Felt Feelings

It's dangerously maudlin, I tell you, this increasingly predictable pattern, to which I've succumbed, of publishing only when Death Carries a Cane and smacks me upside the head with it while screaming "You wanted an angle on this subject to get web hits, now you've got it!"  I'm aware that a growing number of my dwindling readership must think I'm grooming myself to be a professional funereal orator, a Designated Mourner. But in fairness, this has been a harsher-than-normal summer in terms of losing people who have made an impact on me, be they on a directly personal or artistically emotional level. And, sadly, the hits just keep on coming.

First discovered on Facebook, and then confirmed by a touching commentary at the Tough Pigs fansite, I have learned the sad news that longtime Muppeteer Jerry Nelson died this past Thursday evening.  Nelson was not one of the highest-profile members of the collective like Frank Oz or Kevin Clash, and aside from the immortal Count von Count, not responsible for many high-profile characters. But he was definitely versatile, doing one-shot sketch voices, appropriately deadpan narrations, and multiple musical styles and compositions.  He was logging time on practically every Henson and Sesame Workshop project until he took retirement, and even then stepping back in on occasion when he felt able. I would obviously respect him for all of that, any Muppet fan would.  But I especially must offer my doffed cap and the unruly mane underneath for giving life to my favorite character in the entire body of Henson's creations.

When a discarded green coat got cut up to create a puppet of ambiguous genus many decades ago, there could not have been any inkling that it would be the prototype of what is now an worldwide institution of sharp but gentle family entertainment. And somehow Jim Henson and everyone he gathered to work for him understood that important balance of taking a creature with an unnerving exterior appearance or behavior, and taming them just enough to make them relatable and lovable. I always found it astute that he chose to populate the Sesame Street neighborhood with monsters, seeing as how this groundbreaking educational program was coming to television just as a generation of children were getting a large (for its time) dosage of monster imagery...Disney witches, AIP horror films, and Japanese rubber-suited kaiju epics in theatres...TV airings of the classic Universal rogues gallery of Dracula, Frankenstein, and the Wolf Man...controversial E.C. comic books and the legendary "Famous Monsters of Filmland" magazine at the newsstand...even the radio offered tales of psychiatric breaks and big bad wolves, and what of the inherent spookiness of the pale skin, dark glasses, and quavering voice of Roy Orbison, or Johnny Cash dressed in black as he told of murder for the sake of observation?  Henson understood the intersection of fear and fascination all these elements were inspiring in children, and embraced them by upending the scarier aspects in place of calming whimsy without completing defanging what made them so compelling.  That formula didn't always work - a number-teaching segment involving creatures on a city-wrecking rampage was scrapped when kids identified with the civilians being menaced, and the alluring animator (and sometime Poubelle Twin) Vera Duffy deftly points out Beaker seems to exist solely to be punished, like some sort of synthetic sin-eater, the Muppet Show equivalent of Chaney's He Who Gets Slapped. But anyone who has imitated the Count's three..THREE WONDERFUL SYLLABLES of laughter ("Ah ah ah!"), or felt compassion at that moment when poor Sweetums is left behind at the used car lot in THE MUPPET MOVIE will vouch that more often than not, nobody doesn't love a Muppet Monster.  And on "SESAME STREET," you had Grover, who had a high voice and a round head, whom kids could relate to because he was like a locquacious baby (remember, SuperGrover's secret weapon was, "And I am cute, too!")...and you had Cookie Monster, who had poor grammar but a healthy appetite, whom kids could relate to because they were new to words but fast friends with sweets...

...and then, you had Herry Monster.  He was blocky-built, almost like Frankenstein's monster, covered with heavy fur, bushy eyebrows, big nose, low gruff voice, and very strong. In short, aside from an occasional fang-toothed extra in a musical number, Herry was easily the most monstrous monster on the block, and probably close to what children at home would perceive that mythical beast under the bed or creature in the closet looked like.  So Herry had the toughest role of any of the monster characters, because unlike Grover and Cookie, he had all the exterior trappings that kids could find frightful - in his first appearances on the show, he does scare others, albeit unintentionally - thus he had the most preconceived notions to overcome. Of course, after being seen bantering with John-John and other kids, performing in Prairie Dawn's little pageants, and showing off his teddy bear Hercules with pride, it didn't take very long for everyone to see his inherent gentleness.

Jerry Nelson will be getting most of his posthumous accolades for the charming, witty Count, but I really feel he should be lauded for his development of Herry as well, because through his vocal delivery and gestures, he was able to make such an outwardly fearsome-looking creature warm and trustworthy. In short, while children gravitated to most of the Sesame Street characters because they looked pleasing and proved it through their personality, Herry won hearts because his sweet personality trumped his intimidating appearance.  His voice suggested an old, grizzled soul, but his curiosity and interplay with humans and Muppets alike showed that he was still very much an excited child in the world, wanting experience.  And I think kids who felt like they weren't as attractive or as confident as the other kids they saw at school or on the playground could understand that and relate to that. Heck, as a big kid today, I know that with my long hair and dark clothes and often glowering demeanor, I can steer away the fools I don't wish to suffer, but I probably scare a lot of other people away that I don't intend to, and that it's by exposing my vulnerabilities that draws folks back in and makes them accept me.  As such, Herry has been my hero for years.  And I always wished I could meet him and tell him how much I learned from him.  Maybe even sing that "M" song with him: since he was a Monster and my name is Marc, and we both love Magnificent Meals, it would have been an appropriate duet:


I haven't had a delicious letter M for far too long.
The new generations who have grown up on Elmo and his friends are likely not as familiar with Herry, since because of his longstanding health issues Nelson essentially retired the character in 2004; he's shown up in older clips and appeared in a nonspeaking capacity in recent years, but not much else. With Nelson's passing today, we are left to wonder if he will return.  The Count already has a new hand and voice keeping him alive, Nelson recognized that he was too strong of a character to leave dormant, but I wonder whether anyone else will have the right touch to reinvigorate my favorite Third Monster Through the Door.

