Tag: Roger Corman

Dementia 13 (1963, Francis Ford Coppola)

The first half of Dementia 13 is surprisingly good. From the first scene–pre-titles even–Coppola establishes some great angles to his composition. He keeps it up throughout with close-ups jump cutting to different close-ups; excellent photography from Charles Hannawalt makes it all work.

During that first half, the film is basically an old dark house picture, with conniving daughter-in-law Luana Anders trying to worm her way into her husband’s family fortune. Even though Anders is technically a villain, she’s the viewer’s way into the house–and Coppola is always up front with her. Everyone else is a suspect, not her.

Sadly, the second half refocuses on Patrick Magee as the annoying family doctor who decides to solve the mystery. Why is he solving the mystery? It’s unclear, maybe because Coppola just needed someone not staying in the scary castle to do it.

Magee’s awful too. Anders is great, however. Also quite good is Eithne Dunne as the family matriarch who Anders has to con. Eventually Dunne falls away too, with Coppola sharing Magee’s spotlight a little with Mary Mitchel as another daughter-in-law to be. Mitchel’s okay, but her character is thin.

I’ve forgotten there’s an axe murderer on the loose too. Coppola doesn’t do well with those scenes. He does all right with the tense, suspense sequences, but the violence? It doesn’t work.

Good music from Ronald Stein helps too.

Dementia 13 doesn’t deliver on Coppola’s promise; Magee’s too weak a protagonist.

1.5/4★½

CREDITS

Written and directed by Francis Ford Coppola; director of photography, Charles Hannawalt; edited by Stuart O’Brien and Morton Tubor; music by Ronald Stein; produced by Roger Corman; released by American International Pictures.

Starring Luana Anders (Louise Haloran), William Campbell (Richard Haloran), Patrick Magee (Justin Caleb), Mary Mitchel (Kane), Eithne Dunne (Lady Haloran), Bart Patton (Billy Haloran), Peter Read (John Haloran), Karl Schanzer (Simon), Ron Perry (Arthur), Derry O’Donavan (Lillian) and Barbara Dowling (Kathleen).

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A Bucket of Blood (1959, Roger Corman)

Until the unfortunate deus ex machina finish, A Bucket of Blood is a small wonder. Even with the finish, the film manages to succeed; the performances are just too strong.

Dick Miller plays a simple, well-meaning bus boy–who also takes drink orders, apparently for no tips–at an art café. The beatnik patrons condescend to him, his boss is a jerk, the only one nice to him is his female coworker.

Every performance–boss, beatnik, girl–is fantastic. Miller’s great in the lead too, with Corman and writer Charles B. Griffith giving him the time to show how his character becomes a spree killer. It’s okay because he’s turning the bodies into art, after all. While Griffith and Corman have a lot of fun at the beatnik culture’s expense, they don’t shortchange Miller. His transformation is serious… even when the results are funny.

As the girl, Barboura Morris doesn’t get a lot to do until the end but then Griffith and Corman give her one amazing scene. It probably only lasts a couple minutes, but it seems so much longer thanks to Morris. One can just watch the thoughts on her face, in her measured reactions.

Antony Carbone is good as Miller’s boss, who sort of understands his responsibility in the situation. Julian Burton is awesome as the intellectual beatnik who takes Miller under his wing. John Brinkley and John Herman Shaner are hilarious as the stoned beatniks who offer uninvited commentary.

Blood is an excellent little picture.

3/4★★★

CREDITS

Produced and directed by Roger Corman; written by Charles B. Griffith; director of photography, Jacques R. Marquette; edited by Anthony Carras; music by Fred Katz; released by American International Pictures.

Starring Dick Miller (Walter Paisley), Barboura Morris (Carla), Antony Carbone (Leonard de Santis), Julian Burton (Maxwell H. Brock), Ed Nelson (Art Lacroix), John Brinkley (Will), John Herman Shaner (Oscar), Judy Bamber (Alice), Myrtle Vail (Mrs. Swickert), Bert Convy (Lou Raby), Jhean Burton (Naolia), Bruno VeSota (Art Collector) and Lynn Storey (Sylvia).

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The St. Valentine’s Day Massacre (1967, Roger Corman)

Director Corman and–probably more so–writer Howard Browne construct The St. Valentine’s Day Massacre as a docudrama. Paul Frees narrates the entire film, introducing characters, providing their backstories–Corman sometimes mutes the film’s dialogue (during boring parts) so Frees can explain a little about the person. Massacre might be mostly authentic in its portrayal of the titular event, but it doesn’t matter. Frees, Browne and Corman could sell anything.

The film’s layered. It opens after the massacre and quietly backs up to explain it. It uses flashbacks a couple more times, specifically to explain the hatred between gangsters Al Capone (Jason Robards) and Bugs Moran (Ralph Meeker). Corman doesn’t open with either of them. Instead he opens with George Segal as a sociopathic gangster working for Meeker. It’s good Segal and Robards never have a scene together because they would have–and gloriously so–ripped the sets apart with their teeth.

Robards’s performance has a couple weak spots, but he still transfixes. As written, the character ranges from sorrow to anger immediately and Robards plays it beautifully. Segal has almost no quite moments; watching him is waiting for him to erupt. But he always remains somehow likable, probably because no one in Massacre is particularly likable. Segal just has the charisma to weather it.

Other excellent performances include Clint Ritchie and Frank Silvera (though the film loses track of Silvera).

Corman’s got some great shots; Milton R. Krasner’s an able photographer. Perfect score from Lionel Newman.

Massacre is fantastic.

