Tag Archives: Leslie Stevens

Incubus (1966, Leslie Stevens)

Incubus is the day in the life of a dissatisfied succubus (Allyson Ames) who, after killing three men in the ocean and condemning their souls to hell, decides she wants a challenge. Her sister, also a sucbus (and played by Eloise Hardt), counsels her against the impulse. But Ames won’t be dissuaded. She wants to condemn a clean soul to hell. How hard can it be.

Well, given the clean soul she comes across is recovering war hero William Shatner, turns out it’s going to be quite hard. Because Shatner has the one weapon Ames can’t defend herself against–love.

So Hardt decides to pay back Shatner for defiling her little sister with love by bringing up an incubus (Milos Milos) to assault Shatner’s little sister. Ann Atmar plays the little sister. While Shatner’s supposed to be this great guy–and he’s reasonably likable (everyone’s speaking Esperanto poorly so it’s a little hard to get attached)–he’s always abandoning Atmar for Ames. And since the film takes place over about a day, it’s a lot of abandoning. And bad things always happen to Atmar when Shatner’s gone, which he never acknowledges.

Shatner doesn’t speak a lot. He’s got a lot of lines, but they’re short. Director Stevens has some tricks to hide the Esperanto–Ames and Hardt have one scene where their mouths are blocked from view during what must have been difficult Esperanto passages. None of the actors are “native” Esperanto speakers; often acting and the actors getting their lines spoken are mutually exclusive activities. Ames is the best. She’s at least sympathetic.

Atmar ought to be really sympathetic but she’s not. Though it’s more Stevens’s script’s fault than anything Atmar does or doesn’t do with her performance. It’s a lousy part.

Great photography from Conrad L. Hall–at least when it’s not day-for-night–and terrible music from Dominic Frontiere.

Incubus’s greatest strength is its straightforward plotting at the beginning–Ames kills a guy, wants a better soul, argues with Hardt, goes for a better soul. Sure, there are a lot of scenes with Ames walking by herself around Big Sur, but Stevens has earned some goodwill after the frankly vicious killing of that first guy. It’s not really disturbing, but it implies Incubus isn’t messing around. At least, not entirely. After the demonic symbol opening titles and, you know, the freaking Esperanto, the film’s already a little goofy. For a while, it seems like it might not end up goofy.

But it’s a story about a succubus who wants to condemn a clean soul so she can become a demon–she needs to show off to Satan, who’s a giant bat in a fog machine–it’d be hard for Incubus not to be goofy.

Stevens’s script runs out of ideas fast. His direction doesn’t. While he does ignore Atmar a little too often, Stevens is otherwise high energy. It’s not always good direction, but Hall shoots most of it well so it at least looks great. And during the bumpier periods, Incubus gets by on the strange factor, which wouldn’t have been present in the same way on release. Even when things start to get real bad in the third act, there’s a pre-Captain Kirk Shatner fight scene. Unfortunately, he’s fighting Milos Milos, who doesn’t get anything to do when he first arrives, then does. Once he does, Incubus starts getting worse fast.

Milos looks like a beatnik doing a Karloff Frankenstein Monster impression. Just the walking and stature, but doing it exaggerated. Everyone in Incubus except Milos can keep a straight-face–including Hardt, who keeps one so long it ends up hurting her performance.

Again, terrible music. It’s hard to say how Incubus might’ve worked without the Esperanto, the Milos Milos, the Dominic Frontiere music. It might not even have needed better day-for-night photography.

Actually, without the Esperanto, Incubus’s script would be way too slight. Even with the Esperanto, there are those long dialogue-free passages… Sed kiu scias?

0/4ⓏⒺⓇⓄ

CREDITS

Written and directed by Leslie Stevens; director of photography, Conrad L. Hall; edited by Richard K. Brockway; music by Dominic Frontiere; produced by Anthony M. Taylor; released by Mac Mahon Distribution.

Starring Allyson Ames (Kia), William Shatner (Marc), Ann Atmar (Arndis), Eloise Hardt (Amael), and Milos Milos (Incubus).


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Sheena (1984, John Guillermin)

Deconstructing Sheena could probably be its own intellectual pursuit. The film’s so many terrible perfect things in one. It’s inverted misogyny, it’s colonial racism, it’s misapplied camp. It’s bad acting from actors with no business in film so it’s this example of bad Hollywood trends. It’s also a notorious box office bomb, so there’s taking its rejection into account. Especially with acknowledgment of the era, politically and culturally. But it’s probably not worthwhile to fully deconstruct Sheena. After all, you leave the film on a positive note.

It didn’t go on one more minute. It stopped when it did. Its fourth or fifth ending, each more insulting–both morally and narratively–than the last, eventually ended and it stopped. Ted Wass stopped being onscreen and Tanya Roberts stopped talking. Because Sheena isn’t just a terrible movie with extremely bad acting and writing, it’s also exhausting. Sheena knows it’s too late. It knows it’s a bad idea. Yet it keeps going, because apparently someone thought pacing out Roberts’s topless scenes for maximum effect was a good idea in a PG-rated action movie ostensibly for a female audience. I mean, Roberts is the lead, right? She gets to be the white savior.

