I was browsing the Warner Archive channel on my Roku box and watched a Redd Foxx film from 1976 called “Norman, Is That You?” Foxx plays a distraught cuckold who goes to visit his son, unaware that his son is gay and is living with another man. Foxx’s character eventually figures it out and as you can guess … considering the character is played by Foxx … is initially not supportive. Though, eventually, in his dumb, clumsy, old-school way, he comes to understand his son and accept him.
It’s not a particularly great film, horrendously politically incorrect (his son’s boyfriend is the absolute worst screaming queen stereotype) but the movie is actually quite funny a lot of the time, mainly due to Foxx, who is an absolute comic genius. Despite the film’s political incorrectness, it’s also remarkably progressive, especially given the fact that it was made in 1976. You can check it out the link above or watch it on the Warner Archive app on Roku.
Best scene: Foxx goes to a bookstore to find books about homosexuality. Some wiseass puts a copy of Woodward and Bernstein’s “All the President’s Men” in the section about homosexuality, which prompts Foxx’s anguished conclusion: “All the President’s Men? I should have known!”
It’s Little League season and what better time than to reexamine “The Bad News Bears.” I could be wrong, but I believe “Bears” is the first film of the genre where a group of young misfits and their flawed coach are thrown together on a sports team, and against all odds, achieve success and self-esteem. However, given the rather slipshod and crappy nature of most of the films in this genre since the release of “Bears” in 1976, it’s easy to discount what a remarkable … and frequently dark … film it truly is.
At the time “Bears” came out, it was controversial because the kids in the film casually use profanity. However, nowadays, the profanities seem positively “nuclear,” especially given the racial slurs uttered by the short and misanthropic Tanner Boyle, who at one point is noted for taking on the entire 7th grade in a fight. If you want a clear indication of how times have changed, just watch the trailer located above. Keep in mind, this is merely the TRAILER … for a PG-rated film! … and the racial slurs are just right out there like cheese on a burger. The words in the trailer alone would result in lawsuits these days. Back then, it was used as a “selling point.” The times have indeed changed. As a result, if you’re particularly sensitive about such things or are watching this work, do not watch this link.
Now that we’ve all acknowledged the elephant turd in the room, let’s move on and really examine what makes this film remarkable. First of all, “Bears” contains one of Walter Matthau’s greatest performances, playing the alcoholic, misanthropic former minor-league player Morris Buttermaker. Buttermaker is hired to coach the Bears, a team created as the result of a lawsuit because badly-skilled players were excluded from playing in a particular league. Matthau’s character may have a mild redemptive arc towards the end of the film, but he’s a crafty enough actor not to let it seem that obvious. In other words, you don’t get the sense Buttermaker becomes THAT much of a better person at the end, meaning he’ll probably continue to drink heavily and be a major SOB.
Sadly, you don’t get the sense Buttermaker will be the father figure to Tatum O’Neal’s character Amanda Whurlizer that she desperately needs. Amanda is the daughter of one of Matthau’s former girlfriends and when they were together, Buttermaker trained her to be an amazing pitcher. Buttermaker puts her on the team as a “ringer” to help the Bears start achieving wins. Amanda has a tough, wise-ass exterior, but it’s obvious that it’s just a mask for a girl who wants a father. During one heartbreaking scene (located at the clip below), Buttermaker spurns Amanda’s attempts to get closer to him. In a Hollywood film of today, you expect him to come around at the end of the film. But alas… it’s never clear what role Buttermaker will pay in her life at the end.
Also remarkable is the performance by Vic Morrow as the coach of the Bears’ chief rivals, the Yankees. Morrow positively nails the hyper-competitive type of person who lives vicariously through the achievements of their children, in this case, Morrow’s son, the pitcher. There’s a particularly disturbing scene where Morrow orders his son to walk a Bears player, because the player is the one hitter his son cannot overcome. His son wants to actually try and intentionally throws a beanball, which almost strikes the Bears player in the head. Morrow slaps his son and Morrow’s son retaliates by pitching an intentionally easy ball, catching it, and holding onto it while the Bears player scores a home run, even while his teammates tackle him to retrieve the ball. After the run is scored, Morrow’s son gets up, silently drops the ball at his father’s feet, and walks off the field. An immensely dark and powerful scene in a film that’s otherwise billed as a “comedy.”
“Bears” is not only THE best film of that disreputable “kids and sports” genre, but one of the best sports films ever made, period … even with the casual and unfortunate racial slurs mentioned earlier.
On a personal note, this was the first PG-rated film I ever saw. My mom took my brother and me to see it the weekend it came out and after the first 5 minutes, I swear I saw my mom bury her head in her hands. The beginning of many such moments …
Great sludge/drone metal from the band Earth, fronted by one of Kurt Cobain’s best buds Dylan Carlson. This track was memorably used in the infamous Nick Broomfield documentary “Kurt and Courtney.” From the album “In the Pentastar of Demons.”
From “Richard Pryor: Live on the Sunset Strip,” RIchard Pryor soberly reflects on how he never wants to use the “N” word again after visiting Africa. Extremely moving.
Good evening peepers, prowlers, pederasts, panty-sniffers, punks and pimps. I’m James Ellroy, the demon dog, the foul owl with the death growl, the white knight of the far right, and the slick trick with the donkey d–k. I’m the author of 16 books, masterpieces all; they precede all my future masterpieces. These books will leave you reamed, steamed and drycleaned, tie-dyed, swept to the side, true-blued, tattooed and bah fongooed. These are books for the whole f–kin’ family, if the name of your family is the Manson Family.
Do I have your undivided attention, now? Good, now check out acclaimed crime author James Ellroy’s (author of “L.A. Confidential,” “American Tabloid,” and “The Black Dahlia” among other classics) wonderfully sleazy TV series “Hollywood Confidential” which exposes the fetid, rancid, rusted underbelly of Tinsel Town.
