And speaking of infinite blackness, what could be more darque than Shakespeare recited in the rain? Abandoned and wasted, Withnail, antihero of the comedy masterpiece Withnail and I, laments his ultimate failure to the wolves. This monologue shows him truly aware, for the first time, of the vast emptiness that is his life. Happy Monday!
“I have of late, but wherefore I know not, lost all my mirth,
forgone allcustom of exercises; and indeed it goes so heavily
with my disposition that this goodly frame,
the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory,
this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave
o’erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted
with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to
me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours.
What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason!
how infinite in faculty! In form and moving how
express and admirable! In action how like an angel!
In apprehension how like a god! The beauty of the
world! The paragon of animals! And yet, to me,
what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not
me: no, nor woman neither…”
Have you ever been filled with the burning desire to see your favourite ’80s rocker step out of a massive, glowing vag and use his tongue to make sweet love to another man’s eyeball?
I knew it. You people disgust me.
I give to you the 1993 tour-de-force of homo-erotic gluttony that is Seth et Holth. Set to the backdrop of some actually rather wicked industrial rock, the 43 minutes of beautiful confusion that follows is staged by one Hide (X-Japan) and Tusk (Zi:Kill) as Angels who communicate with their blood, struggling after being cast out of heaven and eventually executed by earthlings. It’s kinda like a less pretentious Cremaster Cycle done in the style of a New Wave music video but with cooler-looking dudes.
Don’t make too much of an effort to ‘get’ this movie — seriously, it would make David Lynch cry — as it presents itself to be more of a visual and musical experiment. It’s worth a look as an unusual piece of rock nostalgia alone.
“I have a fairly adequate knowledge of satanic forces, and I was interested to find out if this girl was obsessed with such a force.”
– James Dean, on befriending Maila Nurmi
Finnish-American actress Maila Nurmi, famous for having created the character Vampira, passed away yesterday in her sleep at age 86. Born in Finland and raised in Ohio, Maila moved to LA at age 17 to pursue modelling and acting. As a model she appeared in numerous pin-up magazines, and her photographers included Man Ray and Alberto Vargas. At age 35, Maila made her most notable appearance as The Ghoul’s Wife in Ed Wood’s Plan 9 From Outer Space – the clip can be seen here. For $200, Ed Wood got Maila to stalk around a graveyard as a glamorous, wasp-waisted zombie. The mute portrayal was Maila’s idea, as she reportedly couldn’t abide the dialogue that Ed Wood had written for her. In subsequent years Maila was the first horror movie hostess in television history, and in later life she made jewelry and clothing, which she sold though a shop on Melrose that she called Vampira’s Attic.
As one fan writes over at her obituary at LA Metroblogging, “I hope her, Ed, Bela and Tor are havin’ a coctail somewhere.” Maila may be gone, but Vampira will live on.
Left: Maila, the golden pin-up star.
Right: Maila in recent years, by Gabrielle G.
Chocolate is the latest from director Prachya Pinkaew, the man at the helm of Ong Bak and Tom Yum Goong/The Protector, two internationally acclaimed martial arts films starring the inimitable Tony Jaa. I was disappointed to hear that the collaborators had a big falling out recently, apparently due to Jaa’s desire to direct the Ong Bak sequel himself, and prompting Pinkaew to cancel their much-anticipated Sword project. If anyone can land on their feet after such upheaval, it’s Jaa! But I found myself wondering how on earth Pinkaew would replace him. The answer is Nicharee “Jeeja” Vismistananda, a very talented young woman who has been training with Jaa’s own Muay Thai mentor and fight choreographer, Panna Rittikrai, for several years.
In Chocolate, [Vismistananda] plays an autistic girl who goes on a mission to collect debts to save her ill mother, a course of action that puts her on a collision course with gangs of both the local Thai and Japanese varieties. Japanese film fans will recognize popular Japanese leading man Hiroshi Abe as one of the yakuza bosses.
(Wooo! Hiroshi’s a hottie.) The following trailer is un-frigging-real. Choreography is top notch and this girl is appropriately fast, fierce and fearless. There are some exhilarating nods to Bruce Lee. They’ve even included bloopers of both Jeeja and her stunt double enduring some painful missteps to assure viewers of authenticity. No wires, no special effects. Just human beings accomplishing extraordinary physical feats.
Hey, remember when Disney didn’t suck and blow simultaneously?
Deep down, most of us suspect that ol’ Uncle Walt was a sexist, racist, feeb-informing Machiavellian rat king. (Still, who doesn’t love Pinocchio?) And while there’s no doubt Disney’s recent corporate merge with Pixar and subsequent shakedown (leaving prodigies Lasseter, Catmull and Jobs steering the ship) will bring back much of the first company’s long lost artistry, the question bears repeating: have the past 20 years of Disney output blown epilepticpygmy goats,or what? Wtf happened?*
Never mind. Let’s focus on the semi-positive and take a look Disney’s chaotic neutral, pre-sucky years. I know I’m not the only one with fond recollections of the many offbeat live action flicks Disney produced in the late 70s and early 80s. Uncle Walt was in cryogenic deep freeze and the company’s heyday was fading, but gems like TRON, Something Wicked This Way Comes, and most poignantly their ridonkulous sci-fi space epic, The Black Hole all have a special place in this gal’s personal What Made Me Weird lexicon.
Yvette Mimieux gets some much-needed laser surgery.