For now, sleep well, Herry. Give little Hercules a big hug for me.

"That's why it's not ass-kissin'."

"Ya no good!"

Sage Moonblood Stallone was born in May 1976, six months before his father, a struggling actor named Sylvester Stallone, became a worldwide sensation with the release of ROCKY (1976), an underdog drama he wrote and campaigned fiercely to star in, and which went on to win the Academy Award for Best Picture. Before his first birthday, young Sage had become Hollywood royalty.Spending much of his childhood on the sets of his father's films, Sage developed a great respect for the often unheralded supporting actors who provided memorable performances in often thankless parts. He also became fond of low-budget films, especially those originating from his family's native Italy, that often equalled or exceeded the entertainment value of the big ticket films to which he was normally exposed.Reaching adulthood, Sage decided to put his love of overlooked films into practical action. With partner Bob Murawski, Sage founded Grindhouse Releasing, a company devoted to the preservation of exploitation films. With a determination that has rivaled most studios, he has restored and saved dozens of titles from oblivion. Backed by Quentin Tarantino, Grindhouse successfully reissued Lucio Fulci's thriller THE BEYOND to theatres in 1998.Now, Sage has focused his energy on drawing attention to the people he has so long admired. His directorial debut, VIC, dramatizes the cause and the pride of so many actors of the past, with the talent to give one more great performance and the aching hunger for the opportunity to deliver that performance, in an industry that seems to have no time for them.VIC assembles a virtual dream cast of familiar faces at the peak of their ability, all under the wise and loving eye of a director who has not forgotten their greatness, and is eager to bring out their best again. With this film, Sage Stallone emerges as a skilled and promising artist who, similar to his father's triumph of 30 years ago, has found a new way to champion the otherwise unsung hero.

That was a biography I wrote in 2006 for a private DVD pressing of Sage Stallone's half-hour dramatic film, VIC. And if you can somehow manage to tune out all the tabloid noise and garbage-picking that is passing for reportage on his death, that is how I am hoping you will remember him.

szulkin hit me with your e mail tonight and mentioned a show.
what is this show? tell me more right away.
also, we got a whole shipment of prints.......so let's start screening!!!!
sage.

I always felt very lucky and privileged to have Sage's friendship, and I talked about it proudly when it was appropriate, not because I was bragging over some tangential connection to somebody famous, but because he was doing the kinds of things that I wanted to do in this business. There are a lot of people at the bottom of the entertainment industry who talk about the way things ought to be but can do nothing to make them happen, and there are a lot of people at the top who pretty much do nothing because they don't have to make anything happen. Sage was neither of those people. He was well aware of his position of privilege, and he used it to do what I couldn't: save and release movies, put people to work, change the game. And when I was on a long long phone call that would go until sunrise, and he'd be talking on a tangent so much that I could put down the receiver, make a sandwich, come back, and he'd STILL not finished his point, I chalked it up to that he just had more passion than me...and that was a good thing.

Sage is being lain to rest tomorrow. We hadn't spoken for a couple years and nobody else in his family knew me, so I wasn't invited to his funeral, but I don't mind. I have the sad suspicion that with the circumstance of his passing, and all the outside elements that have attached themselves to this tragic period, it's going to be a very stressful event anyhow, and I don't want that kind of association with his memory. My kind of eulogy would perhaps not be appropriate for a church service as well; Sage was a mischievious sort, and that's how I would have to pay tribute to him. So, I'll do so here.

First off, if there's a theme that comes to mind when I think of Sage, it's that he loved playing the heel. His first acting work was "betraying" his grandmother Jackie when she was starring on the infamous "GORGEOUS LADIES OF WRESTLING" TV series in the '80's, aligning himself with the Bad Girl contingent. When he became grossly dissatisfied with the end result of a LAST HOUSE ON THE LEFT ripoff film called CHAOS which he had acted in, he fulfilled his contractual obligations to appear at screenings, but openly castigated the film and its director at those shows; audiences, for the most part, agreed with him. While sorting through some odd reels and trailers over a long night, he insisted on screening something for me without telling me what I would see, and all I have to say about that footage is what Carla Gugino screamed in SIN CITY: HE MADE ME WAAAAAAAATCHHHH! He was the kind of guy who would bust your balls, to say outlandish things, not because he wanted to start trouble, but because he felt like what he was saying was so ridiculous that of course it couldn't be true so everyone would get that it was a joke. It stands to reason that he grew up hearing all manner of ridiculous putdowns about himself and his family from people who knew little to nothing of his life, and by recognizing the patent implausibility of those rumors, or playing to those stereotypes by mock-acting as the bad guy, maybe it kept the hurt at bay. But it was always an act. Once the dozen-playing was out of the way, he was a polite, loyal, and loquacious man, and if he found out you were a mutual fan of something, you could end up conversing with him for hours.

What's going on man? Sorry i haven't called lately, i've been busy with the completion of my own film and doing publicity for the most "no good" film i have ever appeared in titled "Chaos"...Lame, Lame, L-A-M-E!!!  Anyways, hope things are going alright for you, and that nobody's screwin' you over, because most people are "no good!"...and you know it!  

I also think of Sage's tireless archival instincts. When he was working on a project for his Grindhouse Releasing label, he did not settle for "good enough." Heck, even when he used the classic "Astro Dater" motif as the logo for Grindhouse, he researched the records of National Screen Service to find the kind of ground glass and gels used to make those swirly images to recreate them properly. And when he bought a movie and prepared it for DVD, it may have taken so long as to frustrate eager fans of the film, but he made sure every attempt to cover any interesting aspect of that movie was done, so that what emerged would be the most comprehensive release of that movie ever, that there would never have to be another one done. While you may blanch at the subject matter, his 2-disc release of CANNIBAL HOLOCAUST is one of the greatest DVDs made - special features covering the filmmaker, the checkered history, the hunt for cast members willing to talk, the art, the script - you could skip watching the movie and still get your money's worth from it just from devouring the extras. He was still sitting on many long-promised titles like Umberto Lenzi's ROME ARMED TO THE TEETH, Peter Traynor's DEATH GAME, and the Duke Mitchell films MASSACRE MAFIA STYLE and GONE WITH THE POPE when he passed, albeit having already prepared many materials for whenever he felt the time was right to put them out to home video buyers; we're left to wonder if they will ever come out now.

