REMEMBERANCE OF CHRISTMAS PAST 5

Lest anyone think that toys were the only things I got for Christmas when I was a kid, I present this. 

Published by Whitman, this hardcover novelization of the 1963 Walt Disney animated feature film is one of my most cherished treasures. In fact, pictured above is MY copy which I still have in my collection. Written in ink and in my mother's hand on the inside is the following: "To Frank Christmas 1963 from Mother & Daddy".

Priceless.

REMEMBERANCE OF CHRISTMAS PAST 4

THE FLINTSTONES debuted in prime time on ABC-TV in 1960. I was four years old at the time and I loved it. The show was immensely popular and it didn't take long for a slew of Flintstones related toys to hit the market.

 I had this one. Manufactured by Marx in 1962, this mechanical Dino the Dinosaur was a favorite plaything of mine. The battery operated Dino would move courtesy of wheels on the bottom of his feet. His body was dyed plush fabric over a mechanical frame while Dino's head was rubber/hard plastic. Fred was made of pressed tin. 

More Flintstones toys to come. Stay tuned. 

...THIS CAT SHAFT IS A BAD MOTHER....

For the record, there are two songs that I want played at my funeral (whenever that day comes and hopefully not for many, many years). The first is EL PASO by Marty Robbins. The second is Isaac Hayes' THEME FROM SHAFT. 

I'm not kidding.

For some reason, I never saw SHAFT when it was first released in1971. I've since seen it twice now and I love every minute of it. It's not a great film, in fact, far from it, but it's a landmark in the American cinema of the '70s, qualifying as the first of the "blaxploitation" film trend that dominated urban and inner city movie screens for much of the decade. I'm a huge blaxploitation fan and SHAFT is the grandaddy of them all.

Richard Roundtree stars as New York City private detective John Shaft. He's all leather jackets, turtle-neck shirts and .38 police specials. As the title song indicates, Shaft is indeed a ladies man, bedding both an African American woman and a white woman he picks up in a bar. He maintains a rat hole of an office for his private detective business, which must be profitable, since he has a cool apartment (complete with a  reel-to-reel tape machine and a spiral staircase). Shaft has a love/hate relationship with the NYPD and he's constantly being squeezed by Lt. Vic Androzzi (Charles Cioffi) for information about what's going on with the criminal gangs in Harlem.

What's going on is that the daughter of Harlem crime lord Bumpy Jonas (Moses Gunn), has been kidnapped and held for ransom by the Mafia. Shaft is the only man Bumpy can trust to get her back which Shaft does with the help of a group of radical young men led by Ben Buford (Christopher St. John). 

Roundtree owns the film from start to finish. He struts and swaggers around Manhattan with cool to spare, gleaning information from a variety of sources. When the action comes, he's tough enough to take a couple of slugs and keep going. That's right, this cat Shaft is a bad mother....

Hayes' Oscar winning title track is one for the ages, as is the rest of his score, which served as the template for countless other '70s detective films and television shows. Director Gordon Parks and cinematographer Urs Furrer have a real feel for the New York City locations and the whole production has that unmistakably '70s gritty look and flavor. 

Roundtree returned as Shaft in two sequels, SHAFT'S BIG SCORE ! (1972) and SHAFT IN AFRICA (1973) and played the detective in the short lived SHAFT television series on CBS-TV in 1973-1974.

 As an urban crime film, SHAFT is pretty routine. But as the opening salvo of the blaxploitation film trend, the introduction of a legendary screen hero and as a time capsule of NYC in the '70s, SHAFT can't be beat. 

Thumbs up.

I BLAME IT ON THE HOT PANTS

I recall seeing BILLY JACK (1971) a couple of times at the old Varsity Theater on the Drag in Austin when I was in high school. The first time was in the company of a young lady named Diane Howerton whom I went out with a few times. I remember that she wore a pair of the then popular "hot pants" shorts and I found it exceedingly difficult to keep my adolescent mind focused on the film. 

But when I did focus, I found BILLY JACK to be an amazingly profound film, full of messages about social justice, peace and love versus violence and hate, young vs. old, progressives against conservatives, hippies vs. straights, the generation gap, spirituality and way cool exhibitions of martial arts at the hands (and feet) of star Tom Laughlin. By the way, Laughlin also wrote, produced and directed BILLY JACK (there's an unsubstantiated rumor that he also made and served sandwiches to the cast and crew during lunch breaks). Produced on a shoestring budget, BILLY JACK grossed a pot load of money, making it one of the most successful independent films of the 1970s. And the biggest demographic buying those tickets were impressionable kids like me who thought the movie was an instant classic, ranking alongside WALKING TALL (1973) as one of the films that practically everyone at Austin High saw at least once. 

BILLY JACK was actually the second Laughlin production to feature half breed, Vietnam vet, martial artist and peaceful warrior Billy Jack. The first film, THE BORN LOSERS (1967) was marketed as a biker flick but it made enough money to allow Laughlin and his wife (and co-star/co-writer/co-producer) Delores Taylor to make BILLY JACK. The film was initially going to be an American International Pictures production and you can well imagine how that final product would have turned out. Next, the film was in production through 20th Century Fox whose executives  wanted to dictate creative terms to Laughlin, who would have none of that. Warner Brothers finally agreed to back the film and I'm sure they were glad they did. Two sequels followed, THE TRIAL OF BILLY JACK (1974) and BILLY JACK GOES TO WASHINGTON (1977). I've never seen any of the other three Billy Jack films but I watched the 1971 entry this afternoon for the first time in forty-seven years.

You'll have to forgive my fifteen-year-old self for thinking that BILLY JACK was a profound film. I simply didn't know any better and was probably caught up in the buzz among my classmates about how great the movie was. I was for sure distracted by those hot pants, which left an, as you can tell, indelible impression upon my memories of the film.  BILLY JACK is one hot mess of a movie, a strident, preachy, rambling, overly earnest effort with a patchwork narrative and horrible acting (by both professionals and amateurs).

 The action scenes aren't nearly as well staged as I remembered them (any random episode of KUNG-FU had better martial arts fights) and the film is endlessly and needlessly padded with lame comedy improvisation shticks, bad "folk" songs, plot points that go nowhere (what the hell was the whole Billy gets bitten by a rattlesnake ceremony about?), a Chevy Corvette that survives being completely immersed in a mountain lake only to ride high and drive in the next scene, a now-you-see-it-now-you-don't gun rack in a vintage pickup truck and on and on. 

