The Man in Black is Dead! Long Live the Man in Black!

In the early morning hours of Friday September the 12th, Johnny Cash died at the age of 71. We all knew it was coming, especially after the loss of his wife, June Carter Cash, in May. Nevertheless, it's a sad, sad day for music lovers everywhere. The Man in Black was a true American icon and his legacy of song, stories, and soul, will live on. Here's to you, Johnny!

I thought I’d take a moment to spotlight some of my friends’ cool personal web pages.

You can check out my wife Lynda E. Rucker’s page at: http://www.sff.net/people/lyndaerucker.
She is a fellow writer and my dearest partner in crime.

My friend Dave, who is also a fantastic writer, has a great page of reviews and more at: http://snurri.blogspot.com/

Ever wonder where Satan likes to spend his free time on the web? Hang out at our good friend Scott’s page to find out: http://lackoftalent.net:8080/satan/

And last but not least, there’s Greg’s insanely wonderful page: http://www.livejournal.com/users/celibot/
He’s a good guy, regardless of his fondness for There Might Be Giants and his lack of appreciation for Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Something to do with Leone

I just got back from watching the third and best of Sergio Leone’s famed “Dollars” trilogy, The Good, The Bad and The Ugly, which is playing in town at my favorite local theater, Cinema 21. Although it’s always been one of my favorite Leone films, seeing it in the theater made all the difference. I’ll have to watch Once Upon a Time in the West again to properly judge which one is my favorite, but for the moment, this one wins out. Unless you have a nice big television set (which I don’t), it’s imperative to see this film on the big screen to fully appreciate Tonino Delli Colli’s incredible cinematography. The larger-than-life compositions really add to the drama unfolding on screen, as well as bringing out some of the actors’ subtle nuances, e.g. ironic facial expressions. And, of course, when you talk about The Good, The Bad and The Ugly, you have to mention the unforgettable music of Ennio Morricone, a man who added so much to Leone’s films, be it irony, slapstick, beauty, or an epic grandeur (sometimes all at once) that is hard to match even to this day. Morricone’s complete score for The Good, The Bad and The Ugly is available as an import compact disc from GDM Music. Also, if you’re interested in knowing more about Sergio Leone, I highly recommend Sir Christopher Frayling’s 2000 biography entitled, Sergio Leone: Something To Do With Death. A great read. Frayling is also the author of another fantastic book, dealing with the oddball Spaghetti Western genre in general. Definitely worth checking out as well.

Darkness Has No Need: Irreversible (2002)

Writer Stephen King once stated that he believed director Stanley Kubrick wanted to hurt viewers with his film adaptation of The Shining (1980). King was wrong. Kubrick simply wanted to make an effective piece of horror cinema. Director Gaspar Noe, on the other hand, does want to hurt you. Bad. He also wants to incite a riot within your head, and make you think about the representations of violence perpetrated across the screen. In his first feature film, I Stand Alone (1998), Noe examined the life of a jingoistic, racist French butcher (played by Philippe Nahon) who stalked the streets of Paris looking for his soul and that of his country’s. Being that the butcher was a certifiable lunatic, the search didn’t come easy and the fate awaiting him was a dark one indeed. The film’s seemingly nihilistic flourishes and thematic concerns revolted some viewers; others felt that Noe was merely a talented poseur more inclined toward empty shock tactics than real in-depth character analysis. I found the film unforgettable and a bold, ugly character study that examined, perhaps too well, that of the racist paranoid psychopath. For those of you who hated I Stand Alone, I would suggest staying clear of Noe’s next feature, Irreversible.