Sir....A tightly rolled piece of plastic stating (Please return to  M.E. Heuck) has been found. I trust you're a wonderful pervert like  myself, so i've painfully decided to return it...a gift for you, from a schmuck they call "Mr. Price".

There was a running gag that I first witnessed during a long strange phone call Sage conducted with Vincent Gallo at my workplace: every few minutes during their conversation, he felt the need to find some way to say to him, "YA NO GOOD!" This eventually became a running gag between ourselves as well: for years after that, this was our mutual catchphrase. Emails would arrive, under a colorful array of aliases, or phone messages would be left for me, all of them proclaiming the same thing: "YA NO GOOD!"  It was never more wonderful to hear that phrase than from him.  When I had chance to meet Gallo at the L.A. opening of THE BROWN BUNNY, I told him that someone had called the location earlier leaving a message for him, saying he was no good; Gallo's face lit up like a kid at Christmas, excited at the prospect that he was coming, though he ultimately did not appear at the function. I ultimately learned of the origin later on.  For some reason, Sage was particularly fond of the climax of an episode of "KOJAK," where his father appeared as a rogue police officer, and the line was the punchy button to the big reveal (at 3:51):


Once, during the heyday of MySpace, and the waning days of my dubious celebrity, a spelling-challenged male fan sent me the equivalent of a drunken pickup line, typing, "OMG U R SO HOTTT, U LOOK LIKE SLY STALLONE!!" Naturally, since every straight man in a comedy sketch should get one laugh over the wise guy, I forwarded him the message. His reply: "NO! TELL HIM IT'S A WIG! TELL HIM YOU'RE BALD, BALD, LIKE YUL BRYNNER IN THE ULTIMATE WARRIOR! YEAH, WHATEVER...TALK TO YOU LATER, DAD!"

Speaking of his father, we didn't really speak about him. Sage was the guy doing stuff that interested me, not him, so that's what we discussed.  And all tabloid coverage of his life aside, being a child of a messy divorce myself, I understood that it was likely a topic best left for him to bring up if he was in the mood. And when he did choose to talk about it, Sage always spoke of his father with a mix of annoyance and pride. He admitted their relationship wasn't great, that they didn't see eye to eye on a lot of things, and in keeping with his impish nature, he liked to needle him: he told of how he'd given him a DVD of underground director Damon Packard's infamous nightmare film REFLECTIONS OF EVIL, and that each time he'd visit their house, he'd find where he'd buried the DVD, and move it to a more prominent position on his viewing stack. He played me tracks from his dad's abandoned record album, offering his commentary on the folly of the project. And when ROCKY BALBOA mined a lot of the same "one last shot" drama that had been present in his own film VIC, right down to using the same UMBERTO D.-style device of a beloved dog, he didn't quite agree when I said it was homage. Yet for all the heckling, he also lauded his father's work, the early personal films he made before he became pigeonholed in cartoonish blockbusters, and railed against modern producers whom he felt took advantage of him and devalued his stardom. Overall, I got the impression he was like any other guy with a successful father who wanted to get out from under and make his own name, feeling both agressive and protective toward that legacy.

Don't be upset at me Marc, let's be in contact. You've done good by  me and payback is needed.
I'm gonna start haunting you. Last week I hibernated because of my painful root canals.
Let me know your schedule.  

Regrettably, for the last couple years, we communicated entirely by rumor. All I would ever hear from him would be second hand from mutual friends, and knowing his propensity for tall tales, I could never be sure whether what I was hearing was true or just more extravagant bullshit. I'm always the type to worry that I've done something that will permanently alienate people, so I would constantly wonder if maybe this time he was legitimately angry or tired of me. But then I would remember all the times when, after long stretches of nothing, he came through when I needed him most, and ultimately determined that, well, I would hear from him when I heard from him.

But I'm never going to hear from him again.

And that's no good.

You've always been most honest, helpful, and trustworthy of my few  friends...so it was the least I could do.
All the best -S  

The Importance of Being Ernest

"Sooner or later, there comes a point in a man's life when he's gotta face some facts...And one fact I gotta face is that, whatever it is that women like, I ain't got it. I chased after enough girls in my life. I-I went to enough dances. I got hurt enough. I don't wanna get hurt no more." - 1955


"I masturbate a lot." - 2008


Patton Oswalt once posited that if you reached 100 years old, you should be allowed to commit murder with your bare hands as reward for the milestone.

Ernest Borgnine, had he made it another 5 years, would have been capable of actually doing that. Of course, he was such an affable man that he never would do so, but you would know it was possible all the same. Kind of like when the US and Russia had the SALT talks and understood the concept of Mutually Assured Destruction.

He was the everyman that could embody our loneliness, our laughter, our rage, our strength.

He had some screw-ups in public, then he straightened out his act.

He won an award for playing a lump. A lump that got molded into something beautiful.

Putting on a smile and working hard each day, waiting to see if tomorrow would be a little bit better.

Not always special, but special because he understood it wouldn't always be special.

Borgnine was our lives.

The Duality of Dodge

Another month, another blogathon, another kick in the pantspress for me to create and not just consume. And I'm quite happy to be part of the throng participating in this year's Queer Film Blogathon, an event not so large as to rival your regional White Party, but sizable enough to require two great blogs to host it - the classicly-minded Caroline at Garbo Laughs is now joined by the eclectic Ashley and Andreas at Pussy Goes Grr to collect all these diverse ruminations on identity, celluloid, and the ways of seeing them all.

This post is also respectfully dedicated to my close friend and analytical powerhouse Kadimah Elson, whose heavy intelligence has inspired me, whose viewing recommendation put me in the orbit of my essay subject, and whose willingness to take the occasional 2 a.m. phone call has kept me from closing up shop and moving to Alaska lock, stock, and barrel.



