Double Your Pleasure (originally published 12/03)

From Shakespeare’s “Comedy of Errors” to the familiar old Doublemint Gum commercials, twin siblings have been a constant presence in popular entertainment for centuries. Movies, of course, have a distinct advantage in that camera trickery can be used to transform a single actor into twins.

In their new release, “Stuck on You,” the Farrelly Brothers bring their own peculiar twist to the theme, casting Greg Kinnear and Matt Damon as Siamese twins joined at the hip. If you prefer your movie twins to be a bit more conventional – identical but separate – here are some titles to look for on home video.

“Our Relations” (1936). Laurel and Hardy play a couple of sailors who happen to put into port in the hometown of their long lost twin brothers (also played by Laurel and Hardy). The sailors hang out, as movie sailors will, in disreputable beer halls. Their twins, a pair of family men, find themselves with lots of explaining to do when their wives learn that they’ve been seen chasing skirts in waterfront dives.

“Wonder Man” (1945). Danny Kaye must have concluded that the only way to top his wildly successful movie debut in “Up in Arms” was to become twins, because that’s exactly what he did in this classic musical comedy. The first brother, a brash entertainer, is knocked off by gangsters for knowing too much. His ghost then returns to convince his twin, a mousy intellectual, to avenge his murder. When the living brother’s staid temperament proves unequal to the task, the dead brother simply takes possession of his body to get the job done.

“The Corsican Brothers” (1941). Douglas Fairbanks Jr. carried on the family tradition in action pictures such as this adaptation of the Alexander Dumas classic. Fairbanks uses movie magic to take on both title roles as Lucien and Mario Franchi. Born as Siamese twins, the Franchi brothers narrowly escape the massacre of their family by the evil Baron Colonna. When an operation to separate them miraculously succeeds, the orphaned twins are raised separately for their protection. Lucien grows up in the forests of Corsica, becoming a kind of Robin Hood figure, while Mario is raised by friends of the family in Paris. When they meet for the first time at age 21, they both swear vengeance on the Colonna family.

“Dead Ringer” (1964). Bette Davis, in her gothic horror period, plays twin sisters. One sister has never forgiven the other one for stealing away her sweetheart by convincing him that she was pregnant with his child. Ultimately her resentment drives her to murder the offending sister. In addition to avenging the wrong she has suffered, this also allows her to assume the murdered sister’s identity and to assume control of her considerable wealth. Unfortunately, it transpires that the dead sister had been mixed up in homicide herself, leaving the surviving sister in the ironic position of getting away with one murder while standing in the shadow of the gallows for a murder she didn’t commit.

“Start the Revolution Without Me” (1970). On the eve of the premiere of their groundbreaking television show, “All in the Family,” Norman Lear and Bud Yorkin unleashed this historical romp on the big screen. It begins with a kind of loose parody of “The Corsican Brothers,” then, like the man in the Stephen Leacock story, rides off in several directions. Gene Wilder and Donald Sutherland play two sets of twins in 18th Century France, one of noble blood and one born to commoners. The attending physician, confused about which babies belonged with which family, had switched two of them in the cradle. Naturally, the sets of twins are mistaken for one another, involving the commoners in royal intrigues about which they know nothing. The lunacy builds until at last the story can no longer contain it, leading to a truly wild conclusion.

“The Parent Trap” (1961). We can’t, of course, forget this Disney confection, with Hayley Mills as twin sisters who have been raised separately by divorced parents. When they finally meet, they devote their combined energies to reuniting their wayward parents. It’s good, clean fun for those who are up to the challenge of suspending their disbelief to a degree above and beyond the usual call of duty.

The Immortal Tramp (originally published 2/04)

Few cinematic experiences are more foreign to 21st Century moviegoers than a silent comedy. These ethereal, surreal, mute monuments to the forgotten art of pantomime inhabit a screen universe so remote from today’s comic fare that it seems a stretch to classify them both under the common rubric of comedy. Any filmmaker who can bridge that gap, who can maintain any sort of viewership across that stylistic gulf, not to mention nearly a century of time, is remarkable indeed.