The story, such as it is, concerns a pregnant young runaway, Barbara (Julie Webb), who takes refuge from her abusive father, Deputy Mike (genre veteran Kenneth Tobey) in a freestyle "school" on an Indian reservation. The school, in which literally everything and anything goes, is run by Jean Roberts (Taylor) and protected from the bigoted townsfolk by Billy Jack. The stakes escalate when Jean is raped by the son of a powerful local business man. The son, Bernard (David Roya), later kills Martin (Stan Rice), a young Indian boy who is in love with Barbara. All of this ugly violence pushes Billy Jack past the breaking point. He kills Bernard and Deputy Mike and prepares to make his final stand in an abandoned church with Barbara at his side. 

While I found BILLY JACK to be a truly terrible film, I have to give props to Laughlin and Taylor for having the courage and determination to take control of this franchise from start to finish and bring their vision, no matter how cockeyed, to the screen. I dunno, maybe things got better in the third and fourth films but for my money, one BILLY JACK movie is enough for this movie watcher.

Thumbs down.

REMEMBERANCE OF CHRISTMAS PAST 3

Remco's FASCINATION game debuted in 1961 so I got this electronic maze game for Christmas of either '61 or '62. Designed for two players, the object of the game was to get all three of the ball bearings out of the maze and into the holes at the top of the hand held playing surface. First player to land all three balls would cause the light on the tower (pictured in the middle above) to turn on and a buzzer to buzz. A lot harder than it looks and I don't recall that I ever mastered it. It took a lot of body English and you had to hold your tongue between your teeth just right. Spent hours playing it though. 

THE BIG HEAT

William McGivern's 1953 crime novel, THE BIG HEAT, is one of several McGivern books I've read over the last couple of years. I've thoroughly enjoyed each and every one of them and have reviewed several of them here on my blog. 

It's been years since I first saw Fritz Lang's 1953 film version of the material. I caught up with the film again this afternoon and found it to be a first class film noir, full of brutal violence, misogyny and nihilism.  

The film opens with crooked cop Tom Duncan committing suicide, a death that sets off a chain of events that will soon "blow the lid off of the garbage can". When homicide detective Sergeant Dave Bannion (Glenn Ford), investigates, he discovers that the cop had connections to underworld kingpin Mike Lagana (Alexander Scourby), who also happens to "own" the police commissioner (Howard Wendell), a city council man and other men of influence. Lagana's right hand man is Vince Stone (Lee Marvin), a vicious thug who imports hit man Larry Gordon (Adam Williams) in from out-of-town to help tie up loose ends.

Those loose ends include B-girl Lucy Chapman (Dorothy Green), a bar floozy who was having an affair with the now dead Duncan. She's brutally killed in order to keep her quiet. But Duncan's widow, Bertha (Jeanette Nolan), has already cut herself in for a piece of the action, using a letter left by her husband as blackmail material against Lagana. 

As Bannion continues his investigation, the heat starts to rise. Lagana and his hoods come after Bannion with multiple threats which climax with a car bombing in which Bannion's wife, Katie (Jocelyn Brando), is killed. Bannion becomes a soulless automaton, a man with only one purpose in life: revenge. He's taken off of the police force but that doesn't stop his quest for bloody justice. He falls in with Stone's mistress, Debby Marsh (noir icon Gloria Grahame), who seeks protection from her murderous beau. When Stone finds out Debby and Bannion spent time together, he throws a pot of hot coffee in her face in the film's most infamous and shocking sequence. 

The horribly scarred Debby is now out for revenge of her own and things reach a violent climax in a penthouse apartment shoot-out between Bannion and Stone with Debby caught in the crossfire.

The affection Bannion has for the wounded Debby allows him to come out of his near-fugue state of single-minded revenge. The crime syndicate is exposed and Bannion resumes his place in the police department but he's paid a high price for his actions. 

But not as high as the price paid by every one of the four female characters in the film. The first to die is Lucy Chapman, followed by the innocent Katie Bannion. Then blackmailer Bertha Duncan is gunned down while Debby, the bad girl with the heart of gold, of course has to die at the film's climax. Lang, along with screenwriter Sydney Boehm and cinematographer Charles Lang (no relation to director Fritz) create a universe of corruption and violence in which human life is cheap and the price of redemption steep.

THE BIG HEAT came late in Lang's career in the United States. It was followed by HUMAN DESIRE (1954), MOONFLEET (1955), WHILE THE CITY SLEEPS (1956) and BEYOND A REASONABLE DOUBT (1956). Lang returned to Europe in 1959 and made a handful of films there. 

Such veteran actors as Paul Muni, George Raft and Edward G. Robinson were originally considered for the part of Bannion when the rights to McGivern's novel were owned by producer Jerry Wald. The powers that be at Columbia studios at the time wanted Marilyn Monroe for the part of Debby but 20th Century Fox, who had Monroe under contract, wanted too much money for the loan-out. Grahame, a much better choice, got the part. 

There are, of course, differences between McGivern's novel and Lang's film but both are extremely well done and well worth your time to read and watch. THE BIG HEAT ranks among the best of  '50s film noir. Highly recommended.

REMEMBERANCE OF CHRISTMAS PAST 2

SUPERCAR, the British kid-vid sf/action/adventure syndicated television series debuted in the United States in January 1962. Which means I must have gotten this jewel for Christmas of that year.

Produced by Gerry Anderson, SUPERCAR used the then cutting-edge "Supermarionation" puppeteering process that brought a fuller range of movement to characters and vehicles. Of course, I could still see the wires/strings making the puppets and various props move but after a few minutes I got used to it and gave myself over entirely to the story being told. SUPERCAR was just that, a "super" car that could travel on the land, in the air and under the sea. It was piloted by Mike Mercury and his weekly adventures held me spellbound as a youngster.

This toy version of Supercar had three wheels, with the rear two being fixed while the front, third wheel (barely visible in the picture above), rotated a full 360 degrees. Supercar was battery operated and came with a half dozen or so little plastic discs that contained various movements and maneuvers for the vehicle to execute. When you loaded the appropriate disc, Supercar would do such things as turn in a circle, run in reverse, move forward, spin in place, and other simple movements.

Alas, none of the discs made the car actually fly or be safe submersed in water but I nevertheless had a helluva lot of fun playing with this beauty. 