Oh, right. No. She doesn’t. Because Wass, who’s a sports reporter in search of his breakthrough to Dan Rather, doesn’t just save the day, he saves the world. The movie opens with Sheena as a child–a prologue running roughly twenty minutes of just awkward badness in 1984, and some lousy photography from Pasqualino De Santis (which is surprising as the crew is otherwise excellent)–and it’s about her dad saving the world. Except it’s going to be Ted Wass, who actually gives worse of a performance than Roberts. Wass doesn’t try. He just acts badly. The script is bad, his character is bad, his sidekick–Donovan Scott–is even worse in every way, but Wass also is completely inept. He can’t even sell not being able to light a Zippo.

And Roberts is running around almost naked, frequently doused in sweat, made to be docile to Wass even though she’s been Queen of the Jungle–meaning she has to run behind him–riding a zebra or an elephant, doing bit work with chimps, standing in front of an African village and pretending to be their spiritual leader? Roberts is not good. She’s not good once. She does try sometimes. But this movie puts her through awful plot developments.

Then there’s the political intrigue, involving pro football player and African prince (Trevor Thomas) plotting to assassinate his brother, the king. France Zobda plays the woman they both want. It ties into Wass curing cancer.

Thomas even has a Great White Hunter for a mercenary, played by John Forgeham, who’d have the movie’s one good line delivery but director Guillermin wasn’t paying attention. Because director Guillermin really isn’t paying attention to much in Sheena. There’s some decent direction, but none of the action works. Ray Lovejoy’s editing is fantastic in everything except the action scenes. Guillermin gets more than enough footage everywhere else, but the action’s rushed and weak.

Maybe because Sheena’s supposed to have this army of awesome animal sidekicks helping out but they get no personality. They occasionally have a moment, but it’s like no one wanted to shoot any scenes with the animals. Sheena’s not for kids, after all, it’s for twelve year-old boys who want to see Roberts’s multiple bathing scenes. But Guillermin isn’t enthusiastic about it. De Santis is, however.

Guillermin’s enthusiastic about the Kenyan location shooting and he’s sort of enthusiastic about Elizabeth of Toro as Roberts’s adoptive mother and mentor. It’d be nice if he’d been enthusiastic enough to get her a name better than just “Shaman.” Sheena is written campy, acted badly, directed for location, and produced for gaze. It’s a mess and it’s awful.

Okay music from Richard Hartley–which almost gives Guillermin the one great action sequence of the film, before he chokes on it–excellent editing from Lovejoy, fine production design from Peter Murton.

But Sheena’s a crappy movie.

0/4ⓏⒺⓇⓄ

CREDITS

Directed by John Guillermin; screenplay by David Newman and Lorenzo Semple Jr., based on a story by Newman and Leslie Stevens and on a comic book created by Jerry Iger; director of photography, Pasqualino De Santis; edited by Ray Lovejoy; music by Richard Hartley; production designer, Peter Murton; produced by Paul Aratow; released by Columbia Pictures.

Starring Tanya Roberts (Sheena), Ted Wass (Vic Casey), Donovan Scott (Fletcher), Elizabeth of Toro (Shaman), France Zobda (Countess Zanda), Trevor Thomas (Prince Otwani), Clifton Jones (King Jabalani), and John Forgeham (Jorgensen).


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Eye of the Cat (1969, David Lowell Rich)

Eye of the Cat is what happens when you have a screenplay entirely concerned with being a thriller (by Joseph Stefano) and a director, Rich, who is completely incapable of directing thrills. There’s nothing else to the script, so the actors don’t have anything to do, and pretty San Francisco scenery only goes so far. Especially given how poorly Rich presents it.

Michael Sarrazin plays a blue blood left without a fortune who spends his time as a lothario. Gayle Hunnicutt is the mysterious woman who, without much coaxing, convinces him to return to his still-wealthy aunt’s home to get in her will and then murder her. Stefano’s script might have originally been for television–Rich’s direction is certainly more appropriate for it–but there are some frequent lurid details added.

Including Sarrazin’s relationship with the aunt, played by Eleanor Parker, being deviant. Stefano’s script goes out of its way to make everyone as unlikable as possible, whether Parker as a disturbed woman who manipulates Sarrazin (while rejecting a similar arrangement with Tim Henry, as his younger brother) or Sarrazin as a would-be murderer, while still making them vulnerable. Parker’s got emphysema, Sarrazin has ailurophobia (a fear of cats); neither has enough of a character, though both try hard.

Hunnicutt’s unlikable and mostly annoying. She’s not exactly bad though. She just has a terrible character. Same goes for Henry.

Between Parker and Sarrazin–combined, they get the most screen time, but never enough–there could’ve been a good movie in Eye of the Cat. So long as Stefano got a significant rewrite and there was a different director. With just a competent thriller director? Cat could’ve been a creepy modern Gothic.

Instead, Sarrazin and Parker have to keep it going–even through a particularly rough courtship montage through swinging sixties San Francisco–until the third act. Stefano’s got such a strong third act, not even Rich’s direction can screw it up. Though Stefano’s denouement doesn’t work, sending Cat on a lower note than it should.

1/4

CREDITS

Directed by David Lowell Rich; written by Joseph Stefano; directors of photography, Russell Metty and Ellsworth Fredericks; edited by J. Terry Williams; music by Lalo Schifrin; produced by Philip Hazelton, Bernard Schwartz and Leslie Stevens; released by Universal Pictures.

Starring Michael Sarrazin (Wylie), Gayle Hunnicutt (Kassia Lancaster), Tim Henry (Luke), Laurence Naismith (Dr. Mills) and Eleanor Parker (Aunt Danny).



This film is also discussed in Sum Up | Eleanor Parker, Part 3: Baroness.