3.5/4★★★½

CREDITS

Produced and directed by Roger Corman; written by Howard Browne; director of photography, Milton R. Krasner; edited by William B. Murphy; music by Lionel Newman; released by 20th Century Fox.

Starring Jason Robards (Al Capone), George Segal (Peter Gusenberg), Ralph Meeker (Bugs Moran), Jean Hale (Myrtle), Clint Ritchie (Jack McGurn), Frank Silvera (Nick Sorello), Joseph Campanella (Albert Wienshank), Richard Bakalyan (John Scalise), David Canary (Frank Gusenberg), Bruce Dern (Johnny May), Harold J. Stone (Frank Nitti), Kurt Kreuger (James Clark), Paul Richards (Charles Fischetti), Joe Turkel (Jake Guzik), Milton Frome (Adam Heyer), Mickey Deems (Reinhold Schwimmer), John Agar (Dion O’Bannion), Celia Lovsky (Josephine Schwimmer), Tom Reese (Ted Newberry), Jan Merlin (Willie Marks), Alexander D’Arcy (Joe Aiello), Reed Hadley (Hymie Weiss), Gus Trikonis (Rio), Charles Dierkop (Salvanti), Tom Signorelli (Bobo Borotto), Rico Cattani (Albert Anselmi), Alex Rocco (Diamond), Leo Gordon (Heitler), Jonathan Haze (Boris Chapman), Dick Miller (Adolph Muller) and Jack Nicholson (Gino); narrated by Paul Frees.

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Ski Troop Attack (1960, Roger Corman)

The best thing in Ski Troop Attack is a forty or fifty second conversation between two characters about mortality. Writer Charles B. Griffith has a few other good observations in the dialogue, but they don’t resonate. Nothing in Ski resonates except that one conversation. And the acting isn’t even good. I guess Wally Campo isn’t terrible, but Richard Sinatra’s redneck is awful.

Corman and Griffith give Sinatra a lot to do; the joke is he’s smart but he’s a redneck. It’s not funny the first time–Sinatra’s terrible–and it’s not funny the thirtieth time either.

There’s not much else good about Ski. Some of the shots are good, but only because Corman’s shooting it on a snow covered mountain. There’s bound to be some good shots. Anthony Carras’s editing ruins most of the action scenes, though it’s probably not all his fault. The budget’s probably responsible for a lot.

Not the acting though. Michael Forest plays the lieutenant, Frank Wolff plays the sergeant. From the first or second scene, there’s bickering about who knows better, regular army or the officers. The resolution to that argument’s interesting if only because it comes as a complete surprise. Corman and Griffith don’t build to it at all.

Wolff’s not terrible. He can’t hold up the picture, but he’s not awful. Forest is awful. Not as bad as Sinatra, but bad.

Wait, I was wrong–there is something else good about Ski. Fred Katz’s music.

Otherwise, Ski’s a very long, very boring hour.

0/4ⓏⒺⓇⓄ

CREDITS

Produced and directed by Roger Corman; written by Charles B. Griffith; director of photography, Andrew M. Costikyan; edited by Anthony Carras; music by Fred Katz; released by The Filmgroup.

Starring Michael Forest (Lt. Factor), Frank Wolff (Sgt. Potter), Wally Campo (Pvt. Ed Ciccola), Richard Sinatra (Pvt. Herman Grammelsbacher), Paul Rapp (Pvt. Roost) and Sheila Noonan (Frau Heinsdorf).

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Frankenstein Unbound (1990, Roger Corman)

Philosophically speaking, Frankenstein Unbound is utter nonsense. Corman’s inclusion of that element seems to be more for effect than anything else–primarily, it takes advantage of Nick Brimble’s fine performance as the Monster. But it also has to do with how Corman uses his protagonist, John Hurt.

Unbound is a time travel picture (it filmed before Back to the Future Part II came out, so the similarities are likely coincidental) and, in many ways, it’s a fun time travel picture. Before he realizes what’s going on around him (that Mary Shelley based Frankenstein on actual events), Hurt is just having a good time. He’s so exceptionally passive, it’s hard to take him seriously as a protagonist, but it’s also hard not to like him.

Hurt’s never concerned about negatively affecting the past–he’s already ruined the world, but he takes it in his stride–and it eventually gets him involved with Mary Shelley (still Mary Godwin), played by Bridget Fonda. Even though the age difference should make it creepy, Hurt and Fonda sell the relationship.

But the film’s great performance is from Raul Julia. His Frankenstein is insane, evil and selfish and Julia makes every scene he’s in a delight.

Corman’s approach is objective–neither Frankenstein nor the Monster are judged, which seems to be the point, as Hurt spends a lot of time watching the events unfold in front of him.

Excellent music from Carl Davis, lovely Italian locations and good special effects.

Even though it stumbles, it succeeds.

2.5/4★★½

CREDITS

Directed by Roger Corman; screenplay by Corman and F.X. Feeney, based on the novel by Brian Aldiss; directors of photography, Armando Nannuzzi and Michael Scott; edited by Mary Bauer and Jay Cassidy; music by Carl Davis; production designer, Enrico Tovaglieri; produced by Corman, Kobi Jaeger and Thom Mount; released by 20th Century Fox.

Starring John Hurt (Dr. Joe Buchanan), Raul Julia (Dr. Victor Frankenstein), Nick Brimble (The Monster), Bridget Fonda (Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin), Catherine Rabett (Elizabeth Levenza), Jason Patric (Lord George Gordon Byron), Michael Hutchence (Percy Byshee Shelley) and Catherine Corman (Justine Moritz).

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