Friday's best pop song ever

The Infernal Brains Podcast, Episode 9

A thorough knowledge of lucha libre cinema is what separates the Mexi-cans from the Mexi-can'ts. Of course, Tars Tarkas and I are neither of those, but we still try to do our best in this discussion of The Mummies of Guanajuato, a classic of the genre that features all three of its biggest stars: Santo, Blue Demon and Mil Mascaras. As usual, you can download the podcast here, or stream it below while looking at pretty pitchers.

Mysterious Island, aka Tainstvenny Ostrov (USSR, 1941)

Jules Verne’s Mysterious Island has been adapted for the screen many times, but seldom, it seems, with much faithfulness. This may in part be due to the makers of those adaptations wanting to insert into them the science fiction elements that are largely missing from Verne’s original. Verne is, after all, inseparable from his reputation as a science fiction author, yet those who tackle this particular example of his work might be surprised by the extent to which it plays as a straightforward adventure. In response to that, the 1961 film version of Mysterious Island famously sought to spice things up with the addition of some Ray Harryhausen begotten giant animals, while the semi-silent 1929 version included a mysterious underwater race and the 1951 Columbia serial added invaders from Mercury.

Thus it could just be that the 1941 Russian film version, Tainstvenny Ostrov, might be the most faithful adaptation of Mysterious Island out there. Though to just what extent it is I personally can’t say for sure, because, as is so often the case, my copy lacks the subtitles that would enable me to determine whether the characters in the film are spouting dialogue in keeping with Verne’s own or simply parroting Stalinist bromides about collective farming. Still, the evidence of the eye is that Tainstvenny Ostrov follows the events of its source material with a surprising level of scrupulousness.

In keeping with that, the film begins as does the book: In Virginia circa 1865. As the Battle of Richmond rages around them, a group of men lead by the northern officer Smith (Alexei Krasnopolsky) make their escape from a military prison in a hot air balloon. Carried away by a storm, they crash land on the titular land mass, which they later dub Lincoln Island. As time goes on, they master the island’s environment, constructing a palatial shelter inside a cliff face, forging tools, creating an irrigation system, and building a compound complete with windmills, farmland and a working elevator.

Throughout this, the group -- which also includes the freed slave Neb (R. Ross), the sailor Pencroft (though it sounds like they’ve changed his name here to “Petrov”), the young boy Herbert (Yuri Grammatikati) and a dog, to name a few -- face a catalog of what could be considered pretty boilerplate island perils: Their camp is invaded by wild apes; another castaway (I. Koslov), who has been reduced to a caveman-like state of savagery, makes the scene; and they are forced to fend off an attack by marauding pirates. All the while they find themselves repeatedly aided by the efforts of a mysterious, unseen benefactor.

As we saw with the recently reviewed Kosmicheskiy Reys, the Soviet film industry had, as recently as the mid 1930s, yet to completely kick off the trappings to the silent era. And, despite its spoken dialog, Tainstvenny Ostrov still shows some signs of the same -- largely due to the frequent use of under-cranked camera work and the heavy reliance on written title cards to move the narrative forward. Aside from this, though, the film is well executed and obviously generously funded. The opening battle scene is far more spectacular than the narrative demands and, once we’re on the island, good use is made of the dramatic natural locations, as well as some impressive matte and miniature work. Co-directors B.M. Chelintsev and Eduard Pentslin also keep the pacing such that, despite the many scenes of the castaways discussing plans by the campfire –- and, in my case, the total inability to understand what they were saying -- the feeling of a driving forward momentum is never lost.

As most of you know, Verne’s Mysterious Island is a sequel whose identification as such renders moot the very mystery around which it’s centered. Because of that, any of us familiar with the tale will be watching Tainstvenny Ostrov in eager anticipation of the moment when the castaways will finally discover the hidden port of the submarine Nautilus and, within it, the ailing Captain Nemo, here played by Nikolai Komissarov. In the event, the effects and sets used to realize the steampunk-before-there-was-steampunk super vessel are given spare screen time, but are beguiling enough for me to hope that the same crew might have also brought their own version of Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea to the screen. The imposing Komissarov is also with us all too briefly, but must understandably be rushed from the stage in order to make way for the film’s catastrophic, volcano-blasting finale.