One of those who has accomplished this feat is Charles Spencer Chaplin. Fans of Chaplin’s work have much to be thankful for on the home video front. High quality DVD releases of Chaplin’s work from Image Entertainment and Warner Brothers Home Video are widely available, along with an excellent documentary on Chaplin’s life and work. “Charlie: The Life and Art of Charles Chaplin,” produced by Time Magazine film critic Richard Schickel, is well worth seeing.

When it comes to Chaplin’s feature films, I find that I can sum up my advice to you in three words: see them all. The only thing you need to know is that “City Lights” (1931) and “Modern Times” (1936) are silent films made after everyone else had converted to sound, so that all sound effects and synchronized music are part of the original soundtrack, not added after the fact. That’s really Chaplin’s voice singing the nonsense song in “Modern Times.”

Instead of focusing on the feature films, I thought I would offer some recommendations on Chaplin’s lesser known short subjects, which are now also readily available on home video. I’m going to recommend one title from each of the significant early periods of Chaplin’s career.

He got his start in the movie business working for Mack Sennett’s Keystone Studio, as did most of the major comedy stars of the silent era. It was during his tenure with Keystone that Chaplin learned the ropes and began searching for a comic persona. As a result, the quality of these early efforts is uneven. The tramp outfit, in all its essentials, appears very early on, but the nuances of characterization took years to evolve.

The title I think I would recommend from the Keystone period is “The Rounders” (1914). Chaplin is teamed with Roscoe Arbuckle, another very talented comic who has been cited as a major influence by no less than Buster Keaton. Chaplin and Arbuckle play a couple of swells who are out for a night on the town. By the end of the evening they have explored new frontiers of drunkenness, but then they must confront the problem of going home to face their respective wives.

Chaplin soon left Keystone, frustrated by the conflict between the fast-paced, broad slapstick demanded by Sennett and the more subtle pantomime that his emerging Tramp character required. He signed a contract with the Essanay Studio that greatly expanded his creative control.

The Essanay film to see is “The Tramp” (1915). This is arguably the specific point in his career at which the Tramp character he had been toying with at Keystone crystallized and matured. The key ingredient that was added here was pathos – that little touch of tragedy to offset the comedy and give it emotional weight.

Probably Chaplin’s most fertile period prior to making feature pictures was spent making short subjects for the Mutual film company. These twelve little masterpieces, released in 1916 and 1917, are the work of a fully mature comic artist. You really can’t go wrong with any of Chaplin’s Mutual releases, but I have a special fondness for “The Immigrant” (1917). The plot is virtually nonexistent – coming over on a boat to America, Charlie meets and falls for Edna Purviance, his perennial leading lady from the early days – but Chaplin’s blending of laughter with poignancy and knockabout with subtle pantomime was never more sure-footed and masterful.

This year marks the ninth decade since Chaplin’s first appearance on screen. There can now be little remaining doubt that his work has outlived mere nostalgia. Against all odds, his artistry continues to engender new fans even into a new millennium. His best works are, as if anyone seriously doubted it, works for the ages.

The Serial Killers (originally published 3/04)

It goes without saying that murder and murderers hold a fatal attraction for filmmakers. In fact, the only thing that cinema storytellers like more than a good, juicy murder is a whole string of them. Serial killings are tailor-made for the action film genre, since nothing keeps the old plot line moving like a fresh corpse every few minutes.

If you doubt it, go and see “Twisted,” the current release starring Ashley Judd and Andy Garcia as a pair of cops tracking down a serial killer. If you’ve already seen “Twisted,” and haven’t been reduced to peeking under the bed at night by the experience, you might also enjoy these serial killer movies.

“M” (1931). Director Fritz Lang’s classic suspense film is one of the most respected masterpieces of the German cinema. Peter Lorre, in his first major role, is outstanding as a compulsive child murderer. His eerie signature is the melody from Edvard Grieg’s “Peer Gynt” that he whistles whenever murder is on his mind. In trying to track him down, the police become so eager that their investigation begins to hamper the activities of the local organized crime syndicate. To get back to business as usual, the criminals set out to find the killer themselves, so that he is eventually under pursuit from both sides of the law.