REMEMBERANCE OF CHRISTMAS PAST 1

This little guy is one of the earliest Christmas presents I can recall ever getting. It's a talking Beany doll from Mattel (You Can Tell It's Mattel, It's Swell!) from 1962. Beany had a pull string on his side and uttered about half a dozen phrases when you pulled the string. Stuff like: "Help, Cecil, Help!", "My name's Beany, what's yours?" and "Look out for Dishonest John". His body was stuffed, his jersey and overalls cloth while his hands, feet and head (complete with a beanie and spinning propeller) were all hard molded rubber. 

Beany, of course, was one of the stars of the cartoon series BEANY AND CECIL which ran on ABC-TV from 1962-1969. It was produced by legendary animator Bob Clampett. Beany's sidekick, Cecil, was a sea-sick sea-serpent. 

I adored this series when I was a wee lad and I loved my talking Beany doll even more. 

More Christmas memories to come. Stay tuned.

THE PILGRIM PROJECT

I did this one backwards. 

I saw the film COUNTDOWN (1968) a few years ago (and posted a review here on the blog). Then I read the Dell Movie Comic adaptation of the film. Finally, I read THE PILGRIM PROJECT (1964), the original novel upon which the film was based. Probably should have read the book first, seen the film, then finished off with the comic. Regardless of the order of encounter, I've now experienced this story in the three media in which it appeared and, as usual, it's the original novel that stands out as the best.

The Pilgrim Project is a secret space program developed by NASA to send one astronaut to the moon in an old Mercury space capsule. Once on the lunar surface, the astronaut will take up residence in a previously launched shelter. He'll be resupplied with other landings for the time it takes to successfully launch a three man Apollo mission to the moon whereupon the lone astronaut will be rescued and returned to Earth. Sounds like a crazy plan, right? 

Cockeyed as the Pilgrim Program is, it is scientifically proven to have a better than average chance of success if and when the United States ever has need to use it. Which probably won't ever happen. Until it does, when the Russians launch a one man mission to the moon from an orbiting Soviet space platform. Now, it's a race against time to find a volunteer, put him through rigorous training and send him on what could be a one way trip to the moon.

Author Hank Searls combines the hard science of 1960s NASA with political wrangling in the halls of Congress and the White House. The President and Vice-President are major players in the drama as is a powerful senator from California and an influential newspaper columnist. The German rocket scientist who devised the plan is terrified at the thought of actually going through with it while a Navy flight surgeon prematurely spills the beans about the program.

And then there is the man chosen for the mission, Steve Lawrence (what, no Edie Gorme?). Lawrence was played in the film by James Caan and here he's a conflicted man reluctant to leave his wife and son while at the same time feeling as if he has something to prove to his commanding officer and former Mercury astronaut known only as The Colonel (Robert Duval in the film). 

There's plenty of plot twists and it's not a guarantee that the mission will even launch. But launch it does in the novel's final pages which find Lawrence desperately searching the desolate lunar surface for the pre-launched shelter. Does he find it?

Read THE PILGRIM PROJECT and find out. Thumbs up.

"I REMEMBER WHEN COMIC BOOKS WERE A NICKEL!"

I had a conversation the other day with a buddy of mine about our respective comic book buying habits when we were kids. He has a couple of years on me but we grew up in the same time period. 

"I used to buy comics for a dime when I was a kid," he said. Which is certainly true. "Heck, I even bought some for a nickel." Which is kinda sorta true.

Comic books, dating all the way back to ACTION COMICS #1 in 1938, were always priced at ten cents. This was the standard cover price until the early sixties when prices rose to twelve cents. Oh sure, there were some exceptions. Dell Comics went from ten to fifteen cents before scaling back to twelve and there were always the giant size comics priced at twenty-five cents. But a nickel?

The only comic books that I know of that had a five cent cover price were the appropriately named NICKEL COMICS, a Fawcett publication which ran for eight issues in 1940. This short lived,  bi-weekly comic featured the adventures of Bulletman along with other Fawcett stalwarts. 

I guarantee you that my buddy never bought this comic because he wasn't born until the 1950s. 

Now, what he may be remembering is purchasing used comics from retailers who marked down older comics to half of the ten cent cover price in order to move inventory. That's entirely possible and it's what many comic book fans of a certain age probably experienced growing up.

But buying a brand new comic book off of the spinner rack for a nickel? Sorry, never happened.

I JUST PASSED A MILESTONE (AND BOY, DID THAT HURT)

I check the stats here on a fairly regular basis but this one slipped past me recently. I have posted a total of 1,570 posts and this trusty old blog has had 200,645 hits in the six plus years it's been up and running. Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to stop by, read something and leave a comment. Your readership is greatly appreciated. As they use to say on THE TONIGHT SHOW, "More to Come." 

THE ILLUSTRATED MAN

I know a helluva lot more about both film and the works of Ray Bradbury today, in 2018 at the age of sixty-two, than I did at the age of thirteen in 1969. That's when I first saw THE ILLUSTRATED MAN at the State (now Stateside) Theater in downtown Austin. Didn't much care for the film at the time and when I watched it again yesterday for the first time in forty-nine years, I discovered that the film was even worse than I remembered it. 

It's not just bad. It's a fresh, hot, steaming turd of a horrible movie. 

Rod Steiger, who never met a piece of scenery he couldn't chew into oblivion, stars as the title character, a man whose proper name is actually the rather prosaic Carl. His body is covered in tattoos (except for his head and face and a blank spot on his back). But don't dare call them "tattoos". Carl is explicit that they should be referred to as "skin illustrations". The illustrations were placed upon Carl's body by Felicia (Claire Bloom), a woman who may or may not have come from the future and who may or may not be a witch (or both).

Carl meets a young drifter, Willie (Robert Drivas), on the road and tells him the story of how he acquired the "skin illustrations". They are pictures that come alive if you look at them too long and hard and come alive they do when Willie does just that. The illustrations morph into three stories, THE VELDT, THE LONG RAIN and THE LAST NIGHT OF THE WORLD. Funny thing about these stories. Carl and Felicia appear in each one and in each one they're characters named Carl and Felicia. There's no attempt to differentiate these story characters from the "real" Carl and Felicia. It's a clumsy bit of story telling that serves only to confuse an already bewildering narrative. 

The stories, are of course, adaptations of short stories found in Ray Bradbury's collection THE ILLUSTRATED MAN, first published in 1951. I read that book at the time of the film's release and re-read it a few years ago at the time of Bradbury's death. Bradbury's never been my favorite writer but I do admire his prose and all of the stories adapted in the film version were much better served on paper than celluloid. The futuristic settings are all uniformly tired and cliched looking, all sterile white plastic and billowing white tents for dwellings, and unisex, one-piece clothing for costumes.