Given the limitations I had to deal with while watching it, I'd be loathe to describe Tainstvenny Ostrov as in any way a work of propaganda, though it's not hard to see what aspects of its story might have warmed the hearts of Soviet censors. Its castaways leave behind a United States torn apart by war and racial prejudice (in the course of their escape, Smith must free Neb from a bloodthirsty lynch mob) and end up building a society of their own from scratch, in the course exhibiting much of the same industriousness and utopian idealism celebrated in so many works of Soviet propaganda proper. And indeed there are some rousing, patriotic-sounding songs that blare on the soundtrack during these particular scenes. But, in truth, my guess is that the reason those involved here chose to adapt Verne’s novel is the same one that has driven so many others to bring it to the screen over the years; it’s simply a ripping good adventure yarn. And that fact is something to which Tainstvenny Ostrov provides clear testament, with or without translation.

Mystery Thai Theater Part 1

The good news is that a pal of mine returned from his trip to Thailand with an armload of VCDs for me. The bad news is that, thanks to the fact that all of the writing on these VCDs is in Thai –- and that the discs themselves are not subtitled -- I have only been able to identify a very few of them. As for the remainder, I’ve decided to go ahead and review them as best I can, under made-up titles that I nonetheless feel reflect 100% journalistic accuracy as far as the actual contents of the films. If anyone, upon reading these descriptions, feels that they can provide any more information on the titles in question, please get in touch.

Punched by a Girl (Thailand, 198?)

This one was a bait-and-switch of the lowest order. The illustration on both the sleeve and the disc itself depicts two women in colorful masks and black cat-suits brandishing pistols, which lead me to believe that it would be a cheesy but potentially fun costumed hero caper. In reality what it is is an utterly generic action film starring Jarunee Suksawat, who made a good many such films back in the day. And because it’s a Thai film made in the 80s, whatever god Sorapong Chatree offended decrees that he also must be in it, and that he must do so swathed from head to toe in acid washed denim.

As far as the plot, I can’t tell you much other than that it begins with Jarunee and her (I think) sister’s (I think) mom being killed by a bunch of thugs, which leads to the (I think) sisters seeking vengeance upon the thugs with the help of the (I think) policeman played by Chatree. To the film’s credit, it jumps right into the action from the get go. Unfortunately, that action consists entirely of tepidly staged fights, shootouts and foot chases set in nondescript clearings. By the end of the film we’ve never seen the masks depicted on the sleeve -- nor have we seen the also depicted giant diamond, or the pick-up truck leaping through a massive explosion while itself also exploding. It’s almost like the makers of this VCD wanted my friend to buy it despite its subpar contents. I suspect some kind of profit motive was involved.

Love Me, Love My Guitar (Thailand, 199?)

A boy and a girl are in love. They talk on the phone, walk through parks very slowly, and rendezvous at gazebos. A guitar is present for much of this, though it is never played. Meanwhile, a goofy kid with an awesome MC Hammer wardrobe returns home to his parents after an apparent long absence. His mom is played by an obvious tranny. (Oh Thailand!) All of this is accompanied by instrumental versions of a scrotum-shriveling assortment of 70s and 80s light rock hits: “Nights in White Satin”, “A Woman in Love”, “All By Myself”, “I Know I’ll Never Love This Way Again”, Supertramp’s “The Logical Song” and -- oh, what the hell, why not throw in “The Theme from Shaft” while we’re at it.

(Sigh.) High-waisted jeans are worn. A bottle of Black Label is consumed. Sad things, happy things, and even putatively hilarious things happen; life’s rich pageant. Example: a girl is crippled in a car accident -- and the boy is responsible! She becomes bitter and spends the rest of the movie crying. That is (spoiler!), until she suddenly finds herself able to walk again for some reason. I think it has something to do with the power of love.

Despite the fact that the lack of subtitles made it utterly impossible for me to understand what was going on, there is nothing you could say to convince me that this is not a horrible movie. I don’t blame my friend, though, because the VCD sleeve has a picture of a guy rocking out on a guitar while a stock car flies over his head. Fuck you, Thailand.

King Mustache (Thailand, 197?)

The sleeve for this disc sports an illustration of a guy with a truly magnificent mustache. However, once we pop the disc into our player what we see is Sorapong Chatree crawling through a field, trying not to awaken a pair of sleeping gunmen and ultimately doing a face plant in a big pile of animal dung. Dammit, this is that fucking Sompote Sands movie about the water buffalo. There is no way I’m watching that again.

Violence Man (Thailand, 197?)