When I've spent enough time in the company of a new acquaintance that some small personal questions are not socially invasive on the whole, but could still seem gauche if their behavior is vague enough that certain answers are not obvious, I've had to find creative ways to make said inquiries. And what's most interesting, and gratifying, is when that person is so on your wavelength that they can see your dance steps and recognize the song, and in turn take you for a spin.

Within my first year of living in Los Angeles, somehow, I found that connection twice. Each time, it was with a female co-worker of multiple ambiguities. And after an appropriate couple days of surface conversation, along with no prying ears of others who might offer unwanted input, I would ask an unusual question: "So, Deion: baseball or football?" Now, neither of these women were sports fans, so I would not expect them to know of Deion Sanders' work in both disciplines. Moreover, the 1995 Pizza Hut commercial where this phrase first emerged had long ceased airing on television or to have any common conversational relevance, and it stands to reason they had never heard the logical-progression joke made popular by my comedian friend Jake Iannarino (whom, strangely enough in terms of timing, just recently had me as a guest on his podcast). But each time, the woman in question needed no metaphor explanation: without hesitation, they replied, "Both." And each time, we became friends pretty fast, although the friendship dissipated just as quickly: I haven't heard from either of them in almost a decade since. (Ms. McGill, Ms. Henry - if you're out there, and in the mood, please give me a shout.)

The kind of fluidity that is not capable nor content to stay confined to one paradigm, be it in competitive play or in gender identity, has been what queer culture has sought to nurture and allow to flourish. And the search for someone with that kind of instant understanding, that way of reading your shorthand without a primer...well, that's something we're all looking for, even if that proper term of namaste has been rendered unbearable by legions of p.c. patchouli princesses and trust-fund asshats who got astral wisdom through a shroom-enhanced home viewing of AVATAR. These two eternal search streams would be united in what is, so far, the sole feature film director credit of a most flexible and compelling artist: Harry Dodge.

My unlikely first visit with the 2001 film BY HOOK OR BY CROOK came about during a rare visit with the aforementioned Ms. Elson to the three-cats-shy-of-a-"HOARDERS"-episode firetrap otherwise known as my home. We were exchanging "I need you to see this" viewings, and while I cannot remember what I was stumping for, I firmly remember her solemnly expressing how much impact she felt after seeing this film, and inspired by that passion, watching it with her on the spot. I freely admit I was not prepared for the unfiltered milleu that writer/director team Dodge and Silas Howard dropped me into, and that I never fully found my bearings once there. My initial assessment made its way to the IMDb, and looking back upon it, even with all my ostensibly generous praise to the filmmakers, I feel I was a little harsh on it. I rated it a 6 out of 10, I think I would bump it up to a 7 now. The bottom line is that I came out cool on the product but very hot on the creators, and over the years, kept thinking about them and wondering when and what they would offer as follow-up. And even in my initial ambivalence to the film itself, I respected it enough that when I was in a going-out-of-business sale at a video store last year, I found a used DVD copy of BY HOOK and bought it, even though I didn't really plan on watching it again, but simply because I wanted it in my collection, as a statement to my belief in their talent, and perhaps to loan out to another friend ready to step out of their familiar zone of comfort films. When the solicitations came for this year's Queer Film Blogathon, I signed up before knowing what I would write about, and after mulling other possibilities, realized this was a good time to revisit this film.

The story elements of BY HOOK may seem familiar: small town drifter Shy (Howard), with empty pockets, hustles their way to the big city, meets Valentine (Dodge), another fellow down on their luck, and discover for as much as they're trying to assert how well they can navigate the world, they really need each other as friends to survive it. The prime detail that makes this all fresh is that both creators, and the protagonists they play, are transgender, so natural in their identity it's not a plot point at all, and practically not even an issue as they go about life, though at times the topic comes up among themselves and outside observers do notice - in one nice low-key moment, some kids notice Shy on a stoop and ask "Are you a boy or a girl?" and he calmly replies "Both." (I'm pretty sure Howard wasn't a Deion Sanders fan either) As such, nothing that takes place in the movie can be marginalized as some sort of specific or exclusive gay/lesbian experience - we're seeing a male-bonding arc like we would see in any number of conventional buddy films - yet we are in a place and among people we don't often get to meet in life or at the movies. Instead of trying to explain themselves and make us relate to them, we join Shy and Val already in progress, and naturally relate to them anyhow. As blogger Jesse Ataide wrote in his review, "[It is] just about the only film I can think of that allows the main characters not only occupy an ambiguous space in regards to both gender and sexuality, but also has a narrative that shows no interest in forcing or demanding distinctions be made...not only is it an alternative view of [San Francisco] but practically an alternative universe in and of itself..."

The other detail that makes this movie stick to the ribs like the rich dinner ostensibly promised by intentionally punnishly-named producer Steak House (and their Steakhaus Productions company) is Harry Dodge's performance as Valentine.  Lest I disrespect the other parties, I must stress that BY HOOK OR BY CROOK is a team effort, not just involving the longtime friends and collaborators Dodge & Howard, but also substantial contribution from co-star (and Dodge's then-partner) Stanya Kahn as Billie, Val's supportive girlfriend. Together in their performances and improvised dialogue, they make the foundation that keeps the viewer interested in their story when it otherwise starts to drag. But while Howard is conventionally handsome as Shy, in his good suit and father's oversized shoes, and Kahn is adorable with her frazzled sense of fashion, as soon as we meet Val, he owns the movie. Vulnerable, prone to poetic ramblings and colorful slang, yearning for a parent never known, and playing much more of a tweener role with his gender than Shy, with Billie he has a girlfriend who loves him, but Shy is that kindred soul who gets him. And as Shy learns to put aside his thoughts of petty crime to help out Val, we get over the initial oddity of Val's demeanor and become fond and protective of his damaged soul.

