned to NYC with 1980’s
Cruising, and ay-yi-yi! With this
film, Friedkin was not trying to get on the good side of the mass-market
audience in any way, shape or form. Wonderfully creepy and disturbing, Cruising does everything to make you
squirm, playing off the (mostly male) audience’s homophobia (or secret,
repressed homosexuality?).
Following Al Pacino’s
undercover cop as he tracks a serial killer in the gay S/M world (keep an eye
out for the late Bruno Kirby’s cameo as the Crisco fister!), the flick asks if
you can visit this turgid, sordid and seductive world and remain objective—and
few people are willing to go to such dark places.
Vociferously
protested against by the gay community before, during and after production, it’s
a sick, sick film—and that’s a compliment—that failed financially, further
dimming Friedkin’s star in Hollywood’s eyes.
Friedkin’s Rampage (finished in 1987, but not
released until 1992—another black mark on his CV) is a flick I remember well,
but need to screen again. I remember it as Friedkin channeling Kubrick in a
cold and formalistic, if blood-drenched, look at a serial killer involved in
the capital punishment debate.
The director’s 2011
release, Killer Joe, was a fabulously
twisted low-budget look at American greed, and I consider it the feature-length
film that Cinema of Transgression auteur Richard Kern never got around to
making. A white-trash doper sells his sister to a cop who moonlights as a
hitman in order to kill his mom, and nothing turns out the way it’s “supposed”
to—with my favorite recent “twist” ending. Meanwhile, I’m itching to see
Friedkin’s “artistic comeback” Bug (2006),
but it’s also a flick with a reputation for some serious, raw, emotional
intensity, and I gotta gird my loins before tacking it.
Published in the spring,
the director’s autobiography The Friedkin
Connection: A Memoir is a great pageturner, aimed at movie fans, not gossip
hounds. People looking for trash on WF’s failed marriages and possible drug
addiction will need to look elsewhere. Here, Friedkin deals strictly with the
making of his films, and thankfully he’s brutally honest with himself: Among
other things, he admits he should have cast Steve McQueen in Sorcerer and filmed it in Mexico or
Arizona instead of the Dominican Republic, and saved himself a lot of
headaches. (But personally, I feel casting Roy Scheider in the lead fits with
the film’s “everybody loses” theme: McQueen had too much “star power”—you could
never imagine him not making it to the end of the film, but a lesser-wattage
star like Scheider? Oh, he’s a goner…)
Interestingly,
Friedkin does not spend any time at all on flicks like The Guardian (about a killer druid-tree) or Deal of the Century (a flick I liked when I saw it during its
release in 1983; and despised while watching it on DVD a couple of years ago)—I
guess he wants to forget these movies.
However, if you are
not partially familiar with Friedkin’s work, you may find yourself a tad lost.
But while there’s no “gossip” in his autobiography, there are a lot of fun
facts, like: Did you know that in the early-70s, Spielberg was originally
assigned to direct Cruising (now
that’s an alternate universe WTF movie)? Or that Sorcerer’s title was taken from a Miles Davis album the director
loved? (Getting back to that movie’s title for a second, yeah, it’s the name of
one of the trucks, but not the one
Scheider is driving. It’s the name of the truck that blows up! Oh, Crazy
Billy, the tricks you have up your sleeve….)
I just discovered
that Netflix InstaScreen has several of Friedkin’s films available, so I know
what I’m doing for the next few days, as bad for my mental health as it may seem…
Here’s hoping William
Friedkin goes on to grace us with many more of his nasty, corrosive and insane
visions of humanity.
And Now, the Movies
of May 2013 (in order screened)
Black Shampoo (1976;
Greydon Clark) Not just Blaxploitation, but BlaSexPloitation! Longer review forthcoming.
Sorcerer (1977;
William Friedkin)—see above.
Mercano el Marciano
(2002; Juan Antin) reviewed HERE.
And you still have a
chance to see it at the Spectacle Theater on Thursday, June 20! Be there!
An Evening of Phil
Tippett (at the Spectacle) A fabulous clip show, with an in-person commentary by one of the greatest special visual effects men alive. A nerd cannot-miss event (that’s already come and gone; sorry kids…).