 While it's a failure on the part of the production designer. the real failure here lies in the screenplay by Howard B. Kreitsek and the leaden, unimaginative direction by genre hack Jack Smight. Neither men bring an ounce of Bradbury's poetic imagery and lyrical prose to life. They're literally tone deaf when it comes to evoking the slightest scintilla of a sense of wonder, of breathless imagination that this material so desperately cries out for. Prior to ILLUSTRATED MAN, Bradbury's work was much better served on film in such fare as BEAST FROM 20,000 FATHOMS (1953), IT CAME FROM OUTER SPACE (1953) and FAHRENHEIT 451 (1966).

But the worst offender here is Steiger. His performance is as hammy and over the top as you would expect from this actor who could never play a part at a level of ten when eleven was available and so much better. While watching the film I wondered if director Smight gave Steiger any direction at all, if he even bothered to shape a performance and an honest-to-gosh character out of Steiger and the material or if Steiger just said, "Jack, I've got this, let me do it my way." I imagine it was the latter and given what was probably a limited budget and schedule, Smight knew better than to lock horns with his star. After all, Warner Brothers hired Steiger for the role so the powers that be must have wanted what he could bring to the screen.

After the three stories have played out, Willie looks into the blank spot on Carl's back and sees his own death (strangulation by Carl) depicted. Willie picks up a rather large rock and repeatedly bashes Carl's head in. Willie lights out across the countryside with Carl's dog, Peck in pursuit. Then, amazingly, Carl rises from his beating, one side of his face horribly disfigured by the attack and begins to lumber along the road after Willie. The end.

Wait, what?

Yep, the movie simply ends on a freeze frame of a deserted dirt road. Did Willie get away? Did Carl catch and kill him as foretold in the blank spot? Who knows? Who cares? The 103 minutes of this turkey are done.

I cannot recommend THE ILLUSTRATED MAN to anyone, not even die hard Bradbury fans who want to see the legendary master's work brought to life on the screen. Read one of his books, any of his books or watch any of the other films and television programs that have been produced over the years. But whatever you do, for God's sake, avoid this mess. 

"WITH GREAT POWER...."

I should have paid the $200.00 at that Wizard World Comic Con in Austin a few years ago. I should have ponied up my money and stood in line for who knows how long to meet the one and only Stan Lee. Don't know what I would have said that he hadn't heard a million times before from countless true believers. Something along the lines of "your work changed my life", "I love everything you've ever done", "you were a major part of my childhood",  "I became a writer because of you", or perhaps, just a simple and heartfelt "thank you.". 

Shoulda, coulda, woulda.

 I had my chance and I didn't take it. Stan Lee died today at the age of 95. This is a year that has seen two other creative giants, Steve Ditko and Harlan Ellison, pass away. Ditko's work, whether alone or in tandem with Stan, had a profound impact on my life as did the one-of-a-kind writings of Harlan Ellison. Important artists in my 62 years. But Stan, man, Stan towered above them all.

Got to meet Forrest J. Ackerman, another major figure in my life, not once but twice, first at his home in Los Angeles (the legendary "Ackermansion) and again in Austin when he was our opening night guest at the first and only Drive-In Double Feature Film Festival. Got to see Don Rickles twice (once in Las Vegas at the now gone Stardust Hotel and Casino, the other time at Austin's Paramount Theatre). Saw Woody Allen on stage at the Paramount also. Introduced and did a Q&A with Adam (Batman) West in 2010 before a full house at the Paramount before a screening of the 1966 BATMAN film.

 

 I geeked out like a total fanboy when I met Michael Chabon and got him to sign my hardcover first edition his Pulitzer Prize winning novel, of THE AMAZING ADVENTURES OF KAVALIER AND CLAY (a work informed in no small measure by the life of Stan Lee). Met Neal Adams and told him that his artwork blew my mind when I first encountered it as a young lad. "Son," he replied, "that was my job."

 Met Gil Kane years ago at a convention in Houston. Practically everyone there was fawning over the current enfant terribles George Perez and Chris Claremont (yes, it was that long ago), while no one was at Kane's table except for me. Had a great visit with him. Chatted with Erin (BUCK ROGERS) Grey and Richard (FORBIDDEN PLANET) Anderson at a Wizard World convention. Sold books for and got my picture taken with William (STAR TREK) Shatner (he was an asshole, by the way). 

 I've had the opportunity to host a book signing event with the second man on the moon, Buzz Aldrin, go through a buffet line with Robert Duvall, visit with Peter Bogdanovich and Eli Wallach (both at the Paramount) , sit in on an English class lecture at St. Edward's University by James Ellroy, spot Sid Melton in the Las Vegas airport and share a plane flight to Los Angeles with Sugar Ray Leonard.

Not bad, not bad at all. But still, I had the chance to go for Stan and didn't take it. 

Stan Lee isn't my favorite comic book writer. That honor would go to Roy Thomas. But Stan was certainly the first comic book writer I knew by name. His byline was on practically every Marvel comic I bought in the 1960s. It seems that Stan wrote and edited everything published by Marvel at the time. My brother used to give me grief about how much I loved Stan's writing. He used to deride the entire concept of comic books and tell me, with more than a hint of malice, that there was no Stan Lee, that that was just a name someone made up. I knew better.

I'll leave it for others to document all of Stan's many accomplishments in the field of popular culture. While he may not have been the best writer in the history of comics, he was certainly the best at self-promotion, bombast and hyperbole. Yet Stan backed up the bally-hoo with solid, well crafted stories, drenched with emotion and leavened with humor, while creating from scratch the legendary Marvel Universe.

Oh sure, he had help in the form of such stalwarts as Don Heck, Dick Ayers, and Steve Ditko. Stan and Jack Kirby, my all-time favorite comic book artist, produced tons of excellent work. Their 100 issue run on FANTASTIC FOUR as co-creators, is a feat never to be equaled or surpassed in comic book history, a marathon of ideas, concepts and characters tumbling out one after the other, each one more impressive and game changing than the last. Consider: Dr. Doom, the revived Sub-Mariner, the Mole Man, the Puppet Master, Diablo, Dragon Man, the Hate Monger, the Red Ghost and his Super Apes, the Watcher, the Skrulls, the Inhumans, the Silver Surfer, Galactus, the Black Panther, the Mad Thinker, the Sentry, Ronan the Accuser, Annihilus, the Negative Zone, Psycho Man, Wyatt Wingfoot, Black Bolt, Medusa, the Frightful Four, Gorgon, Kurrgo, Master of Planet X, and on and on and on. Lee and Kirby produced what are hands down the greatest superhero comic books ever made. Once again, others can speak to the matter of who did what where credit is due. I'm not here to address that. I'm only here to say that Lee and Kirby were the Lennon and McCartney of comic books. 

