Reading Material

5001 Nights at the Movies

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As it should, reading Brian Kellow’s recent bio of film critic Pauline Kael made me want to read more of her work. Making that conveniently possible is Picador’s reissue of Kael’s 1982 review compendium, 5001 Nights at the Movies.

It does not contain 5,001 reviews; it just feels like it might. A doorstop of nearly 1,000 pages, the trade paperback carries a heft more than physical, but intellectual as well. And yet, this may be Kael at her most accessible, as the reviews are capsules culled from years of work at The New Yorker‘s “Goings on About Town” column.

Whether you agree with her opinions — I find them incredibly unpredictable — it’s tough to deny her unique voice, making it a joy to read both praise and pans. I was surprised to find her a fan of 1980’s much-maligned Flash Gordon (“pleasurable giddiness”), Tim Burton’s blockbuster Batman (“mean and anarchic and blissful”) and Stuart Gordon’s line-crossing Re-Animator (“the bloodier it gets, the funnier it is”).

She also classified the latter as “a silly ghoulie classic,” which proves how unhip and grandmotherly she could sound. Who else would call Ghostbusters “a scare comedy” or Cleopatra Jones “a swashbuckler”?

Redeeming herself is her near-effortless wit, whether it’s in discussing someone onscreen (George C. Scott is “that great spangled ham,” while American Hot Wax‘s not-yet-famous Jay Leno is “shovel-faced”), summarizing a plot (“He hates porno the way John Wayne hates rustlers and Commies”) or just plain ripping into a film, as she does so splendidly to 1962’s “extremely unpleasant” Gypsy: “Rosalind Russell is the psychopathic stage mother who uses and destroys everyone within reach of her excruciatingly loud voice.”

On too-rare occasion, Kael ventured off into sections of weirdsville that suggest an extra drink or two while at the typewriter. For example, she opens her take on Clint Eastwood’s Heartbreak Ridge with this WTF line: “It’s well known that many people have strong feelings about anal intercourse, but it’s doubtful if a while movie had ever been devoted to the expression of those feelings of this one.”

And finally, much more often, the grande dame of cinema criticism could be dead wrong. Look, I like Brian De Palma’s The Fury, but in no way would I ever suggest that “no Hitchcock thriller was ever so intense, went so far, or had so many ‘classic’ sequences.” Pour me one, too, please, Pauline.

5001 Nights at the Movies is full of such surprises. Unlike a majority of movie reference guides, she’s the star here, making this a perfect gift for the film buff on your holiday list, yourself included. —Rod Lott

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Sex

Street of a Thousand Pleasures (1972)

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I have never seen more female nudity in a motion picture than the flesh on parade in Street of a Thousand Pleasures. Hell, I have never seen more female nudity anywhere — motion picture or otherwise. For that alone, you really don’t need to read further; just watch it.

What, you’re still here? Fine: For his job, a henpecked husband (Garth Ruger) travels to the Middle East one day, where he saves the life of a sheik (Abdul Ben Hassein). The sheik demonstrates his gratitude by allowing the American the pick of his harem. Plot ends there. (And the moral of the story? Be extra-nice to Middle Easteners.) Every loving remaining minute consists of the guy putting his paws over each of what looks like hundreds of naked women, sampling a little of the all-natural goods before choosing which ones to bed. Uschi Digard and Joyce Mandel are merely two of these bra-busting women, so you really don’t need to read further; just watch it.

Jesus, what gives, people? Okay: The genius of Street is that most of it is shot from our protagonist’s POV, so when he feels a breast or goes in for a quick nipple kiss, the camera is your eye, my friend, so you really don’t need to read further; just watch it.

Unbelievable. You must be female, gay or a recovering victim of breast trauma. Anyway, normally a movie this repetitious would result in flat-out boredom, but for some reason, that’s not the case here — blue balls, maybe, but not boredom. If there’s a beef with it, it’s that you have to see a couple of wangers. But looking on the bright side, the breast-to-penis ratio is something like, what, 4,200 to 3? I lost my ability to count. It’s like director Clay McCord filmed a dream I’ve had regularly since 1981. —Ed Donovan

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Thriller

Hit Lady (1974)

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The Black Hole beauty Yvette Mimieux stars as Hit Lady Angela de Vries, a blonde assassin-for-hire in this Aaron Spelling/Leonard Goldberg made-for-TV movie. Before the opening credits, she’s summarily dispatched of an oversexed cowboy with ease, but when her boss (Clu Gulager, The Return of the Living Dead) gives her another assignment, she starts wanting out of the game to enjoy life with Doug, her poor shutterbug boyfriend, played by Dack Rambo (Good Against Evil).