“To Live and Die in L.A.” is one of the best crime films of the 1980s. Looking at the trailer, you’d be hard-pressed to figure out why the film wasn’t a hit, considering its rapid-fire editing, intense action, and excellent cast, which featured Willem Dafoe, William Peterson, John Turturro, and John Pankow early in their careers. On the surface, it looks like every Don Simpson/Jerry Bruckheimer produced box-office blockbuster from the period.
However, director William Friedkin has an uncanny ability to make things complex, where the alleged “good guys” aren’t all that good. In fact, the good guys do a lot of morally and legally objectionable things … but unlike a “Dirty Harry” film, they pay dearly for their transgressions. In other words, “To Live and Die in L.A.” makes you, the audience member, pay dearly for your transgressions, more specifically, your voyeurism at all the graphic violence and sex that Friedkin piles on. Nobody says movie watching is easy, but if you’re OK with films that explore grey areas, “To Live and Die in L.A.” is an amazing experience. I remember seeing it twice in the theater when I was 15 (you gotta love those morally lackadaisical theater owners back in the day who didn’t give a s–t about enforcing R-ratings) and among friends who had seen it, we all thought it was as cool as “Scarface.” To say this is a movie they don’t make anymore is an understatement. I’m actually surprised it got greenlit back in the 1980s. Today, it might get a nod as a cable movie, but that’s about it.
It says a lot about a song when artists from different backgrounds, genres, and perspectives all record the same song. “Dream Baby Dream” was originally written and recorded by the seminal two-man punk duo Suicide (Alan Vega and Martin Rev), who did their thing long before there was such a thing called punk (they started in the early 1970s).
Many famous musicians were fans of Suicide, most famously, Ric Ocasek of the Cars (who produced one of their albums and had them perform on the 1970s NBC program “Midnight Special”) and Bruce Springsteen. You can hear a lot of Suicide’s influence in Springsteen’s minimalistic “State Trooper” from the 1982 album “Nebraska,” especially the shouts and whelps that come directly from Suicide’s monumentally distressing song “Frankie Teardrop.” Included here is an absolutely lovely live version of “Dream Baby Dream” by Springsteen interpersed with clips from F.W. Murnau’s monumental silent-era film “Sunrise.”
And … Neneh Cherry … who lately has been coming on strong as a punk Billie Holiday from hell, filtered through “There’s a Riot Goin’ On” -era Sly and the Family Stone and Eno-era Roxy Music, has her own killer version of “Dream Baby Dream,” from her monumentally awesome album “The Cherry Thing,” released in 2012.
The attached clip is legendary underground filmmaker Kenneth Anger’s short film “Puce Moment” from 1949. While I like the film, the music Anger added to the film in 1966 made a bigger impression on me. The music, composed and sung by Jonathan Halper, are two songs “Leaving My Old Life Behind” and “I Am a Hermit.” “Life” and “Hermit” are damn good psychedelic folk tunes, but Halper’s sneering vocal is what draws me in every time. Billy Corgan of the Smashing Pumpkins should be paying Halper royalties.
On a side note, I had heard about Kenneth Anger for years, but his films were impossible to find in most video stores back in the late 1980s. So I felt like Coronado finding a lost city of gold, when I discovered my college library had an extensive video collection and I was able to catch up on a lot of terrifically obscure films that weren’t available anywhere else. The tape that had this Kenneth Anger film on it, along with Robert Downey Sr.’s “Putney Swope,” were the first ones I watched on that glorious Sunday evening. The library’s big orange chairs and puny video monitors were this film fanatic’s saving grace in a pre-Netflix era.
The movies written, directed, and produced by John Hughes have a complex legacy. They are beloved and reviled by many and I can understand both reactions. First, the criticisms. Yes, the Hughes films oftentimes portray a one-dimensional view of adolescence, primarily showing teenagers as misunderstood lost souls in a world of uncaring and/or buffoonish adults. Yes, the Hughes films almost exclusively show a white (allegedly) middle-class view of the world. Yes, the Hughes films seem to exaggerate class and social differences in high school to increase the drama of his stories. And lastly, the Hughes films are sometimes too cute and cleverly written, giving adolescents an idealized world where they are smarter and funnier than all of the grown-ups around them.
Now, for the good stuff. It’s clear Hughes truly liked his teen characters, took them seriously, and most importantly, treated their concerns with the same gravity that teens often took them. Just because most of us have had life experiences that help us take life’s disappointments and setbacks in stride, we often forget how such setbacks can seem like the end of the world to a young person. It’s this sensitivity that still makes Hughes’s films resonate today and why many of them still hold up. They certainly hold up much better than the self-conscious “Heathers,” which comes off as someone trying too hard to make an anti-Hughes film.
Susanna Gora’s “You Couldn’t Ignore Me If You Tried” is an in-depth look about the making of Hughes’s most iconic teen films (“Sixteen Candles,” “The Breakfast Club,” “Pretty in Pink,” “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off,” ” Some Kind of Wonderful”), but also looks at a couple other Brat Pack films (“St. Elmo’s Fire,” “Say Anything”) and even includes a chapter on the impact of the music of these films, as well as the fallout of David Blum’s infamous “New York” magazine article that coined the phrase “brat pack.” There’s also extensive interviews with cast members, fellow writers/directors, studio executives, and others who were part of the creative process that brought these films to the screen. Even if you dislike some or all of the films, Gora’s book is a terrific analysis of an era of American film that’s too often dismissed.
Being surrounded by macadamia nuts this week reminded me of this droll scene from “Best in Show.” With Christopher Guest as one of my all-time favorite characters, Harlan Pepper.
Dave's Strange World 