Quoted as neither identifying as “either male or female particularly,” in the manner of pansexual provocateur Genesis Breyer P-Orridge (albeit without the surgical enhancements), for me Harry Dodge embodies that unclassifiability whom all those who have fought this culture war on the side of the square pegs and $3 bills had in mind. His scraggly twin strands of beard so small and fragile they remind one of a child playing dress-up with no regard to gender appropriateness, he seems always ready for play and exploration and unbothered by tired protocols. This isn't one of those, say, "if Mickey Rourke in THE POPE OF GREENWICH VILLAGE and Ally Sheedy in THE BREAKFAST CLUB had a baby" situations; those two got into Calvin's transmogrifier and got smushed into one person. His spirit embodies the first strand of my fifth paragraph, and BY HOOK OR BY CROOK nicely embodies the second strand of that preamble. I don't quite know if it's grammatically correct to use the term man-crush in this situation, but I think he's just dreamy.

The filmmakers and many critics have cited John Schlesinger's MIDNIGHT COWBOY as an influence on this film, and it's a sensible comparison: Val's observation "That is a colossal shirt" is directly stolen from that earlier film. But for me, the unacknowledged and closest spiritual cousin is Jerry Schatzberg's 1973 drama SCARECROW starring Gene Hackman and Al Pacino as wanderers brought together by fate, meandering around the highways. In fact they are so close as if HOOK were a free remake of the former. Hackman's Max is the tough, hardscrabble loner who is out to make and hold onto money to feed an illusion of security and success, just as Shy contemplates petty thefts to assuage his resentment over being poor. And Pacino's flamboyant Lion uses humor and pretty metaphors to insulate himself against large heartbreak as Val does. Both films involve one character creating a loud diversion in a store so that the other can pilfer goods. And the endings also present almost matching situations where a moral crossroads is reached. There is no evidence Howard or Dodge saw SCARECROW when they were picking bits of inspiration. But these two movies would make an excellent double feature someday.

Silas Howard has apparently moved forward to the greater commercial success that I had predicted. Already popular before HOOK from performing in the subversive punk band Tribe 8, Howard now has his own production outfit Standard Quality, has multiple music videos and commercials on his resume, co-directed (with Ernesto Foranda) the new comedy SUNSET STORIES which stars Jim Parsons of "HOW I MET YOUR MOTHER" and Zosia Mamet of "GIRLS", and is developing a biopic of closeted trans jazz singer Billy Tipton. Heck, when entertainment work gets slow, he'll even paint your house.

Dodge, meanwhile, being the more curious half of the team, has had the more curious post-film path. It's difficult to get a simple, one-stop curriculum vitae on the multihyphenate Dodge - in conducting research for this article, I went through about 13 Google search pages to get a truly rounded portrait. I suspect that this is hardly about maintaining some kind of Pynchonian pose and more about not being famous enough to have a dedicated Wikipedia listing; the artist has been forthcoming in all located interviews and never seems to blanch at personal inquiries.  But I gotta say, when your body of art consists of playfully blurring lines, making a fella work to get the story helps keep them asking questions, so just in case this scattered data is a calculated manoeuvre...well played, Dodge.

I am aware that HOOK would not be seen by enough people of influence to help him break out into more film roles (though beforehand he already worked with John Waters on CECIL B. DEMENTED and later provided narration for Jenni Olson's docudrama THE JOY OF LIFE), but I am legitimately shocked nonetheless that he didn't get cast in more films, with his unique look and voice.  Granted, that may have been by his own choice - until their professional split in 2010, Dodge and Stanya Kahn made a prolific body of avant-garde videos and exhibits, influenced by their love of stand-up and sketch comedy, and challenging the slick and staid nature of the art world (They received particular praise for "Can't Swallow It, Can't Spit it Out", which played many museum installations) - so maybe he just wasn't interested in staying within the confines of traditional filmmaking. Heck, as I type that sentence, it makes perfect sense with all the other aspects I look up to Dodge for. He has also been teaching at CalArts in Valencia for many years, and at last check, continues to do so, so at least he can influence new artists in that fashion. If you're one of his students reading this essay, stop playing Fruit Ninja in his class and pay attention!

In any case, I really do hope that sometime, in some capacity, we will see Dodge make another foray into the movies and put his own special touch on the human condition, where once again, we can see emotions we recognize in a face and space that we might not. By hook or by crook indeed!

For the Love of Film...and Filmmaker Marketing: Hitchcock as Hitching Post

But, I did let it sneak up on me. As you've noticed, things have been slower than Ben Stein reading aloud "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" here at this blog. I even publicly shut the doors a month ago, partly out of humiliation that my output was so sporadic, and partly to parcel time on a more ambitious project. But when Marilyn Ferdinand and Farran Nehmes come calling, a man's gotta put on his typing gloves and do his part for the third year of their world-renowned For the Love of Film blogathon. The project, which this year boasts 100+ participants beyond myself, raises money for the National Film Preservation Foundation, and after the success of last year's focus, film noir and the restoration of the underseen THE SOUND OF FURY, they've raised stakes and gooseflesh by putting the emphasis on a very big Hitch...

 ...Yes, not only are all the blogathon entries going to cover the multitude of ideas that emerge from the legacy of Alfred Hitchcock, but the proceeds will be directed in the service of a heretofore thought-lost and now partially-found silent film, THE WHITE SHADOW, directed by Graham Cutts and written, assistant-directed, and manipulated in multiple manners by the Master of Suspense himself. The goal is to raise $15,000 to digitize the material, record the newly-composed score by Michael Mortilla, and stream this treasure online, free, so that everyone and not just lucky film snots in big cities or swanky circles can see this early beginning work of a legend.

If you drop his name to even the most limited movie viewer, chances are that person will be able to rattle off something that Alfred Hitchcock was known for. Surprise endings, chases in unusual places, blondes, taboo-pushing, black humor, "MacGuffins"...these and more have just permeated the world's consciousness. What fewer people assign trailblazer credit to him for, if ever, is his prescient courting of the public outside of the cinema: Hitchcock is, for my argument, the first Director as Rock Star.