Ostensibly, the film is a simple (albeit a horrendously savage) revenge tale. But underneath the façade of stylistic shock and awe is a darkly poignant character study of a relationship spiraling off into the black abyss. Told in reverse fashion, the film propels the viewer into a sickly claustrophobic noir universe where two men, Marcus (Vincent Cassel) and Pierre (Albert Dupontel), are being led out of a sleazy gay sex club where a horrendous killing has taken place -- the victim, the alleged rapist of Marcus’ girlfriend Alex (Monica Bellucci). Noe then takes us into the bowels of the club (named the Rectum) where we experience the atrocious killing, and then the events leading up to the death, including the catalyst for the revenge: the rape of Alex by a gay pimp called Le Tenia (Jo Prestia). The first half of the film is honestly some of the most excruciating, uncomfortable cinema I’ve ever witnessed, and this is coming from someone who has sat through Ruggero Deodato’s Cannibal Holocaust numerous times and Jorg Buttgereit’s blackly-comedic transgressive horror films. Like I already said, Gaspar Noe wants to hurt you bad. The pain of the rape is even more powerful when we consider what occurs before it –- the hours of mundane bliss that Marcus and Alex spend with one another. Their conversations, laughter, and intimacies carry an added weight to them that would’ve gone unnoticed or ignored if the film had been presented in a traditional linear manner. As it is, these moments of domestic banality carry with them an emotional context that removes the film from simple exploitation. In fact, although the film’s characters are all arguably doomed to fates of oblivion (hence the title), Noe does not expunge morality from his nihilistic representations. If anything, Irreversible is one of the most savagely moralistic films in recent memory.

Although I highly recommend the film, the recommendation comes with strong reservations. The almost unwatchable power of the film’s two most infamous scenes (the death of the man within the nightclub by having his head and face smashed in with a fire-extinguisher, and the rape of Alex by Le Tenia in a deserted Metro pedestrian tunnel, a scene that lasts an excruciating nine minutes) cannot be overstated enough. But the performances (most of them improvised) by the three leads are exceptional, and Noe’s bravura, disorienting camera movements, which are integral to the first part of the film as the camera tries to replicate the drunken-drug-fueled rage of Marcus and Pierre (undercut with a disturbing electronic throb courtesy of Thomas Bangalter), is nothing short of magnificent. For technique alone, Noe is undoubtedly one of the finest stylists working in film today. But thankfully, the film is not style without substance. You may not like what Noe is trying to say, but there is a method to his madness. It may not be the most original or uplifting outcome, but it is unforgettable. Sadly, some denizens of Nightmare Town are sentenced to wandering its streets forever.

It should also be noted that the film plays like a volume-eleven tribute/rebuttal to Stanley Kubrick’s final film, Eyes Wide Shut (1999). But where Kubrick’s film allowed his married couple a chance out of their tribulations with an invitation for redemption through fucking, Noe offers his couple something far more fucked-up and psychologically impenetrable. Also, tying-in with the Kubrick homage, Noe has placed a poster of the “Starchild” from 2001: A Space Odyssey above Marcus and Alex’s bed. The film also ends/begins with a strobe-light effect that subliminally flashes an image of the Milky Way –- a cosmic umbilical cord connecting Noe to his “Starchild” cinematic predecessor. Perhaps an optimistic coda after all.

Irreversible is on DVD from Lion’s Gate Home Video.

THE BURGLAR by David Goodis

At three in the morning it was dead around here and the windows of the mansion were black, the mansion dark purple and solemn against the moonlit velvet green of gently sloping lawn. The dark purple was a target and the missile was Nathaniel Harbin who sat behind the wheel of a car parked on the wide clean street going north from the mansion. He had an unlit cigarette in his mouth and in his lap there was a sheet of paper containing a diagram of burglary. The plan gave the route aiming at the mansion, moving inside and across the wide library to the wall sage where there were emeralds.

So begins this twisted tale of obsessive love and crime. David Goodis, along with fellow noir writer Cornell Woolrich, was the leading purveyor of hardboiled angst and paranoia. His novels have an uncanny power to them, as they brutally dissect the malaise festering beneath the surface of our lives. Goodis worked in Hollywood as a screenwriter during the 1940s, but he’s best remembered for his novels, most notably Dark Passage (which was adapted for the screen in 1947 starring Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall), Nightfall (also adapted to the screen by director Jacques Tourneur), Shoot the Piano Player a.k.a. Down There (which famed French director Francois Truffaut made into a classic film), and Black Friday among many others. In The Burglar, Goodis introduces us to career criminal Nat Harbin. Harbin is a mastermind at putting together big pay-off burglaries. Unfortunately, Harbin is also a major-league softy when it comes to women. And in true noir style, women are the one thing that always get him into deep trouble.