Produced on the heels of Star Wars’ popularity, The Black Hole is one of Disney’s last gasps of cornball genius. Sure, it’s got problems. No originality, for starters. As one reviewer put it “[this is] nothing but a ‘creepy old house’ movie set in space.” Also, the screenwriters seem to have been unsure what demographic they were writing for, resulting in a plot that insults adult viewers’ intellects while still managing to scare the ever-loving crap out of children (and making The Black Hole the first PG-rated film in Disney history). Hokey dialog and unfortunate wardrobe choices abound. But if I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a hundred times; you can’t go wrong with Ernest Borgnine. If that’s not enough to entice you, there’s John Barry’s amazing score, the incredible scale models and sets, scene after scene featuring beautiful, richly colored matte paintings of deep space, and Anthony Perkins getting the Cuisinart treatment.
Best for last, the Maximilian <3 Reinhardt 4-Ebber (In Hell) ending:
In 1997, director Alex Sichel was given a grant to make a film about the riot grrrl music scene. She created the film All Over Me, an intense coming-of-age film with a unique cast. The film is about many things: sexual orientation, trying to start a band, drug use, losing your best friend and being just on the verge of discovering all that makes you who you are.
The film’s greatest strength is the way it shows how emotional your relationship with music can get, especially as a teen. Almost every scene has something to do with music, right down to the opening, where the main character tries to play a guitar that she finds on the street. There are scenes of singing along to a song while crying, awful but earnest music rehearsals, rooms covered with drawings and posters of musicians, meetings at guitar stores and gigs.
The score is raw and emotional, and the sounds of Babes in Toyland, Sleater-Kinney, Helium, Patti Smith and Tuscadero figure heavily into the film’s soundscape. The cast is full of musicians as well. Pat Briggs from industrial/gothy/glam band Psychotica appears as a charismatic next-door neighbor, and Leisha Hailey from The Murmurs and Uh Huh Her plays one of the lead roles. Mary Timony from Helium also appears in the film, and together with Hailey they appear on stage in the form of a fictional band called Coochie Pop (video after the jump!). Also of note is non-musician actor Wilson Cruz, who many will remember as Ricky from ahead-of-its-time teen drama My So-Called Life.
Proto-emcee Slim Gaillard, the great grandaddy of flow.
In 1941, a musical comedy farce called Hellzapoppin’ made the jump from stage to screen. It’s a very silly film (about a film within a play about a film), rather sanitized in comparison to the original anarchic revue (which featured little people, clowns, trained pigeons, and Hitler speaking in a Yiddish accent). There isn’t much of a plot and many of the jokes are corny even by 40s standards. The premise wasn’t nearly as successful on celluloid as it was on Broadway. Still, Hellzapoppin’ has two invaluable things going for it: an appearance by sainted Slim Gaillard, and the most impossibly freakin’ insanely amazing Lindy Hop dance sequence ever filmed, courtesy of a fearless troupe called Whitey’s Lindy Hoppers. Behold o’rootey:
Left: Lucy from Dracula. Right: Ruff by Junya Watanabe.
Ruffs! Why are they so intoxicatingly awesome? It’s just a ruffle of fabric on a drawstring, but whenever I see one, it still evokes an instant Pavlovian response. A ruff turns a person into a character: a creature that’s decadent, aristocratic, maybe even a little tragic. I marvel at ruffs the way I marvel at lush cake icing and delicate origami, and while there’s something very sensuous about the wrapping, ruffs also make people look very strong, armored, untouchable.
“Virginqueen” photo shoot by Viona.
In celebration of my tender relationship with ruffs, I present to you my favorite manifestations of these sumptuous adornments in fashion, photography, music and film. The list is by no means complete, so please feel free to chime with your own ruff finds! One of the images and some of the links below may not be SFW, but most are. The Romp through Ruffs begins with the work of photographer Tina Cassati:
I’m not sure how to explain what makes Death Bed: The Bed That Eats so special, or if I should even try. I certainly didn’t know anything about the film when it was first recommended to me (by some hairy-palmed weirdo lurking near the Jess Rollin section of Kim’s in NYC a few years back). Completed in 1977, this “forgotten horror classic” was never officially released. Legend has it that director George Barry had no idea anyone had even seen the picture until he Googled himself and found a bunch of websites raving about it. After 25 years, Cult Epics finally put it out on DVD.
Death Bed is definitely rave-worthy, but again, I’m at a loss to explain why without taking away some of the mystique. Here’s the overview from Cult Epics:
“At the edge of a grand estate, near a crumbling old mansion lies a strange stone building with just a single room. In the room, a four-poster bed waits to absorb the flesh, blood and life essence of unwary travelers…”
READERSHIP ADVISORY: The following post contains very subjective opinion, frivolity, and the shameless sexual objectification of highly respectable people. In other words, we are about to go totally alt-Cosmo on your ass. You have been warned.
There is no excellent beauty that hath not some strangeness in the proportion. – Sir Francis Bacon
Preternatural means out of the ordinary course of nature; exceptional or abnormal. That which appears outside or beyond the natural. Extremity – an ordinary phenomenon taken beyond the natural.
10 Klaus Kinski
Bug-eyed, white-haired, rubbery-lipped Klaus Kinski was by all accounts (especially his own) an insatiable fuck machine. Open his infamously filthy memoirs to any random page and gasp at the depravity. He also happened to be gibbering batshit insane. It has been observed that sociopaths are often very charismatic. Certainly, when Kinski wasn’t foaming at the mouth, he could charm the knickers off any lady in the room. Fans of exploitation cinema adore him as the punishing playboy in Jess Franco’s masterpiece, Venus In Furs. His tumultuous partnership with filmmaker Werner Herzog yielded two of the most compelling antiheroes of all time: Aguirre and Nosferatu. Indeed, even in the most paltry cameo roles, Kinski oozed a certain fetid yet undeniable charm.