It's been fun to see Stan cameo in all of the recent Marvel films and it's safe to say that there are millions of people out there who can easily quote Stan's most famous piece of writing without ever having read a single comic book by Stan or any one else.

"With great power there must also come great responsibility."

That was the final caption on the final panel of the very first Spider-Mann story by Stan Lee and Steve Ditko. It appeared in AMAZING FANTASY #15 (the last issue of that title before Spidey debuted in his own title, THE AMAZING SPIDER-MAN.). I own a copy of AF #15 and it's what I would have clutched in my hands while waiting for Stan to sign it for me. In that line I never got in that time I had a chance to meet "The Man". 

That opportunity is gone as is Stan Lee. But Stan Lee has achieved immortality through his work. An immense and wondrous body of stories that bedazzled me as a youth and fired my imagination in a way that no other comic books had ever done. He touched my life in a way that is hard to explain unless you also are a child of the sixties, a starry eyed youth like myself riding the pop culture wave of an incredible decade. It was a great time to be a kid, to be a fan, to discover new worlds aborning on an almost daily basis. 

Stan Lee was just one of the guides to the wonderful world of imagination. He took me for a ride that, while slowing down, has never come to a complete stop.

Thank you Stan. Thank you for everything. Thank you for taking an entire generation by the hand and showing them that there are still heroes in this world, that there is still something good and decent and honorable to believe in. Thank you for showing us that no matter how bleak things might seem, there's always hope. Thank you for showing us how to dream big and live large. 

God speed you dear and wonderful man. Excelsior and 'Nuff Said and all that other stuff. Goodbye old friend. 

I love you.

THE CORPSE VANISHES & BOWERY AT MIDNIGHT

The horror films produced by Monogram in the 1940s lie somewhere between the lurid horror pulps of the 1930s and those ghastly black and white horror magazines from the late '60s and early '70s, the ones published by Myron Fass and Stanley Harris, the really cheap ones that consisted of public domain reprints with a mix of new, substandard art. Yeah, those, the ones I never bought, opting instead to purchase the far superior product published by James Warren (CREEPY, EERIE and VAMPIRELLA). But I digress.

Monogram, an outfit which honestly earned the sobriquet of a poverty row studio, produced a slew of extremely low budget cheapies in a variety of film genres. The Monogram pictures that I've seen have all been marked by dark, murky cinematography, wretched library music (which in no way matches the onscreen action), flimsy sets, acting on the level of a UIL one act play competition and narratives that are about as solid as a loaf of bread. I dearly love the Universal horror films and I recently watched a couple of  the Mummy films from the 1940s (with Lon Chaney Jr. as Kharis) and as cheap as those films are, they look like something produced at MGM in comparision to your average Monogram programmer.

I know there are legions of "monster kids" who share my love and devotion to all things Universal but come on, are there any fans out there who feel the same way about the Monogram horrors? If so, I'd love for someone to comment on this post and make the case for these films. 

I watched a couple of Monogram chillers the other day, BOWERY AT MIDNIGHT and THE CORPSE VANISHES. Both of them were made in 1942 and both star horror icon Bela Lugosi. I love Lugosi and he's always fun to watch but it's sad to see him working for relative pennies in third rate productions shot in a manner of days (hell, hours!). He needed the work and the powers that be at Monogram (including legendary cheapskate producer Sam Katzman), were canny enough to know that Lugosi's name on the marquee was all that was needed to sell tickets and turn a profit on these bargain basement thrillers.

In BOWERY, Lugosi runs a soup kitchen for the down and outers. He's assisted by a pretty young nurse who provides minimum health care to the men of the Bowery. The soup kitchen is really a front for Lugosi's crime ring. He recruits derelicts to aid in his jewel thefts and then kills the poor unfortunates when the jobs are done. Lugosi is also assisted by a mad doctor of an assistant who keeps the corpses of the dead bums in marked graves in a basement (how convenient!) where he also experiments on resurrecting the dead. Lugosi has a day job teaching at a university(!) and one of his students just happens to be the fiance of Lugosi's nurse. The young student (who looks far too hold to be a college student), decides to write his paper on the poor and visits the soup kitchen for material. Meanwhile, Tom Neal (wearing the same outfit he later sported in DETOUR (1945)) shows up at the kitchen. He's a tough gangster who kills anyone who gets in his way.

That's a lot of plot elements to cram into an hour's worth of film but it gets better. The narrative in the last reel is nearly incoherent as the boyfriend appears to be killed by Neal, Lugosi is thrown to the now reanimated, zombie like bums who were shown dead and buried earlier and the film ends with the student alive and well and now married to the pretty young nurse. I suspect the production code demanded that the film have a happy ending rather than stopping with Lugosi being killed by his victims. It's abrupt and confusing and even rewinding and watching it over failed to make it any more understandable. 

THE CORPSE VANISHES is marginally better than BOWERY. Lugosi again stars, this time as a mad scientist who causes young brides to go into suspended animation at the altar (thanks to a special breed of orchid). Everyone believes the young women to be dead but they're only in deep comas. Lugosi steals their "corpses" and extracts serum from their glands which he injects into his 80 year old crone of a wife to restore her lost youth and beauty. Of course, the change is only temporary so Lugosi must have a constant supply of fresh brides. 

He's aided in his evil pursuits by both a hunchback and a dwarf (!) and a bitter old woman (the hunchback's mother). The laboratory set has a back wall of painted stone blocks and Lugosi forgoes any proper medical procedures when administering his life sustaining injections. A plucky young reporter ala Lois Lane and a local doctor become suspicious of Lugosi's shenanigans and investigate. All of the evil doers are killed in the end and the brides are restored. 

If you're a die hard horror movie fan or Lugosi aficionado you might want to give these films a look. If not, move along, there's nothing to see here.  

Thumbs down. 