The Return of the
Living Dead (1984; Dan O’Bannon) A classic that must be watched again every so
often. Love this film, it’s almost perfect. Watched because I was reading punk
movie encyclopedia Destroy All Movies!!! (see
book reviews below).
Looper (2012; Rian
Johnson) What a dopey, dopey flick… Pointlessly convoluted, without any sense
of fun. Not sure what the director was trying to do except make a “cool” movie.
I especially hate
sci-fi movies that postulate a fantastic invention but show a world that is
still essentially ours, with absolutely no changes.
Samurai Frog at
Electronic Cerebrectomy said it best: boring.
Conquest (1983; Lucio
Fulci) Fulci adds a Conan rip-off to his resume in a very odd, basically
nonsensical sword & sorcery film. I saw this at a screening at the 92Y-Tribeca, and I really should have taken some notes, because now I can
hardly remember the flick: there was a barbarian, a magic bow and arrow, and a
sorceress wearing a gold mask and little else, but after that? My brain starts
hurting trying to remember. That said, while the flick is a dog, the recreated
grindhouse atmosphere was loads of fun.
You Don’t Look the
Same Either (2012; Scott Montoya) Bobcat Goldthwaite returns to stand-up comedy: very funny stuff. "Fire trucks?!?"
Blind Beast (1969;
Yasuzo Masumura) WOW!
A blind sculptor
kidnaps a model so he can recreate her—a flick that plunges deeply into
disturbing territory.
A new favorite—longer review forthcoming!
La Venganza de los
Punks (1991; Damián Acosta Esparza) A mash-up of revenge-driven-cop movies and
slasher flicks where the cop takes the role of the unstoppable, supernatural killer.
He’s hunting down the luchador/Road
Warrior-rip-off motorcycle gang “punks” who killed his family—with a great,
completely unnecessary twist ending that just makes things even bleaker.
Stupid fun trash that
I only paid half-attention to. (And the sequel to Intrepidos Punks; which is a better flick; I’m glad I saw Venganza first.)
Intrepidos Punks
(1980/1983; Francisco Guerrero)
Year: IMDB says
1980—others say 1983; I lean towards the second year, since I don’t really see The Road Warrior ripping off a
low-budget Mexican crime movie—even if it does have a great soundtrack.
Although, if George Miller (or one of the costume staff) saw Intrepidos Punks and was influenced by
it, that would be awesome!
It’s a raw,
brilliantly stupid action fun that’s proud to be Mexican—even casting an ugly,
fat Mestizo as the “hero” cop. For me one of the best things about this movie
was that the people all looked like real humans, instead of H’wood/White Man’s
Oppression beauty standards.
Intrepidos Punks is almost beyond criticism—any
faults the flick has are part of its charm (what, you’re going to complain that
the leader of the punks is a luchador? Or that the flick had no budget?), and the
film’s very earnest goal is maximum entertainment, with an emphasis on violence
and mayhem. Not essential but fun, cabron.
Blood Feast 2: All U
Can Eat (2002; Herschell Gordon Lewis) Some moments were genuine comic gold, but
others? Not so much. I was impressed with the gore—and its (perhaps
unconscious) negation of the standard H'wood slasher eros-thanatos vibe (sexdeath!)—lots
of cute gals showing skin, but hardly a turn on (of course, I could be given
greater meaning to what's essentially incompetence). The girls are such
cardboard cutouts it’s difficult to empathize with their brutal fates, but is
empathy compatible with Borscht Belt-style jokes?
However, I was glad
that H.G. Lewis made it into the 21st century as tasteless as ever.
Recommended only for
gorehounds and fans of John Waters’ cameos.
Autonomy &
Deliberation (2012; Johann Rashid) The band UV Race tries to get back together
in a shot-on-video film that is often amusing, but mostly amateurish. A flick
only for fans of the band.