In this one Sorapong Chatree comes home to the humble shack inhabited by his parents only to find that they have been murdered by a gang of vicious thugs who were apparently seeking information about some kind of hidden treasure or something. And, OMG, you’ll never guess what happens: Sorapong and his fringed jacket set out to bring the thugs to justice with the power of violence. Ears are lopped off, faces enthusiastically spin-kicked, eyes gouged and… well, let’s just say that, this being a Thai action film, no hut is safe from the ravages of fire and various combustibles.

Sorapong finds an ally in his violencing in the form of fellow Thai superstar Sombat Methanee, who has had problems of his own with the thugs. Sadly, those thugs eventually catch up to Sombat, killing his wife and forcing him and his small son to go on the run. At this point the movie develops something resembling an actual plot and thus becomes hopelessly incomprehensible. Somehow Sorapong and Sombat end up involved with different factions that are both competing to find whatever buried thing it is that everyone is trying to find. This gives us the opportunity to witness a Sorapong vs. Sombat throw-down before Thailand’s heavily militarized police force shows up to blow the fuck out of all the huts that have been left undamaged during the previous two hours. (I was weighing the option of giving this movie the alternate title Shack Attack!)

To its credit, this movie has more than its fair share of gore, violence, exploding huts, kung fu, nudity, soft-core sex, and exploding huts. Still, the best thing I can say about it is that it’s the most enjoyable out of this particular batch of films, which is known as either “damning with faint praise” or “conducting a taste test where the only thing you’re tasting is various kind of poo”. If not the actual title, I hope that someone can at least provide me with the name of the Godfrey Ho ninja movie that this film undoubtedly later found itself cobbled into.

That’s all the muddled incomprehension there is for now, folks. But be sure to watch for the next exciting installment of Mystery Thai Theater!

UPDATE 1/1/2012: Well, once again, being loudly ignorant on the internet has reaped rich rewards -- this time as a result of the efforts of the marvelous Ninja Dixon and Regis of ThaiWordView.  Regis informs me that, in the case of the films I dubbed Punched by a Girl and Violence Man, the VCDS are the product of an outfit called Lepso, who are notorious for their misleading packaging, often using text and artwork for either a completely different film or using artwork that is a mash-up of images from several different sources. ThaiWorldView has an extremely helpful page detailing a number of Lepso's releases, identifying both the actual titles of those releases and, where applicable, the titles of the films represented by their packaging.

Though it pains me to let go of that title, Regis tells me that Punched by a Girl is actually a film whose Thai title Google Translate helpfully renders as Crystal Rose, while it's packaging -- featuring the two masked heroines -- pertains to another Jarunee Suksawat/Sorapong Chatree film from 1983 whose title Google Translate was much less helpful with.  A review of that latter film appears on this page of ThaiWorldView. As far as Violence Man, Regis informs me that that is actually a 1981 film whose Thai title Google Translate puckishly asserts would be Tire Scheme, perhaps if coined by an autistic English speaker with an advanced sense of whimsy. Again, ThaiWorldView has provided a review of that film, which can be found on this page.

I will return with another update once I've been gifted with additional information from other parties who, like Regis and Ninja, are not only less lazy, but also considerably more generous and more well informed than myself.

Friday's best pop song ever

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Friday's best pop song ever

Alupihang Dagat (Philippines, 1975)

In the Philippines you need only call him “FPJ”, but, to outsiders, Fernando Poe Jr. might need a bit more of an introduction. One of the most iconic stars of Tagalog cinema, Poe was also among the first Filipino actors to seize the reigns of production for himself, producing upward of a hundred self-starring pictures under his FPJ Productions banner and others. Poe was also a frequent director of these films, the 1975 hit Alupihang Dagat being just one of many he helmed under the pseudonym Ronwaldo Reyes.

In Alupihang Dagat, FPJ plays Gomer, the son of a humble fishing village where the men sail out to sea and the women stay behind to dive for sponge. At the story’s outset, we learn that the village has been troubled by a spate of disappearances on the part of its seafaring youngsters. Gomer learns of this upon returning from an extended voyage, and soon sets out in his tiny skiff to get to the bottom of things. Eventually he stumbles upon the island hideout of a band of modern day pirates who, under the leadership of a female captain named Odessa (Elizabeth Oropesa, who would later appear in a considerably more buttoned-down role as the wife of Ramon Revilla in The Killing of Satan), are responsible for kidnapping and enslaving many of Gomer’s friends and neighbors.