Okay, maybe that's a stretch: at least perhaps Director as Pop Star: if Tarantino is generally perceived as the Elvis Presley, Hitchcock is undoubtedly the Frank Sinatra.

From the dawn of film to the '50's, there were plenty of acclaimed directors who could attract press and make news, but one is hard-pressed to find one that could be called a genuine household celebrity. The show business people that were getting the most notoriety were, of course, the movie stars, but then after that, the producers of hit movies: Mayer, Selznick, Zanuck, Warner, Goldwyn, etc. They were getting their names above the title much more often than directors were. Sure, there were producers who also directed - Cecil B. DeMille, Joseph L. Mankiewicz, Stanley Kramer - but they would be more likely to draw attention for building the cruise ship rather than physically steering the boat. Directors were important, but a little interchangeable - not as interchangeable as the hapless writer entrusted with delivering that Barton Fink feeling, but when David Selznick had George Cukor replaced with Victor Fleming on GONE WITH THE WIND, even if there had been an internet back then, there would have been no fanboy outrage when that news came out.

Being a celebrity was probably not on Alfred Hitchcock's mind when he was making his reputation in Hollywood, but he likely understood what it meant in terms of negotiation weight when making a film. He began his Stateside career working for Selznick, and it was a very fractious relationship, with Selznick often objecting to and overriding his stylistic choices during the four films he made under his contract. When making films for other studios, he also encountered casting and story dictates that irritated him. But Hitchcock knew his limits then, remarking "[Selznick] was the Big Producer...[and the] Producer was king. The most flattering thing Mr. Selznick ever said about me — and it shows you the amount of control — he said I was the 'only director' he'd 'trust with a film.'" So after first taking on the line producing tasks for his studio projects, he eventually became his own producer, financing movies through studios but often retaining intellectual property rights. So by the '50's, he gained a degree of creative control over his films, but what came next would give him the real leap to legend status.

The turning point came in 1955, when his then-agent Lew Wasserman, whose Music Corporation of America agency was branching into TV production, suggested that he host an anthology series focused on suspense, murder, chicanery, and other aspects of the macabre.

The series, "ALFRED HITCHCOCK PRESENTS," was an instant success that ran for ten years, inspiring networks to outbid each other to get the show every few years, and expanding from 30 minutes to an hour. Here was an acclaimed major motion picture director, already somewhat known to the average citizen for a fine body of films, now in every living room once a week, putting his stamp of approval on tales of shocking twists of fate, while making droll, stone-faced jokes, and even confiding to the audience that he disliked commercial breaks as much at them. Though he only directed a small fraction of the hundreds of episodes aired, just as Rod Serling became the icon for the uncanny and strange with "THE TWILIGHT ZONE," Alfred Hitchcock became the icon for the canny and cruel to a generation of TV viewers.

This is where Hitchcock transcends the mere title of "filmmaker" and becomes a brand name, an instant adjective that tells someone what they can expect. From here came Alfred Hitchcock literary anthologies, an Alfred Hitchcock mystery magazine, a book series for young adults with Hitchcock as mentor to adolescent detectives, "Music to be Murdered By..." It's a meaty coincidence that this activity coincides with the height of Hitchcock's collaborations with graphic artist Saul Bass, the man responsible for literally hundreds of familiar corporate logos, fonts, and advertising treatments, because Bass also understood how to use one single image to convey multiple ideas. It is no wonder that in all those dry introductions to the program scripted for him by James B. Allardice that he was punting the sponsor's pills so much - all that valuable airtime Bristol-Myers was taking to sell their products could have been used by Hitch to sell himself! All joking aside, Hitchcock rather liked the idea of becoming a TV pitchman: in The Alfred Hitchcock Presents Companion by Martin Grams Jr and Patrik Wikström, he suggested, "I'd like to take two asprin and, after swallowing them, stagger off the stage. Or, after brushing my teeth with some toothpaste or other, rinse and spit out a mouthful of teeth. Or show Joan of Arc being burned at the stake and comment, 'Are you smoking more now and enjoying it less?'" Such concepts the irony-free conglomerate probably did not see the humor in. But millions of people at home swallowed his schtick like Carter's Little Liver Pills (not a Bristol-Myers product), and now Hitchcock was easily more recognizable than any other working director of the time, and likely better recognized than many of the actors he treated like cattle.

And like any other high-profile star, ripe for parody:

 "Sardines and milk weren't enough for you, Sylvester: you had to commit murder."

"Alvin Brickrock" (or is he really mad killer Albert Bonehart?) on "THE FLINTSTONES"

And of course, kids babysat by TV would absorb all of this.  While his erstwhile rival William Castle may have had the bigger teenage fanbase for his gimmick-laden spookfests, there were easily more reported incidents of girls on the playground being taunted by boys puffing out their chests and moaning, "Goooood eeeeeeeeeeeeevening..."

This kind of ubiquitous name recognition was good for more than just idle artistic gratification. Now, amidst a climate of growing changes with the way films and filmmakers were getting projects done in Hollywood, this gave Hitchcock muscle.  When he was in a peculiar situation of having his previous Paramount project, VERTIGO, perform poorly, but finding tremendous success making NORTH BY NORTHWEST for another studio, he wanted to turn Robert Bloch's lurid novel PSYCHO into his final film under their contract, but Paramount twice rejected his proposal and claimed there was no room on their lot to film anyhow. He thus put up the entire budget himself, agreed to defer his normal directing fee in exchange for negative rights, and use his TV crew to shoot the film quickly at MCA's just-acquired Universal studio lot; with these terms, Paramount relented. He was taking on multiple significant risks: using his own money, using a crew with little experience in feature production, and making a film with subject matter so squirm-inducing that even in 1984 the MPAA still saw fit to give the movie an R rating. But he had the confidence to go with that gamble, and one can surmise that part of his reasoning was that with a steady base of discerning adults and a rapidly growing base of teenagers raised on his cathode ray catechism, they would all take the plunge into the icy blackness of a man's mind with him.  And history proved him correct.  We won't know if he would have taken the same risk had he not a solid television series and household popularity under his belt - his temperament suggests that he probably would have done the exact same thing - but as fans of Joss Whedon, who filled the theatres for his adaptation of THE AVENGERS after having their formative years filled with episodes of "BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER" would attest, it didn't hurt to have that in his CV.  Hitchcock would not face another need to use his well-earned public goodwill as weight with a studio after the production of PSYCHO; he set up camp at Universal and stayed with the studio until his death, enjoying complete autonomy, and the only thing inhibiting any potential project he wanted to do was usually his own health.