HORROR HOTEL

The 1960 British horror film THE CITY OF THE DEAD was released in the United States under the rather generic title HORROR HOTEL (the film was also cover featured under that name in FAMOUS MONSTERS OF FILMLAND #40, which is where I first learned about it). THE CITY OF THE DEAD is a far better, more evocative title although if truth be told, the city in which much of the narrative takes place, an ancient town named Whitewood, Massachusetts, hardly qualifies for the misnomer "city". But I'm sure the producers realized that WIDE SPOT IN THE ROAD OF THE DEAD or FLY SPECK OF A TOWN OF THE DEAD, just didn't have the right rings to them and opted for CITY OF THE DEAD.

Speaking of the producers, two of the gentleman that put this film together, Max Rosenberg and Milton Subotsky (who also contributed the story upon which the screenplay by George Baxt was based), would later form Amicus Productions, a British film studio that specialized in horror films, ala the studio's "older brother" Hammer. Amicus gained fame for producing several portmanteau/anthology horror films along with other productions.

CITY OF THE DEAD focuses on Nan Barlow (Venetia Stevenson), a graduate student doing research into witchcraft in old New England. Her professor, Alan Driscoll (Christopher Lee), directs her to Whitewood with very specific directions about where to stay and whom to talk to. Whitewood, as shown in the opening sequence of the film, was the setting for witch trials in 1692 in which a witch, Elizabeth Selwyn (Patricia Jessel) was burned at the stake. Whitewood is a fabulously creepy place, constantly covered in thick ground fog day and night (and it always seems to be night), sparsely populated and sporting a cemetery in the center of town. As Nan begins her research, she's quickly drawn into the clutches of a modern day coven of witches who need a fresh, young sacrifice as part of their evil rituals.

After Nan disappears, her brother, Richard (Dennis Lotis) and her boyfriend, Bill (Tom Naylor), journey to Whitewood to begin a search. Bill is injured in an automobile accident while Richard finds a willing helper in the form of Patricia (Betta St. John), who owns a local bookshop and whose father is a blind priest.

Of course Pat is targeted to be the next sacrifice and it's up to Richard and Bill (who makes a last second appearance) to defeat the witches by using "the shadow of the cross."

It's hard to watch CITY OF THE DEAD without seeing parallels to Alfred Hitchcock's PSYCHO (released that same year). Both feature a lovely young blond woman taking refuge in a out-of-the-way hotel only to be summarily dispatched at the 45 minute mark of the film. And both films have relatives of the dead woman coming to investigate the disappearance, with both parties encountering some rather outre goings on.

Produced on a very small budget, CITY OF THE DEAD rises above financial limitations to deliver a solid chiller. The presence of Christopher Lee is a plus, as always, but it's the stark black and white cinematography by Desmond Dickinson and creative set design and art direction that really give this film a punch. The entire film is shot on sound stages but rather than exposing the cheapness of the village sets, the indoor setting creates an atmosphere of claustrophobic doom.

Whatever title you find it under, HORROR HOTEL or THE CITY OF THE DEAD, this one is a first rate little horror film.

Highly recommended.

IN THE MIDST OF DEATH

I tore through IN THE MIDST OF DEATH (1976) in a matter of hours. It's the third novel in Lawrence Block's Matthew Scudder series. I've read several other Scudder novels and I've enjoyed each and every one of them but I have not read them in order of publication so I found Scudder's situation in this novel a bit jarring at first.

In later books, Scudder is a recovering alcoholic, constantly dealing with his own personal demons and the oh-so tempting promise of release and escape found in a bottle of booze. But in MIDST, Scudder is just beginning his long, slow slide into alcoholic oblivion. He drinks. A lot. But he's still capable of solving a well plotted murder mystery.

A high-priced call girl (with equally high priced clients) is murdered. Her body is found in the apartment of an NYPD detective, a cop with dreams of being the next Frank Serpico by exposing the corruption within the department. He's innocent, of course, but he turns to ex-cop Scudder to find the real killer and escape the frame-up.

Scudder does so but not before a couple of other people are killed. Along the way, Scudder beds the wife of his client, not always the smartest move in the old private detective playbook.

The mystery here is a good one and you get a chance to see Block setting up this durable character for his ultimate fall and later redemption. A good, solid "quick and dirty" mystery novel in an outstanding series that is best read in the order in which the books were  originally published.

Oh, and pay no attention to the cover art of the Avon paperback edition pictured above. It's designed purely to sell the book (and it does an admirable job of doing so), but no such scene occurs in the book.

Recommended.

THE DEVIL'S BRIDE

I've seen a lot of Hammer horror films in my 62 years. Also Hammer science fiction, film noir and adventure films. But the little British studio produced a vast number of films during the 1950s, '60s and '70s and I must confess, that although I've seen many of them (some several times over), there are still Hammer films out there that I have yet to see.

Case in point the two films I watched this week. The first, SCREAM OF FEAR is a black-and-white psychological thriller from 1961 that I watched the other day with my buddy Kelly Greene. Yesterday, I had the pleasure of viewing for the first time THE DEVIL RIDES OUT (1968) (released in the U.S. as THE DEVIL'S BRIDE).

This film, my dear readers, ranks as one of the greatest Hammer horror films ever made. It's an insanely ambitious undertaking, on a par with the same year's production of FIVE MILLION YEARS TO EARTH. This is a literate, straight-faced thinking person's horror film that never panders or condescends to the audience. Everything is played straight and seriously and the final product ranks as an undisputed masterpiece.

Part of the success of DEVIL'S is due to the talent behind the camera. Genre veteran and Hammer workhorse Terence Fisher directed many of Hammer's best films and DEVIL'S BRIDE is surely among his very best work. That's in large part due to the first rate screenplay by horror maestro Richard Matheson. The script is based on the book, THE DEVIL RIDES OUT by Dennis Wheatley. I've not read the book so I can't compare Matheson's screenplay to the source material but taken solely as an exercise in cinematic horror, Matheson's screenplay is first rate.

The film is commanded by the regal, magisterial presence of Christopher Lee, who, for a change, plays a good guy. He's Nicholas Duc de Richleau and he's the only thing that stands between a mad cult of Satan worshippers (led by a suavely sinister Charles Gray) and the demonic possession of two innocents, Tanith (Nike Arrighi) and Simon (Patrick Mower). de Richleau is aided by his friend, Rex Van Ryn (Leon Greene), who is skeptical at first but soon comes to believe the powers in play (along with falling in love with Tanith).

There are several remarkable set-pieces in the film that produce genuine shocks and jolts. The climax involves a literal rending of space and time before everything comes to an end.