“While the City Sleeps” (1956). Years later, in the United States, Lang made this fascinating echo of “M.” Again, there is a serial killer terrorizing the city. A newspaper publisher offers the position of editor-in-chief to any member of his editorial staff who finds the killer, sending each editor scrambling for sources to pursue the murderer’s identity. As in “M,” Lang presents us with an organization outside of law enforcement mobilizing to catch a serial killer for all the wrong reasons. Apparently the cynicism that informed Lang’s work in pre-war Germany remained undiminished in postwar America.

“The Boston Strangler” (1968). Tony Curtis portrays Albert De Salvo, a real-life serial killer who terrorized the Back Bay of Boston between 1962 and 1964. Director Richard Fleischer chose to tell the story in a semi-documentary style. He also made use of a split screen technique that was in vogue at the time, dividing the wide screen up into multiple images seen simultaneously.

“10 Rillington Place” (1971). Fleischer’s other serial killer film, less well known but every bit as good as “The Boston Strangler,” stars Richard Attenborough as John Reginald Christie, the British serial killer. Christie’s testimony had resulted in the execution of Timothy John Evans for the murder of Evans’s wife and infant daughter. Only later was it discovered that Christie had committed those murders, and others besides. This was the case that led to the abolition of the death penalty in England.

“Eyes Without a Face” (1959). French director Georges Franju’s gothic classic is a triumph of moody horror. A plastic surgeon is overcome with guilt when his reckless driving causes the disfigurement of his daughter’s face. Determined to restore her beauty, he kidnaps and kills a series of women in order to remove their facial skin. His efforts to graft the new skin onto his daughter’s face repeatedly fail, necessitating more and more murders.

“Monsieur Verdoux” (1947). Believe it or not, there are even a handful of comedies on the subject of serial killings. This one was made by Charlie Chaplin, who cast himself in the role of a wife-murdering bluebeard. Chaplin was trying to make a point about hypocrisy – that a world that sees no moral problem with atomic bombs and other horrendous weapons of war shouldn’t be troubled by a little thing like serial killings. In the light of the atrocities for which medals are given in time of war, Chaplin thought, a bluebeard is by comparison a laughing matter.

The Ealing Comedies (originally published 3/04)

The Coen Brothers, Ethan and Joel, are clearly fans of classic movies in addition to being exceptionally talented filmmakers. They have drawn inspiration for many of their films from popular genres of the past, and even borrowed the title of “O Brother, Where Art Thou?” (2000) from the script of a Preston Sturges comedy called “Sullivan’s Travels” (1941). Their next release, however, a comedy called “The Ladykillers,” is their first out and out remake.

The film they have chosen to remake is one of a series of beloved British comedies from the Ealing studio, each of which starred Alec Guinness. If you only know Guinness from “Star Wars,” you really owe it to yourself to see these remarkable showcases of his talents. For a sampling of the work that inspired the Coens, look for these classic Ealing comedies on home video.

“The Lavender Hill Mob” (1951). Guinness plays a bank employee, a mousey little clerk who rides along with the armored cars that carry the shipments of gold bullion. He is fussy and persnickety, insisting that security procedures be followed to the letter each and every time. In reality, he has been quietly plotting for years to steal the gold. The film is full of wonderful British character actors, including Stanley Holloway, whom you may remember as Alfred Doolittle from the film adaptation of “My Fair Lady” (1964). The film’s final chase scene is especially hysterical.

“Kind Hearts and Coronets” (1949). This is the story of a family black sheep who calculates that in the improbable event that eight of his snobby relatives should pass away in rapid succession, he would inherit a dukedom. Seeing that it would be risky to leave such a sequence of events to chance, he resolves to murder all eight of them. He is motivated partly by personal gain, but also by the fact that the family treated his mother shabbily. I know, it doesn’t sound much like a comedy, but it is. Guinness, you see, doesn’t play the young murderer. Instead, he is cast in the roles of all eight of the victims, one of whom is a woman.