As a new generation grew up into the '70's, whether it was Woody Allen actively cultivating his chatty nebbish on talk shows, or Francis Coppola arousing rumors in the gossip pages because the opening of THE GODFATHER was delayed from its intended Christmas '71 release to spring of '72, or the new style of celebrity journalism creating Steven Spielberg's myth of of the grown-up-wide-eyed-kid with a camera, the director was quickly eclipsing the producer as the Big Man On Cinema. For the first wave of Rock Star Directors like these two, or Martin Scorsese or Robert Altman, they didn't have to do much to sell themselves because in effect, critical opinion and box office returns were doing that job for them.  But while they may have been spoken of in more ordinary households than, say, Vincente Minnelli or John Huston were during their earlier prime, they weren't yet celebrities; your aunt and her friends wouldn't know them if they saw them on TV.  They were the Beatles, but they were still at the Cavern Club and weren't yet ready to fill Shea Stadium, so while they did benefit from the example of Hitchcock, and are certainly in his level of legend today, they are not what I would consider students of his style of active moviegoer courtship.  It is with the dawn of  home entertainment, the internet, and the "Sundance class of '92" movement, where we can really see how his astute creation of a public persona through a TV series and related marketing to draw audience interest to his films created a template that is commonplace today.

The two most apparent students of Hitchcock's strategy that come immediately to my mind are Spike Lee and Quentin Tarantino. These men did not have a reputation or body of work behind them like the directors that preceded them did; they were able to make a huge impression with their first films because they themselves made a huge impression on people. Island Pictures certainly worked hard to market his unusual debut comedy SHE'S GOTTA HAVE IT as they knew best, but it was Lee selling himself as an irascible motormouthed shitstarter, in Nike commercials and other strategic public appearances, that helped make the film a crossover hit and immediately thrust him into bigger-budgeted studio projects. Much as Hitchcock used the momentum of his public ubiquity to push back against an intransigent studio, Lee was also able to will his way into making one of his best and most signficant films, the biopic MALCOLM X, by first rallying his fans to protest the initial plan to hire Norman Jewison, a respected but rather uninspiring director, to make the film, and then through his unconventional long-lead marketing of hats, athletic wear, and other items with the bold simple black-and-grey "X" that would serve as the film's logo.  And as mentioned earlier, for as much as he may like to issue troll-bait comments such as preferring PSYCHO II to the original, the trajectory in which Tarantino created his own public image as an energetic encyclopaedic auteur, through his archival reissue labels Rolling Thunder and Dragon Dynasty, and hundreds of talk show appearances where he'll somehow work Kim Jee-Woon and Kim Kardashian in the same sentence, demonstrates an understanding of Hitchcock's style of brand-building.  Love them or hate them, if you say Spike Lee or Quentin Tarantino to someone who hasn't seen a movie since they created the PG-13 rating, they can give a semi-informed statement about them, or at least who they believe they're like. Their example is what has driven the Millenials to buy videocameras and shoot everything in sight in the hope of getting that standard rich-and-famous contract for a couple decades since.

Alfred Hitchcock did not likely anticipate that a cult of personality would build around directors when he became more famous than his movies.  But I don't believe it would bother him.  Like the murderers he loved to depict, he would understand the reason why: because in every caper, sooner or later, getting away with the plan is less important than making sure everyone knows you pulled it off.  He was just the first and the best at inspiring a lot of people to commit cinematic crimes, and to inspire many more to hand over their loot.

And speaking of loot, here is the part of the program where we kindly ask you to empty your pockets:

Edgarrific!

"[They] are so, kind of, like...their lives are so governed by pop culture and media and stuff that they can only think in those terms. So if somebody's having a...breakup with their girlfriend, they imagine it to have the same crushing kind of...feeling as the ending of The Empire Strikes Back."

When Edgar Wright first said these words, he was referring specifically to characters created by himself and Simon Pegg for the TV series "SPACED." However, over a decade after the debut of that program and three feature films later, he could just as easily be speaking for a generation whose have seen their dreams molded, stolen, and resold to them by media. And because of his ability to comprehend that mode of cognition, to meet and engage with it enthusiastically, and to convey deep and important ideas within that paradigm in such a way that it never feels condescending or pandering, it has made him one of the world's most beloved and influential filmmakers of the new century.

And I don't just say all these things because today is his birthday. Nor do I say them because I have a documented history of waxing Wright's car. After all, he doesn't keep one in America, because in this country, they drive on the wrong side of the road.

There are plenty of young and gregarious directors in the business right now, who, through the use of Twitter and blogs, or through strategic appearances on TV or at festivals, have learned the special skill of 24 hour semi-public engagement with their fans. Where another generation would look upon this as diving head first into a whirlpool in a fishbowl, these creative types welcome the chance to talk in a simple and unfiltered manner, to allow anyone interested to vicariously join them in playing with Orson Welles' great electric train set. But few have made use and benefited so greatly from this environment as Wright has. Wright's personal appearances all over the world, both on behalf of his movies and of other films that have influenced him, have become the stuff of legend, with sell-out crowds finding themselves getting a fun crash course in classic cinema. In 2009, during the long complex shoot for SCOTT PILGRIM VS. THE WORLD, he literally posted one small detail every day to the web, to let followers get a glimpse of the process and a peek backstage, and of course, to constantly whet their appetite to see the finished film that arrived a year later. And I defy you to find another director that eagerly welcomes and champions the reciprocal artistic expressions of people who love his work: Wright has reposted so many budding artists' drawings, parodies, and video tributes at his blog, you could call it the world's largest, most wonderful refrigerator door, and he's a proud parent with plenty of magnets to hang up more.