Both Christopher Lee and Charles Gray would later play James Bond villains. Gray starred as Blofeld in DIAMONDS ARE FOREVER while Lee played Scaramanga in THE MAN WITH THE GOLDEN GUN (1974). An odd thought I had while watching DEVIL'S BRIDE. If someone had wanted to make a film based on Marvel Comics' character, Doctor Strange, the sorcerer supreme, in 1968, Christopher Lee would have been a great choice.

Alas that project must forever remain in the realm of unwrought things. In the meantime I encourage you to relish the brilliance of THE DEVIL'S BRIDE. This one is truly a masterpiece.

Highest Recommendation.

MJ-12 INCEPTION

The set-up is simple but ingenious. Imagine the X-Men being formed by the U.S. Government during the Cold War as a special ops team, ala MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE. That's the premise of MJ-12 INCEPTION (2017), the first novel in a new series by Michael J. Martinez.

I just finished reading this one this morning and it's a corker. It's the first book by Martinez that I've read but rest assured, it won't be the last. Martinez does a first rate job here creating an interesting team of "Variants", meta-humans who have gained their special powers, or "enhancements" due to two related but unexplained phenomena that appeared at the end of WWII. The "anomalies" as they're called, appeared in the ruins of Hiroshima and in the basement of the Reich Chancellery in Berlin. They appear to be portals to another dimension as well as conduits for controlled blasts of energy that grant the target human a specific super power.

The U.S. agents include a man who can absorb the entire knowledge of a person moments before their death and consequently has multiple voices in his head at all times. Another man can transmute matter, while a third has the ability to steal life energy from living subjects (humans and animals). The fourth member of the team, a woman, is perhaps the most powerful of the Variants as she can manipulate people's emotions. They're gathered and trained by a fifth Variant, a young Naval officer who has the power to detect Variants. And, of course, the Russians have a team of their own, each with his or her own unique powers.

Most of MJ-12 INCEPTION is set up for the series that follows. And that's okay because Martinez has done his homework exceedingly well, mixing real life people (President Truman, Secretary of Defense James Forrestal among others), real places (Area 51) and a well grounded history of the early days of the Cold War. The Variants do eventually get to undertake a couple of missions designed to extract a Soviet scientist who has knowledge of the Russian Variants and what they're up to. Of course, things go wrong on the mission, leaving one U.S.Variant dead and bigger threats hinted at. INCEPTION ends on a cliff-hanger which makes the next book in the series, MJ-12 SHADOWS a must read.

A canny blend of super-heroes and super-spies, MJ-12 INCEPTION is a winner.

Highly recommended.

AND JUST IN CASE...

Ms. Carter, if you're reading this.....

ILLEGAL

I watched ILLEGAL (1955) for the first time yesterday with my buddy Kelly Greene. It's a minor film noir that features a terrific cast and narrative full of twists and turns.

Edward G. Robinson stars as Victor Scott, a district attorney with both a sterling record of convictions and political aspirations. Scott hopes to run for governor one day but when he sends an innocent man (DeForest Kelley in a small part), to the electric chair, his career and standing crumble. He turns to the bottle for solace and decides to give up the DA's office and return to practicing civil law. The new district attorney, Ralph Ford (Edward Platt), is a tough, by-the-book prosecutor who has husband and wife Ray Borden (Hugh Marlowe) and Ellen Miles (Nina Foch) on his team. Both Ray and Ellen worked for Scott.

Scott quickly returns to criminal law and demonstrates an ability to get any and all clients off. When he defends a young embezzler with mob connections, Scott is suddenly thrust into the operations of crime boss Frank Garland (Albert Dekker), who wants Scott to work for him as his "fixer". Scott refuses to do so. But there's a rat in the D.A.'s office in the form of Borden who is secretly working for Garland. When Ellen finds out about her husband, Borden tries to kill her. She shoots him in self defense and guess who gets to represent her in court?

Things come to an exciting climax in the third act with a gun battle, car chase and a dramatic courtroom testimony that seals the fate of the mobsters.

With a screenplay by genre veteran W.R. Burnett (along with James R. Webb) and confident direction by Lewis Allen, ILLEGAL is a good little crime drama that takes a while to get going. It's Robinson's film from beginning to end in a role that allows him to play both tough and tender. He's a treat to watch as is the stellar supporting cast.

ILLEGAL is not a major film noir but it's definitely one worth seeing. Thumbs up.

NOSFERATU

Years ago, back in the '70s, when I was in high school and college, PBS would occasionally run silent movies as part of their programming. Understand, these were not the best quality prints but they were the best (and in some cases) only prints that existed of certain films at the time. This was long before the days of full digital restoration, complete title cards, full orchestral (original or newly composed) accompaniment, etc. In short, it wasn't the best way to see some of these films but at the time it was, for some of us, the only way to see some of the silent classics.

Among the films I saw under these circumstances were Fritz Lang's immortal masterpiece METROPOLIS (1926) (in a vastly truncated form) and F. W. Murnau's groundbreaking Gothic horror film NOSFERATU (1922). Even as bastardized as these films were, they were still powerful viewing experiences at the time.

It would be years later that I would finally have the chance to see these films (and other silents), the way they were originally meant to be seen. I've since seen the fully restored versions of METROPOLIS (and what an awesome spectacle it is!) and NOSFERATU. My buddy Kelly Greene and I had the opportunity to see NOSFERATU on the big screen at the Paramount Theatre several years back. I watched it again last night and it has lost none of its' shocking power as a major and important landmark in the development of the horror film.

Based on Bram Stoker's novel DRACULA, NOSFERATU is an adapted version of the classic tale of Count Dracula (here, Count Orlock), who travels from his home in Transylvania to a small German village, bringing his blood sucking ways with him along with pestilence and plague. Orlock, played by Max Schreck, is a rat faced monster, vermin in human form, totally and completely alien. It's one of the great cinematic depictions of a vampire in film history. There's not a whiff of Bela Lugosi's urbane, continental manners and brooding sensuality. Orlock is no gentleman. He's an unholy fiend that lives to kill. 

Even if the story is familiar, Murnau does a terrific job of orchestrating the action, bringing everything to a feverish conclusion where a beautiful young woman Ellen Hutter (Greta Schroeder), literally sacrifices herself to the vampire in order to save the town. Note: there's a technical goof here as Orlock's reflection is seen in a mirror. According to vampiric lore, the undead do not cast reflections.

However, Orlock is no shape-shifter. He never takes the form of a bat and it's not clear if he is indeed the werewolf (actually a hyena), seen in one shot. Nevertheless, he is truly one of the great monsters of the cinema.