The Burglar is a black cocktail served ice cold. The twisted relationships between Harbin and his gang of thieves (the dumb-witted Dohmer, the weaselly Baylock, and the dumbly innocent yet alluring Gladden) are all expertly sketched out, as is Harbin’s deliriously sex-driven dalliance with the mysterious Della, a woman oozing with toxic love. This poisonous slice of unease is sadly out of print, but it’s well worth tracking down among the used bookstores.

EAGLE IN THE SNOW by Wallace Breem

My summer reading for fiction has been geared toward pure entertainment. Maybe it’s me, but I just don’t feel like reading Dostoyevsky or Gogol when the sun is shining (I save them for the colder, drearier months). Although I did slip some Graham Greene and Flannery O’Connor into the mix, my novel intake has been strictly escapist.

One of my favorite novels this summer has been Wallace Breem’s historical epic, Eagle in the Snow. Originally published in 1970, the novel has been republished in hardcover by Rugged Land press, and has been given a short introduction by Steven Pressfield, writer of the equally excellent historical novel, Gates of Fire, which dealt with the famed 300 Spartans and their heroic defeat at Thermopylae against the mighty Persians. Breem’s story is set during the waning years of the Roman Empire, and focuses on the valiant effort of General Paulinus Maximus to keep the barbarian hoards from spreading into the Rhine from the east. The action is swift and violent, the characters finely detailed and believable. And as with Pressfield’s novel, Breem understands that even the most fascinating historical aside will mean absolutely nothing if it isn’t grounded in character and emotional incident. A great page-turning read if there ever was one.

Il Bruto is Dead

The French called Charles Bronson "Le Sacre Monstre" and the Italians knew him as "Il Bruto." He died Saturday at the age of 81 from pneumonia. In honor of one of the greatest of the Old School action stars, put on The Magnificent Seven, The Dirty Dozen, The Great Escape, Once Upon a Time in the West, Violent City, The Mechanic, Chato's Land, Breakout, Death Wish, Death Hunt (co-starring my other favorite tough guy, Lee Marvin), or my personal favorite, Mr. Majestyk. Watch one or watch 'em all because Bronson mattered.

A Reminder of Hell: The Omega Man (1971)

Based upon the classic Richard Matheson novel, I Am Legend (which was earlier adapted to film in 1964 as The Last Man on Earth starring Vincent Price), The Omega Man is a ridiculous yet thoroughly entertaining science-fiction action film that bears little resemblance to the book. Regardless, the film makes for great late-night viewing.

A war between China and Russia has erupted and biological weapons have been unleashed upon the world. Madness, plague and ultimately death now hold dominion over us all. Charlton Heston plays Robert Neville, the last man on earth, or so he thinks. By day our intrepid hero stalks the deserted streets of Los Angeles hunting for any members of a ragged-assed band of infected albinos known as The Family. He also likes to catch a matinee of his favorite film, Woodstock (1970). By night, Neville retreats to his high-rise compound (which is fortified with enough guns and ammunition to start a small war) to wait out the end of the world, while Mathias (Anthony Zerbe) and his gang of black-robed albino Luddites try to take him down. To Mathias, Neville represents all that is infernal about Western Culture, and the quicker that he’s destroyed the better for all mankind. The days and night flow into one another with brutal regularity, but it’s a routine that keeps Neville sane. But one day, something changes. He spots a young black woman during one of his daylight patrols and pleads for her to talk to him when she runs off. He loses her, but now he knows that he’s not alone. Eventually, Neville learns that the black woman, named Lisa (Rosalind Cash), lives in the hills high above the city with a group of children and a zonked-out hippie med-student, played by the terrific Paul Koslo. And when Lisa informs Neville that her younger brother Richie (Eric Lanueville) is infected and will soon die if they don’t treat him, Neville reveals that he’s just the man to save the world.