The Last Stand (2013;
Kim Jee-Woon) Sometimes dopey, but well made and lots of fun, with some excellent gore and car stunts. Propulsive
action, aided by a very decent Arnold Schwarzenegger. Arnie wears the “wise old
man” coat very well now, drawing on our memory of his previous exploits,
getting close to meta-movie status: “I’ve seen enough blood and death—I know
what’s coming,” he grimly intones to a deputy at one point. And all action
movie fans will understand what he’s talking about.
Love that the film
ends with a freeze-frame, like a cheesy 1970s B-movie (which it comes close to,
although with jazzed-up contemporary action-movie tropes). There may be
clichés, but not too many, and all are aided by that “meta-” feeling I
mentioned. The Last Stand is a good
flick to cheer yourself up with if you’re action fan and you’re feeling blue.
Repo Man (1984; Alex
Cox) Gotta watch this classic every so often. Screened because I was reading Destroy All Movies!!! and Bill, the Galactic Hero (see below).
Initially caught when
I was “a white suburban punk,” this movie was incredibly influential on me,
especially regarding my love of circular storytelling with plenty of callbacks.
Macabre (1958;
William Castle) Like The Night God Screamed, another film that feels like a John Waters’ script taken
seriously. This time, though, it’s from one of Mr. Waters’ greatest influences:
old-school horror/shock-meister William Castle, so you can almost see a
historical progression here. The cast overacts and gobbles the scenery wildly
(these folks are hardly subtle), with the exception of Jim Backus as a mean and
angry sheriff. It’s very jarring seeing good old Thurston Howell III playing a
conniving badass, and it’s a great bit of casting: I would have liked to have
seen ten movies with Backus’ amoral and semi-corrupt character. His perf was a
gem amidst nonsense. But a fun flick overall, and much better than…
Black Mirror: Season
One (2011; three episodes; created by Charlie Brooker) Didn’t like; the
episodes are either too long or too short: the ideas presented would have been
better served if trimmed to 30 minutes (a la The Twilight Zone) or expanded to full feature length. Otherwise,
there is too much padding in episodes—and the messages presented are usually heavy-handed
and shrill, as clever as a falling truck.
Books Read in May
2013 (in order read)
(*) = read before
(*) Bill, the Galactic Hero by Harry
Harrison—reread in anticipation of Alex Cox’s film adaptation. Like Otto
from Repo Man, Bill is an initially
passive character: cannon fodder in an intergalactic war swept into a series of
Candide-like adventures. Hopefully,
Cox can catch lightning in a bottle again.
A longer, in-depth
review of this book is forthcoming.
Destroy All Movies!!! The
Complete Guide to Punks on Film, edited by Zack Carlson & Bryan Connolly—whew!
This is an encyclopedia! I don’t know if you should sit down and read it cover
to cover like I did, but it is an excellent resource, with a deliciously snotty
attitude (very punk) and often some very sharp writing. Should be on all film
nerds shelves—especially if you like punk rock! Shave your hair into a Mohawk
today!
(*) Filth by Irvine Welsh—reread in
anticipation of the upcoming film adaptation. The book is a fantastic
read for the first three-quarters, then the last section piles on the
revelations on top of revelations—too much info! Also, by giving the main
character so many reasons (excuses) to be a horrible person, it lessens the
impact that this is a criticism of all cops. There are some who join the force
because they are decent people who want to help, but then there are others (too
many) who join the force to use it.
By giving the
protagonist so many “outs,” we are meant to believe that racism, corruption,
violence and reactionaryism are solely the province of one bad apple—and not
endemic of the whole law enforcement community, thus reducing the book’s
impact.
But Filth is still better than American Psycho, in my opinion, and lord
only knows what’ll be in the movie: a direct adaptation would get a XXX-rating,
and make any audience vomit in disgust. I don’t think I’m giving much away, but
one of the main characters is a hungry tapeworm.
BTW, I think the film
is miscast: James McAvoy is too slight and hipsterish to be a vicious thug cop—Ray
Winstone would be better—but we’ll see.
The Friedkin Connection: A Memoir by William Friedkin—see above.
Very nice piece! I agree about your evaluation of Sorcerer and its reception upon its release.
ReplyDeleteKrawczynsi: Thanks for your comments!
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