 

As observed by Gomer, the pirates reveal themselves to be a savage and imbecilic lot, fighting amongst themselves for sport and, at one point, staging a fight between two randy male horses that, while foreshadowing a climactic moment in the film, makes Alupihang Dagat guaranteed unpleasant viewing for animal lovers. Eventually Gomer is captured by the brutes and put at the mercy of Odessa, who wastes no time in subjecting him to a series of sexually charged humiliations. However, seeing as FPJ is blessed with the chiseled features and powerful physique that say “matinee idol” in any language (not to mention that he has some truly awe inspiring sideburns), it is not long before Odessa has fallen for Gomer and freed him from his bonds. This act ends up having unfortunate consequences for her, and the film’s last act sees Gomer fighting to rescue Odessa from a vengeful band of her former compatriots lead by the ever-cretinous Vic Diaz.

Poe scores high marks as a director with Alupihang Dagat. He captures the day-to-day life of Gomer’s village with an affectionate attention to detail while making great use of the film’s rugged seaside locales. At the same time, there is a palpable air of melancholy hanging over these opening scenes that, even without the aid of English subtitles, communicates that the villagers have seen happier times. While I don’t have a broad enough experience of Filipino cinema to say for sure, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Poe’s downcast and gritty depiction of the lives of the working poor here was influenced by the recent work of Lino Brocka. The film then neatly switches gears in its final third to become a definitive example of Filipino “Goon” cinema, with seeming armies of mustachioed stuntmen being hurled this way and that as Poe and Oropesa let loose on some especially imposing looking machine guns.

 

Poe the actor also makes a definite impression here, though I have to admit that, for me, he was somewhat overshadowed by Elizabeth Oropesa in the role of Odessa. I must further admit that this is in no small part due to the wide assortment of short-shorts and fetish boots that the fetching Oropesa wears throughout the film, not to mention the fox stole that she at one point, for some reason, rocks as a hat. (Shades of Wolf Devil Woman.) I am not alone in being moved by Oropesa, it seems, as, soon after Alupihang Dagat’s successful run, she was picked to reprise her role as Odessa –- this time front and center -- in Mariposang Dagat. For those eager to keep apace, recent years have seen the actress reveal a lifelong ability to see spooks and predict the future, embarking on a new career as a spiritual healer and medium, so there’s also that.

As some readers have been quick to remind me, I am long overdue in introducing FPJ to the pages of 4DK. Now that I have -- and have in fact found the process quite enjoyable, with or without Elizabeth Oropesa’s booty shorts -- I hope that it will be the beginning of a long and happy relationship. Alupihang Dagat is a truly engaging piece of Pinoy pop cinema, combining a populist heart with a cineaste’s eye for style while at the same time never forgetting to deliver those oh-so-important cheap thrills.

International man of knowing stuff about things

Recently I was interviewed by Helena Gustavsson for the Swedish weekly ETC on the topic of spy films from many lands -- a topic about which you, and now Helena, know that I can go on at epoch-spanning length. The mercifully condensed results can now be seen here. Interested readers of the non-Swedish-speaking variety will have to rely on Google Translate, but I think the gist of it is still gettable. Njut!

Friday's best pop song ever

Santa mob tonight!

Tonight the Drive-In Mob is going to get all seasonally-appropriate with a Santa Claus theme. Fortunately for us, all movies concerning Santa Claus are of an unassailably high quality. Exhibit 1: Santa Claus Conquers the Martians. Science fiction or science fact? Fire it up on Netflix Instant at 8pm EST and judge for yourself. Second up at 9:30 EST, and also on Netflix Instant, is Santa Claus -- or, if you want to get racial about it, "Mexican Santa Claus". If you didn't see this movie as a kid, congratulations! That's just that many more nightmares that you didn't have.

As always, those who want to tweet or follow along need only use the #DriveInMob hashtag on Twitter. Be sure to check out the official Drive-In Mob site for all the details. Sleigh you there!

Kosmicheskiy Reys, aka Cosmic Journey (USSR, 1935)

Whether or not you’re a retro-future fetishist like myself, you’ve got to admit that the farther away cinema was from the actual nuts and bolts of space travel, the better it made it look. Despite some obvious nods to the scientific realism of Fritz Lang’s Frau im Mond, the 1935 Soviet silent Kosmicheskiy Reys: Fantasticheskaya Novella (The Space Voyage: A Fantastic Story) seems to model its idea of space exploration on the comparatively more prosaic earthly pursuit of travel by ocean liner, with astronauts packing heavy suitcases for their trip and boarding massive, streamlined “space planes” via gangplanks while wearing their Sunday best. This is a future I want.