NOSFERATU is a magnificent film, one that absolutely must be seen by horror movie fans and this restored version (with overture, new title cards, full orchestral score, tinted scenes and several Acts) is the one to see.

I've seen hundreds of horror films over the years but this one still has the power to genuinely creep me out. It's that great.

Highest recommendation.

YOU NEVER KNOW

I never know who might be reading this blog.

For instance, the other day I posted a review of DEATH PULLS A DOUBLE CROSS by Lawrence Block. The next day, I notice that there's a comment on my review.

 From Lawrence Block.

So, just in case Ann-Margret is reading this......

DEATH PULLS A DOUBLECROSS

In my estimation, Lawrence Block is simpy incapable of writing a bad book. I've read many of his novels over the last several years and each one was a winner. And the amazing thing is that he started out as a very good writer and has only become better over time to the point where he now ranks as a true master of the mystery/crime genre. 

Case in point, DEATH PULLS A DOUBLE CROSS, a 1961 paperback original published by Fawcett Gold Medal. The cover photograph evokes a strong detective magazine vibe and what's behind the cover is a first rate mystery novel starring New York City private eye Ed London who has a soft spot for pipes (the tobacco kind), cognac and beautiful women.

London is called to the aid of his brother-in-law when the man's mistress is found murdered in her apartment. She's been shot in the head and is found wearing only a garter belt and stockings. The brother-in-law is innocent but can't afford to be connected to the dead woman so London agrees to remove the corpse and dump her in Central Park to take the heat off.  Before long, London is up to his neck in a twisty case that involves a missing briefcase, a fortune in jewels, an ex-Nazi, a mob boss and his gorillas and other assorted dangers.

London handles everything with aplomb and hardly breaks a sweat while solving the case. DEATH PULLS A DOUBLECROSS is a fast paced, tightly plotted, "quick and dirty" crime novel, the kind I love. It shows Block in solid form early in his career and provides a couple of hours of great escapist entertainment.

Thumbs up.

TARZAN THE MAGNIFICENT

There's a certain prosaic pleasure to be found in watching an old Tarzan movie on a lazy Saturday afternoon, which is exactly what I found myself doing last weekend. TARZAN THE MAGNIFICENT (1960) borrows only the name from the Edgar Rice Burroughs novel as the script (by writer/director Robert Day) is completely original.

Let's see what Tarzan boxes this film checks.

Cheetah? Yes, but only for a very few seconds of screen time, thankfully.

Jane? Alas, no, but her absence is compensated for in the form of two lovely ladies, Betta St. John and the stunningly beautiful Alexandra Stewart. Oh, and one of these lovelies gets eaten by a lioness (off camera), so the movie has that going for it.

Vine swinging? Yes, but only a few scenes and then only in the third act.

Tarzan jungle cry? Nope.

A decent Tarzan? Yes, Gordon Scott makes a perfectly suitable Lord of the Jungle in this, his fourth Tarzan film.

Filmed on location? Well, at least the exteriors were shot in Africa. The interiors were filmed in Great Britain.

A good bad guy? Yes and not one but two in the forms of veteran actor John Carradine and Jock Mahoney, who would take over the role of the Ape Man from Scott in the next Tarzan film, TARZAN GOES TO INDIA (1962).

The evil Banton crime family rob a jungle postal station and escape into the wilderness. Tarzan gives chase along with a British police officer. The officer is killed, Tarzan kills one of the Bantons, and captures oldest son Coy (Mahoney), while father Abel (Carradine) and his two other sons escape.

Tarzan decides to transport his captive to Kairobi to collect the reward money for the dead policeman's family. It's an arduous cross country trek made even more difficult when he's forced to include a group of civilians in the party. Ames (Lionel Jeffries) is a whinging git, all puffed up and incessantly squabbling with his wife, Fay (St. John), who is regularly making eyes at prisoner Coy. Also in the group are Tate (Earl Cameron), Conway (Charles Tingwell) and Lori (Stewart).

Tarzan and his unlikely fellow travelers are besieged by various perils along the way including wild animals, the ever-popular quicksand (what would a Tarzan movie be without quicksand?) and constant harassment by the Banton men. Tarzan and Coy finally duke it out in a well mounted fight scene that takes place among the rocks at the bottom of a waterfall.

There's nothing exceptional here but TARZAN THE MAGNIFICENT does provide the requisite number of jungle adventure thrills that the durable Tarzan film series could always be counted on to deliver.

AND GOD CREATED WOMAN

"That woman was made to destroy men."

Tame by today's standards, Roger Vadim's 1956 erotic drama AND GOD CREATED WOMAN, caused quite a stir when it was first released. Especially in the United States where the controversial French film suffered heavy handed editing. There's no on screen nudity or intercourse (after all, this was 1956 )but the film is nonetheless packed with eroticism.

And that eroticism is contained mostly within the body of one Brigitte Bardot. Bare-footed, horny and smouldering with raw sex appeal, Bardot burns her way through every frame of this film (even the ones she doesn't appear in). Bardot had made other films prior to AND GOD but this was the film that put her on the map as an international sex symbol.

Bardot stars as Juliette, an 18 year-old orphan girl who longs for love but will settle for sex with a variety of suitors young and old. She's romanced by wealthy, older businessman Eric Carradine (Curt Jurgens). Carradine has plans to build a hotel and casino in a seaside French village but to do so, he must acquire a piece of property, a small shipyard, owned by three brothers and their widowed mother. The oldest son, Antoine (Christian Marquand), is attracted to Juliette but only for sex while his younger brother (and middle son) Michel (Jean-Louis Trintignant), genuinely loves the confused girl and proposes marriage to her.

Juliette accepts his proposal and they marry but Juliette cannot change her ways and eventually has a one night stand with Antoine (who is now her brother-in-law).

Things come to a head in a tense sequence in a night club in which it looks like murder might be the solution to all of the narrative problems but death is averted and Michel and Juliette are together at the end of the film.

Beautifully shot by Armand Thirard, AND GOD CREATED WOMAN looks stunning in a new transfer for the Criterion Collection. The film is bursting with color, interesting characters and a complex moral dilemma. Director/writer Vadim and co-screen writer Raoul Levy, paint a vivid picture of a confused young woman who yearns for a simple, happy life but finds her dreams constantly thwarted.

AND GOD CREATED WOMAN stands as a compelling drama, made in a straight-forward, pre-New Wave style and the films' reputation as a sexed-up potboiler is unfair. There's a good movie to be enjoyed here along with Bardot's rise to super stardom.

Recommended.