“The Man in the White Suit” (1951). Guinness plays a chemist working for a British textile plant. Working on his own time and without company authorization, he develops a formula for a fabric that cannot be soiled or stained, and which will never wear out. He is elated about his discovery, but, to his surprise, his employers receive the news with dismay rather than appreciation. They realize what he hadn’t – that this formula would in short order make their entire industry obsolete. Suddenly this inoffensive little chemist who only wanted to contribute to humanity finds himself at the center of a political firestorm. The satire is biting and very funny. Even the noises made by Guinness’s infernal machine are funny.

“The Ladykillers” (1955). In the film that provides direct inspiration to the Coens, Guinness is again on the wrong side of the law. He and his gang rent rooms from a dotty little old lady, where they plan their robberies. When she accidentally sees a cello case full of money, the gangsters decide that she knows too much and must be killed. But God, apparently, is on her side. As each one in turn tries to do her in, something goes wrong and it is the would-be killer who meets an untimely end. The outstanding cast includes Peter Sellers and Herbert Lom, who would later play off each other so hilariously in the “Pink Panther” series with Sellers as Clouseau and Lom as Chief Inspector Dreyfuss.

I should probably pause here to point out the obvious. Ealing Studios in England made pictures for the home market. If the Yanks overseas liked them too, well and good, but if not, that was okay too. To really thoroughly enjoy these films, then, you need to have an appreciation for the eccentricities of British humor. Most especially, an appreciation for black humor is required.

Still, if the success of “Raising Arizona” (1987) and “Fargo” (1996) are any indication, the Coens have very effectively zeroed in on a segment of the American audience that does appreciate eccentric filmmaking. If you like their work, trust me, you’ll love the Ealing comedies.

A Walk on the Wild Side (originally published 8/05)

The adage is as old as show business itself: never perform with children or animals. They’ll steal the show right out from under you without ever even knowing that they’re doing it. Unfortunately for thespian egos, movies featuring both types of scene stealers never seem to go out of style with audiences.

In the animal movie category, this year’s “March of the Penguins” has become a box office smash in a year not overburdened with such successes. For those who prefer their movie stars furry, feathered, or with fins, I thought I’d mention a few favorite animal movie titles. I am, however, ruling out dog movies and horse movies on the grounds that they constitute categories unto themselves, if only by reason of sheer numbers.

“The Yearling” (1946). Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings’s Pulitzer Prize winning novel was adapted for the screen by veteran director Clarence Brown. Gregory Peck and Jane Wyman play the parents in this sentimental tale of pioneer hardships. Their son is played by Claude Jarman Jr. The story is a familiar one. The son adopts a fawn as a pet, but finds that his family’s hardscrabble existence doesn’t allow for such luxuries. When the fawn becomes a threat to their survival, the boy must face the hardest and most heartbreaking decision of his young life. It is a deeply touching story, skillfully told.

“Bedtime For Bonzo” (1951). This harmless little movie became the butt of innumerable jokes during its star’s tenure as president of the United States. I had my share of fun with it too, but with the Reagan administration safely tucked away in the dustbin of history, it’s time to admit that this is really a pretty good movie. In addition to being amusing, it uses humor to address one of the great scientific debates of the century: nature versus nurture. Professor Peter Boyd (Ronald Reagan) is committed to demonstrating that it is environment, not heredity, that determines who we are. To prove the point, he takes a chimpanzee named Bonzo into his home to raise him just as he would a human child. So, you see, Ronnie was actually ahead of the curve in advocating family values. The film's promotional trailer is reproduced below, courtesy of Turner Classic Movies.



“Born Free” (1966). Based on the nonfiction book by Joy Adamson, this film tells the story of an African game warden and his wife, and of their pet lioness named Elsa. Having raised the orphaned Elsa and her siblings from cubs, Joy finds that she is too attached to Elsa to part with her. Eventually, of course, she has to face the fact that lions were meant to be free. But by then Elsa is grown, so it is up to Joy to teach her how to survive in the wild.