Angela is given a few days to kill union boss Baine (Joseph Campanella, Ben) and make it look like an accident. Knowing he likes Mozart — suh-weet insider info, no? — she manages to run into him at a concert, and he immediately begins wining and dining (and soon balling) her. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen the ol’ gas bag Campanella shaking his rump to disco music, and once you do, you’ll want said life to end right then and there.

If you think Angela starts to fall for her mark, congrats — you’ve obviously seen a Spelling/Goldberg production before. Hit Lady is nothing if not all about predictability; the most shocking thing about it is that it was written by Mimieux herself. Who knew she could write? Hell, who knew she could spell?

It ends with Doug being somewhat of an hired gun himself. His mark? Angela, of course, and it serves her right, the two-timing bitch. —Rod Lott

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Horror

Amityville 1992: It’s About Time (1992)

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Sixth in the Amityville Horror series, Amityville 1992 is, in my suspect estimation, worth watching at least once for four reasons:
1. Former Miss USA Shawn Weatherly gets naked;
2. Megan Ward strips to her underwear;
3. You have to admire a movie with the balls to use its release date and a pun in its title; and
4. It’s supremely silly.

Lipless architect Jacob Sterling (Stephen Macht, The Monster Squad) returns home from a work trip to Amityville with an antique clock he purchased there. I’m sorry, did I say “clock”? I meant an evil clock!

Once placed on the mantle, the evil clock screws itself put and immediately unlocks a time/dimension rift, causing the family members to do strange things. Jacob gets cinema’s nastiest dog bite and goes insane, while his goody-two-shoes daughter (Ward, TV’s Dark Skies) turns into a sex vixen overnight, yet turns her would-be fluid-swapping partner into a puddle of acidic goo.

The Macht vs. Doberman duel is something to see, especially when it ends with him stabbing the pooch with a broken glass bottle; PETA members will applaud later when Weatherly penetrates his leg with a fireplace poker. You’ve also got to enjoy the irony of the wacky neighbor lady narrowly missing getting creamed by a diaper truck, only to be impaled by the stork figure that then falls off it.

The proceedings are pretty bloody, which one expects from Hellbound: Hellraiser II director Tony Randel. However, thanks to a leaden script, you feel like the movie might be a victim of the clock’s time/dimension rift as well. But moments are moments, and the bare, sweaty, hanging bosom of Ms. Weatherly (Police Academy 3: Back in Training) certainly counts for something. —Rod Lott

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Comedy

Monsturd (2003)

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Do you find shit funny? What about farts? Vomit? Disintegrating bloody corpses? If you answered “yes” to any of those questions, Monsturd is right up your alley, because it’s about a walking, talking, murdering turd-man. He comes up through your toilet, kills you while you’re pooping and then writes clever one-liners with smeared fecal material on your walls. Don’t get caught with your pants down, indeed!

Monsturd opens with an escaped murderer on the loose (Brad Dosland, Retardead). He comes into contact with some toxic wasted that has been dumped by some evil scientists. The toxic waste cause his DNA to be fused with the feces in the sewer and thus is born … Monsturd! Since Monsturd does his murderous business while people are taking a crap, his killing spree threatens to shut down the town’s beloved Chili Festival. Something must be done!

For the most part, this horror spoof is played completely straight with lots of great deadpan dialogue. A lot of the humor does revolve around the deuce — and one excessively great vomit sequence — but also great writing. Creators Dan West and Rick Popko steal scene after scene in their roles as bumbling sheriff’s deputies.

West and Popko have done an excellent job of creating a high-quality and highly watchable flick on a shoestring budget. Don’t let the fact that it’s shot on video scare you away, because the production values are high all-around. There is also some gore that is plenty gruesome, but at the same time, cartoony enough to be fun.

If Monsturd has a flaw, it’s that there is almost too much going on. The movie never really slows down to give you time to associate with a central character. It opens with lots of people running around with great urgency and they pretty much keep running for the movie’s 80-minute running time.

There is nothing that is all that original about it, either. You’ve seen the toxic monster, the mad scientists, the bumbling deputies and the H.G. Lewis-style gore in plenty of other movies. But the film has a goofy enthusiasm and manic energy that helps to pack all these traditional elements into a fresh loaf. —Ed Donovan

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