I make no excuses for loving this film, despite some of the more ridiculous elements in it, e.g. like where do all of the zombie albinos get their mirrored-sunglasses and finely tailored shiny black robes? And if Charlton Heston truly is the last man on earth (as I’m sure he felt like circa 1971 when this film was released), why can other automobiles be seen in the distant during some of the daylight scenes? Nevertheless, The Omega Man has some great moments in it, especially during the first 45 minutes or so. Heston, who is thoroughly committed in the role, displays a fine sense of humor and melancholy throughout. Some of the best scenes are when he’s alone his ritzy pad, chock full of gadgets and accoutrements from a world that no longer exists, wandering through the rooms talking to himself or playing chess with himself. Occasionally, the illusion of sanity and normalcy snaps, leaving Neville with the cold stark horror of his isolation. It’s brilliant stuff indeed, especially when you consider how loopy and dated (many of the albinos speak with funky street slang) the rest of the film is. But it’s still great fun and one of my favorite B-movies from the era.

The Omega Man is now available on DVD from Warner Home Video. It contains a short video introduction with stars Eric Laneuville, Paul Koslo and co-screenwriter Joyce H. Corrington. A vintage promo film called, The Last Man Alive –- The Omega Man, is also included and contains some very bizarre footage of Heston speaking with anthropologist Ashley Montagu while on the set.

The Devils of Altamont: Gimme Shelter (1970)

The walls were soft on December 6th, 1969. The Rolling Stones, near the end of a triumphant tour of the States, trundled into California to perform at the Altamont Speedway for a free concert. 300,000 people attended the show and four of them never made it out alive. The most notorious of the deaths was that of Meredith Hunter, a young, gun-brandishing black man who was killed by members of the Hell’s Angels motorcycle club in “self-defense” while the Stones performed “Under My Thumb” just a few feet away. The Angels stabbed Meredith in the back like a sacrificial lamb, an offering to the gods of chaos and misrule. Rolling Stones biographer Stanley Booth, in his liner notes to the DVD, explains that the mood immediately changed after the killing. All of the madness and violence leading up to the death had finally reared its ugly head as far as it would go. “We didn’t know whether Hunter had been killed, wounded, or what, but the mood seemed to change,” Booth said. “It was as if the atmosphere had been purged.” The walls were indeed soft that cool winter’s day, proving yet again that when the Devil rocks, he rocks hard.

There’s no doubt that Gimme Shelter is one of the greatest concert films ever. From the opening moments wherein we see the band playing brilliantly at Madison Square Garden to the last frozen shot of Mick Jagger’s unreadable face after he’s viewed the footage of Hunter’s death in the editing room, the filmmakers (David & Albert Maysles with their longtime collaborator Charlotte Zwerin) give us telling snapshots of life backstage, in the studio, and out on the stage where it all matters. Good enough, but we’ve seen it a million times before. No, what makes the film truly unforgettable, are the moments when the camera quietly observes Mick and drummer Charlie Watts while they watch the Altamont footage. Watts, who can’t hide his boyish excitement as the Harley riding Angels storm through the crowd of shell-shocked hippies, also looks visibly dismayed as the day gets more and more out of control. Mick, on the other hand, looks vacant and self-conscious, as if he just wants this bummer trip to end so that he can get back to rockin’ his way into oblivion. For a band that always epitomized the grandiose Dionysian aspects of the outlaw rocker lifestyle, and who frequently courted the Devil’s favor in many of their songs, the seeming ignorance of their own diabolic power is unfortunate to say the least.

Gimme Shelter is available on DVD as part of The Criterion Collection. The disc includes audio commentary from Albert Maysles, Charlotte Zwerin, and collaborator Stanley Goldstein. There are some great outtakes and never-before-seen performance clips from the Madison Square Garden show, including some great backstage footage of Mick, Tina and Ike Turner, and lots more. So what are you waiting for? Give the Devil his due!