The best aspect of his graceful give and take is that underneath the witty banter, the signature whiplash editing, and the sly allusions that his films are known for, there are serious life lessons being addressed, responsible adult notions beneath the child's play. It's not just for irony's sake that at a recent BFI tribute, Wright asked to pair SHAUN OF THE DEAD with Mike Leigh's warts-and-all family comedy LIFE IS SWEET. Like Dr. Cosby and his carbohydrate-imbalanced animated hero, you will get music and fun from Edgar, but if you're not careful, you may learn something before it's done. I feel like enough better critics have discussed, say, SHAUN OF THE DEAD's message of having to leave comfortable slacking behind if one wants a future with a mate and a solid home foundation, or of SCOTT PILGRIM's literal pilgrim process of learning personal responsibility in order to roll with the punches of love, so if you haven't contemplated those concepts from seeing those movies, a couple pages of Google will reveal multitudes. But one of the best moral conclusions that I think Wright has ever offered in a movie seems to have gone unnoticed by even bloggers I respect, so I guess as my birthday present, it's my job to give him laud on this matter.

HOT FUZZ is a movie that understands playing cops and robbers is one of the most exciting games we learn in youth, and no matter how many ways parents try to shield the next generation from the glorification of violence, there will be that primal urge to run amok with screams of "BANG! POW! BOOM! YER DEAD!" That even efficient, clean-handed Nick Angel, who has rarely had to fire a weapon in the course of his job-ruiningly effective career, can't resist "a no-holds-barred, adrenaline-fueled thrill ride" of gunplay when he watches action films with the firearm-fetishing Danny Butterman. And as most of the popular action films champion the "loose cannon" cop who must work outside the law, especially when he learns the higher brass is corrupt, there is certainly the expectation that when Angel narrowly escapes the clutches of Sandford's Neighborhood Watch Alliance, he will take the familiar mantle of the one man wrecking crew and mow them all down. But when the climactic take down arrives, while there is a ridiculous amount of gunfire, Angel and Butterman do not shoot to kill, and when all the bullets are gone, they arrest all the conspirators and book them. Moreover, said villains are all suffering painful injuries, from the bullets and other unforeseen weapons (most memorably in the infamous wound suffered by Timothy Dalton's character). The only person that is killed in the finale is the ostensible weapons expert of the town, and that is by his own inadvertent hand, not in vigilante anger by Angel. In this masterstroke, Wright is able to have it both ways: deliver an exciting, guns-a-blazing showdown with a lone righteous hero, but also ever-so-politely demonstrate that 1) getting into a firefight can really bloody hurt; 2) the proper punishment is to put the bad guys in jail rather than killing them off in the name of catharsis; 3) no matter how many dirty cops there are, one can and should use the law to bring about justice and change.

I also rather like how Wright takes a look at longstanding problems of race without preaching. I'm sure many viewers get a touch uncomfortable when Lt. Frank Butterman gets blatantly ugly referring to the "gypsy scum" whom he blames for his wife's death, but for me it was a sharp reminder that so-called peaceful small towns like Sandford often are seen by their older residents as the last safe harbor from "them other people." It also gives extra counterpoint to his son Danny's need to ultimately reject him, since among other things, the movies he loves like BAD BOYS II feature black actors. When Angel gets a look at the hidden trove of comically macabre victims of the N.W.A. he sees that they are often either minorities¹ or represent their influence (the hoodie-wearing teenagers, who no doubt must have frightened Geraldo Rivera when they were first onscreen). And the more blatant joke of having the initials that scared white suburbanites for years being used for a cabal of deadly Caucasian nitpickers is not unwelcome, although Wright may not have been aware that for me in my childhood, the letters N.W.A. more often brought to mind Horsemen and Freebirds than urban gangstas. But lemme tell ya about that later, Gordon Solie...

Among the many reasons he has to celebrate today, Edgar Wright can take stock of the fact that his clever multi-tiered writing and his generous outreach to the people who have embraced him have engendered a goodwill that very few filmmakers enjoy right now. Where one can get lost in a morass of venomous character assassinations when reading about Quentin Tarantino or Kevin Smith or Joss Whedon, the harshest criticism you'll find about Wright, that doesn't come from some fogey crank who already hates millenials, is that he's spending too much time fraternizing with the public and doesn't have a new movie in production.

See that? Even the haters want you to keep making movies!

As a small sidebar, I'm sure many fans know that Edgar's GRINDHOUSE alumnus Eli Roth shares this birthdate. While I've seen CABIN FEVER and enjoyed it, and had pleasant personal interaction with him, and am also impressed with his courtship of the public, I must admit I can't yet write an essay on Roth because I'm just too darned chickenshit to watch the HOSTEL films. And I say that having sat through A SERBIAN FILM without breaking a sweat. But Edgar has opined that people who have not yet seen well-known films should be envied, because they will have the excitement of watching them for the first time. Thus I'm not ashamed, but instead I look forward to the day when I've got Roth's repertoire under my belt and can discuss him in my own particular fashion. Otherwise, I just dig having these cool guys born on the same day. I imagine sultry Barbara Magnolfi, in an alternate-universe version of SUSPIRIA that would take place at film school, strutting into a classroom theatre and purring..."Eeee-li...Ed-garrr...my mother once told me that names that start with the letter "E"...are the names of Excellent Entertainers!"

So Happy Birthday Mr. Wright. Scott Pilgrim may have battled the world, but from the vantage of my theatre seat, you have conquered it.



¹ When I first published this essay a year ago, I had mistakenly identified a gold-painted living statue performer as black; Edgar, while appreciating my sentiment, informed me that the actor and his character were in fact white. While this does somewhat throw a melted Cornetto into my theory, I still find the overall reading valid due to the other story details noted within my paragraph. Nonetheless, I make this public correction in the interest of offering both truth and legend.