“Doctor Dolittle” (1967). I realize I’m in the minority here, but I much prefer this earlier version of Hugh Lofting’s classic stories to the Eddie Murphy remake. Neither version measures up to Lofting’s imaginative originals, but this one at least attempts to stay closer to his storylines. It also has the advantage of Rex Harrison’s charming performance in the lead role. More importantly, it raises, in an entertaining way, some of the animal rights issues that are only now beginning to be taken seriously. Even so, it was a resounding flop at the box office, and is regularly cited on lists of the worst films ever made. Well, I don’t care. I still like it.

“Flipper” (1963). This was the film that led producer Ivan Tors, during the latter part of his career, to specialize in moves and TV shows featuring animals. The story of a boy who adopts a dolphin as a pet clearly echoes “The Yearling,” but without the emotional depth, and with a much happier ending. Even so, the leisurely, almost European pacing is beguiling, and Flipper was endearing enough to be cast in a successful TV series.

It is perhaps worth mentioning that “March of the Penguins” takes the animal movie to its logical conclusion by eliminating the onscreen human co-stars altogether. The lone homo sapien thespian, Morgan Freeman, is relegated to the role of narrator. From the producer’s point of view, this would seem to be a no-brainer. Animal actors rarely come with entourages, and almost never demand their own trailer or a percentage of the profits. Human actors might do well to watch their backs.

Ellison Wonderland (originally published 8/93)

What happens to you when you get really angry? Yeah, me too. We fume and sputter and make idiots of ourselves. It is only hours later, in the cold blood of bitter reflection, that we realize what we should have said.

But every now and then a person will be born with a diode wired in backward somewhere so that they actually get more articulate as their anger rises, not less. If that person also happens to be a writer, like H.L. Mencken or Philip Wylie, they can offer us a rare gift. Like Howard Beale in the movie "Network," they can articulate our rage for us.

I mention this by way of following up last week's column on "guilty pleasures," the bad movies that we love out of sheer perversity. One of the movies shown on TNT's recent "Bad Movies We Love" night was "The Oscar." Its script was co-written by Harlan Ellison, although he doesn't enjoy admitting it.

But if you saw "The Oscar," and if by chance this was your first exposure to Ellison's work, I need to tug your sleeve and make you aware that it is in no way representative of his work as a whole. To the contrary, he belongs to that tiny and valuable fraternity of writers for whom anger is a catalyst and not an impediment to effective communication.

The purest expression of his anger as craftsmanship is to be found in his many published essays. In his fiction, and in his scripts, it tends to take the form of emotionally charged fantasy tropes. His stories typically involve people pushed beyond the limits of what the real world can contain. It's a form of fantasy that was popularized by Rod Serling's "The Twilight Zone," but no one brings quite as much of an edge to it as Ellison.

If you liked Serling's shows, and you're ready to handcuff yourself to a writer who will pursue the darkest of human emotions to the edge of the abyss and leap in after them, Ellison's fiction is for you. His scripts, by comparison, tend to end up a bit watered down, but even so they still pack a punch. Forget about "The Oscar," then, and look for these Ellison titles at the corner video store.

"Soldier" (1964). This episode of the "Outer Limits" television series tells the story of a soldier from the far future who is transported back in time to the present day. Although human, he is as close to a fighting machine as futuristic training and indoctrination can make him. Warfare is all he knows, all he can cope with. Does this sound vaguely familiar? The producers of "The Terminator" were ultimately persuaded that it was similar enough that the film's credits should include an acknowledgment of the inspiration provided by Ellison's work.

"Demon With a Glass Hand" (1964). Ellison's second script for "The Outer Limits" won him the Writer's Guild Award as the best teleplay of the year, an honor he has now received four times. Again it features a time traveler from the future, but a benevolent one this time. A mysterious amnesia has rendered his origin and purpose a mystery, even to himself. As he struggles to solve the puzzle of his own identity, he must simultaneously struggle to stay alive. He has been pursued into the past by futuristic bad guys who clearly want him dead. Slowly he comes to the awful realization that he is the last hope of humanity.