Kosmicheskiy Reys was originally conceived by director Vasili Zhuraviyov in 1924, but only saw production in the early 1930s due to the urging of the Communist Union of Youth, who wanted a film to inspire interest in space travel on the part of Soviet youngsters. Despite this chronology, I have to wonder if some filming had not been completed on Kosmicheskiy Reys previous to that time, as, while a few silent films were still being released in the U.S.S.R. in 1935, the lack of soundtrack combined with the under-cranked look of much of the film makes it seem pretty anachronistic, sophisticated effects notwithstanding.

The film centers around the efforts of Sedych (Sergie Komarov), a grandfatherly scientist at the U.S.S.R.’s Institute of Interplanetary Communication who has decided that it would be a good idea to use one of the giant spaceships they have lying around to go to the moon, thus opening “the way to space”. For this journey he recruits the handsome young post grad Victor (Nikolai Feoktistov), not knowing that Victor has been recruited in turn by the Institute’s director, Professor Karin (Vasili Kovrigin), to put a stop to Sedych’s plan -- the stated reason being that Sedych is too old to withstand the as of yet untested rigors of space travel. Karin would instead prefer to continue launching experimental probes manned by hapless bunnies and kitty cats until he can be assured that such a mission would be safe for humans. Sedych, with all the impatient candor of a man whose mortal horizon is clearly in view, says that he thinks this is “bullshit” and that Karin is a “pussy” (admittedly I was lip reading Russian there, so those may not have been his exact words, but that’s the gist).

Fortunately, Victor’s teenage brother Andriusha (Vassili Gaponenko) is made from all the good, progressive Soviet stock that was so obviously in short supply when his turncoat brother was forged, and outs Victor to Sedych. Come the day of the launch, the kid then arrives at the site with a troop of his fellow scouts (I’m guessing these are Young Pioneers, rather than Communist Union of Youth scouts, due to their young ages) who physically prevent both Karin and Victor from interfering. With a cry of “long live youth”, Sedych then boards the ship to the delighted cheers of the children, though not before Andriusha can sneak aboard with him. Sedych’s assistant Marina (K. Moskalenko) is also along for the mission, meaning that, in this film, the first humans on the moon will be an old man, a woman, and a little kid. Whine as much as you want about this being propaganda, but that’s still cool as shit.

As indicated above, Kosmicheskiy Reys’ special effects sequences are ambitious and, for their time, impressively executed. Quite understandably, Zhuravlyov spends a lot of time lingering on them, and, for the most part, they stand up to the scrutiny. It’s not so much that they fool the eye, but that they so effectively contribute to the film’s overall sense of grandeur. The miniature work powerfully communicates the mammoth scale of the space ship, and the scenes of the astronauts giddily flying from one end of the craft’s interior to the other, despite a visible wire here and there, depict the experience of weightlessness with an infectious sense of euphoria. Finally, those scenes of the crew traversing the moon’s surface –- which involve a lot of buoyant leaping across crevasses and up and down peaks -- are realized by way of some really delightful stop motion animation work. Not that theose scenes look in any way “real”, mind you, but they nonetheless add a welcome playfulness to a film that might otherwise be weighted down by its solemn sense of import. (Though, according to Wikipedia, those animated sequences, and their failure to conform to the tenets of “socialist realism”, were cited by Soviet censors as the reason they removed Kosmicheskiy Reys from circulation soon after its release. Oh, well.)

Even with all of its pomp and bold stroke revolutionary allegory, it’s hard not to get caught up in Komicheskiy Reys’ enthusiasm for the human project of space exploration -- especially, I think, for someone like me who has childhood memories of the excitement that surrounded the original moon landing and the missions leading up to it. In the end, after a brief episode of peril on the moon’s surface, the triumphant cosmonauts return to a spontaneous parade and the adulation of an adoring public. Even the haters who initially stood in their way are now all smiles. Wesley… er, I mean Andriusha in particular ends up being the hero of the day, cementing this as a movie that I would have absolutely loved to death when I was a little kid.

By the way, Komicheskiy Reys places its action in the far off year of 1946. As we all know, a lot happened between 1935 and 1946 to distract us from the project of manned space travel (except for those Nazis, of course, who apparently sent flying saucers to the moon). But, who knows? Perhaps, had fate not intervened, we might have been shooting off to the cosmos in flying ocean liners during the Truman administration. Probably not, though. And, in any case, it likely wouldn’t have looked nearly as cool as it does in this movie.