The Neon Rain, Heaven’s Prisoners and Black Cherry Blues by James Lee Burke

James Lee Burke is the crawlin’ kingsnake of Southern crime fiction. His novels are taut, violent flashes of suffering and redemption. Great stuff if you can take the pain. These are the first three novels in the long-running Dave Robicheaux series. Burke is a heavy-hitter, a novelist who beautifully mixes emotion, character, plot, and terrific prose all within a hard-boiled framework. Basically, he does what a great writer is supposed to do –- blow the reader away with his skills. He has put the zap back into the crime fiction genre. So far I’ve only read the first three in the series, but I can’t wait to work through the rest of them. Which says a lot, I think, since the series is now up to book twelve. That’s a lot of suffering and agony for a reader to endure. But these books are worth it due to Burke’s strong yet lush prose and memorable characters. Unfortunately, Burke’s female characters (mainly Annie from the first two books) leave a lot to be desired. Burke has a tendency to cast them as either mother figures or victims, although perhaps that’s just dirty ol’ Robicheaux’s perceptions. It’s hard to tell. Nevertheless, these first three novels make for excellent reading, especially if your sensibilities lean toward the dark.

Beware that the below mini-reviews contain major spoilers!

The Neon Rain introduces us to the character of Detective Dave Robicheaux, a recovering alcoholic Vietnam-vet who isn’t afraid to stir up the shit on his New Orleans beat. Hailing from the Cajun backwoods of New Iberia, Robicheaux is one bad ass dude with plenty of skeletons in his closet. After the discovery of a black prostitute’s body in his old parish, Robicheaux becomes obsessed with finding out who murdered her. Unfortunately, no one cares enough to help him on his crusade, including his own partner Cletus, who is a certifiable loose canon. But Robicheaux won’t let the case die, and soon the entire city becomes a killing ground for a cop who is going off the deep end. Although arguably the weakest of the three, The Neon Rain makes for an exciting first book in the series. It’s strong stuff, especially when Robicheaux falls off the wagon and almost ends up destroying everyone and everything around him. But the book’s strong sense of story and character make it impossible to put down.

Even better is Heaven’s Prisoners. Robicheaux is now married, retired from the police force, and living back in New Iberia. But when Robicheaux and his wife witness a plane crash in the bayou and save a young El Salvadorian girl from the wreckage, Robicheaux is drawn back into a sinister plot of murder, gun running and politics. And then there’s the crime kingpin Bubba Rocque. Bubba and Robicheaux have known each since childhood and have always had a confrontational relationship to say the least. But when Robicheaux suspects that his old friend is behind the brutal slaying of his wife Annie, their relationship enters a whole new level of conflict. Heaven’s Prisoners contains some brilliant and horrifying moments, and it also has some of the best villains that I’ve encountered in a long time. Fantastic stuff.

But for all of the previous novel’s excellence, Black Cherry Blues reaches a whole new level of greatness. After a chance meeting with his old college roommate, a down-and-out rhythm and blues guitarist named Dixie Lee Pugh, Robicheaux is accosted by an ambitious DEA agent who wants to nail the infamous Sal the Duck, a.k.a. Sally Dio, a major mob player operating out of Montana. The feds want Dio’s ass and the only way they can nab him seems to be through Robicheaux’s connection with Dixie Lee. Of course, this being a James Lee Burke novel, things do not come together that easily. Dave’s daughter’s life is threatened, Robicheaux is accused of murder, and Sally Dio and his gang of criminal scumbags wish they’d never even heard of big bad Dave when he arrives in Montana to stir up some serious shit. Throw in the return of Robicheaux’s ex-partner Cletus into the mix, and what you end up with is one wild read that is bold, violent and ultimately unforgettable. I was a little worried, at first, about taking Robicheaux out of the bayou. But the change of atmosphere works beautifully and my fears were quickly quashed. At this point in the series Burke really needed to open things up a bit and try something new for fear of repeating himself. He succeeded in spades.