"City on the Edge of Forever" (1967). Ellison's one and only script for the original "Star Trek" series is regarded by many as the best episode of all. Dr. McCoy goes through a time portal and ends up on Earth in the 1930s. While there, he does something that completely alters subsequent history. Kirk and Spock go after him to set things right and discover that McCoy had disrupted history by saving the life of a woman who would otherwise have died in a traffic accident. The problem is that by the time they figure this out Kirk has met and fallen in love with the woman who must die. Will he do the necessary thing and let her die, or will he sacrifice Earth's history for love? Ellison received his second Writer's Guild Award for this script.

Could superior scripts like these really be the work of the author of "The Oscar?" I prefer to blame the film on Ellison's two co-authors. After all, he may be beautiful when he's angry, but I don't particularly want him angry at me.

Guilty Pleasures (originally published 8/93)

Sometimes I marvel at the times we're living in. While federal meat inspectors blithely approve the sale of disease-ridden flesh, TV movie reviewers agonize over whether to give a movie a thumbs-up.

"I don't know," the critic says, obviously enduring a dark night of the soul right there in front of the cameras. "The film has some charming moments and a lot of heart, but I just can't quite recommend it."

Oh, go on, force yourself.

My own theory is that if you liked a movie, it's good. If you didn't like it, there are two possibilities: a) you're not part of the movie's intended audience or b) it's bad. As a general rule of thumb this works pretty well, but you also have to take into account that little streak of perversity that lives inside all of us. If we’re honest with ourselves we all have to admit that there are some movies that we genuinely love in spite of their undeniable ghastliness. From Joe Sixpack to the most erudite cinema scholar, it’s my contention that every moviegoer has a few of these “guilty pleasures.” Here are some of mine.

“The Phantom Empire” (1935). Although you might not guess it from the title, this 12-chapter serial is an early Gene Autry picture. He was already well known as a radio singing cowboy, but this was his first starring role in a movie. In a stretch truly worthy of his acting talents, he plays a radio singing cowboy named Gene Autry. But that’s not the weird part. The plot has him doing battle with the denizens of the lost underground city of Murania. Their futuristic society has the advantage of all manner of advanced gadgetry, including metal robots in stovepipe hats. (No, I mean literally – hats made out of stovepipes.) You have to wonder what they were smoking when they decided to cast their budding young Western star in a Buck Rogers story line. There is absolutely no excuse for this movie, but I love it dearly.

“Bucket of Blood” (1959). Most people are familiar with Roger Corman’s hilarious “Little Shop of Horrors” (1960) thanks to the successful musical play it inspired. Less well known is this earlier Corman film, his first effort at combining his low-budget horror film formula with comedy. Corman stalwart Dick Miller plays Walter Paisley, a young sculptor yearning to gain the acceptance of the artsy, pretentious coffee house crowd. Eventually he does make it big, but only by murdering his models and covering their bodies with clay to create his sculptures. Corman didn’t miss the opportunity to ridicule the highbrow art crowd – the very people who dismissed his kind of movie making. It’s vintage Corman; cheap, nasty, but fun.

“Hush…Hush, Sweet Charlotte” (1965). Like Pinocchio growing up to be a real boy, some films that start off as trash evolve into classics. Robert Aldrich’s film “Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?” (1962), for example, was conceived as pure pandering to the lowest common denominator in order to make a buck for all concerned. Screen legends Bette Davis and Joan Crawford, experiencing a bit of a slump in their respective careers, agreed to appear opposite each other in a gothic freakshow. Remarkably, the two old pros managed to breathe some life into the grisly proceedings. As a result, the film is now looked back on with a certain grudging respect. Not so “Sweet Charlotte,” Aldrich’s follow-up film. Trash it was and trash it remains. This time Davis is teamed with Olivia de Havilland in a Southern gothic horror story that resembles nothing so much as “Tales From the Crypt.” Davis is an old maid whose lover was murdered with an axe many years ago. The suspicion lingers on, even in her own mind, that she might have done the deed herself. If this sounds like promising material, perish the thought. There is much chewing of scenery by actors who certainly knew better. But they’re all enjoying themselves so hugely that I can’t help doing the same.

In fact, it may well be that therein lies the secret of guilty pleasures. If the filmmakers enjoyed their work, maybe the results, however meager, can somehow transmit that joy to the viewer.