From the Dangerous Minds archives, here’s a sizzling hot cult film to help keep you warm. Highly recommended!
I first heard about Armando Bo’s lusty 1969 Argentinian sexploitation movie Fuego (“Fire”) due to John Waters championing of the film. I’m always interested in seeing something—like Boom!—that John Waters is enthusiastic about and I reckon that quite a few of you feel the same way. If so, then you NEED to watch Fuego and you need to watch it now.
Trust me, it DOES. NOT. DISAPPOINT.
Fuego stars the outrageously hot, extremely well-endowed Isabel Sarli, who has the sort of “brick shithouse” build that Russ Meyer was so very fond of. Fuego and Meyer’s Vixen would actually make a great “ants in her pants” nymphomania double bill, but a more appropriate match-up might be Female Trouble and Fuego, which was obviously a big influence not only on John Waters, but also on Divine. Much of Dawn Davenport—the character’s fashion sense, walk and even her bouffant hairdo—would appear to be closely modeled on Isabel Sarli. Sarli was also an outrageously hammy actress and Divine just took her already over-the-top “undulating” acting style and turned the volume up to 11. If you are not at least curious to see the woman who inspired the divine Divine, why are you even reading this blog???
In Fuego, Sarli plays the sexually insatiable, irresistible Laura and in this role, lemme tell ya, she is perfectly cast. Laura is a completely uninhibited—if not completely unhinged—and naturally this gives Sarli plenty of excuses to doff her duds, which she does constantly and we see her engaged in trysts with both men (any man seems to do, her catchphrase—normally screamed—is “I NEED MEN!!!”) and with her older, lizard-like lesbian maid. A wealthy businessman named Carlos (director Armando Bo, who also wrote the script and the insanely incessant music) sees some girl-on-much-older-girl action on the beach and later attends a party at Laura’s boyfriend’s house. Soon Carlos is seeing Laura, but he has no idea what he’s gotten himself into. She roams the streets flashing her tits and he is constantly catching her in bed with other dudes. This happens a lot.
The first part of Fuego is where most of the naked flesh is shown, whereas the latter half is talkier, more melodramatic and way more NUTS. Laura realizes that her uncontrollable urges are causing her husband grief when he nearly kills an electrician he catches her bonking. They go to a sex expert to discuss what can be done about her “condition” but during the gynecological exam, Laura has a thundering orgasm. The pair travel all the way to New York where Carlos is told by a doctor there that the only thing that can save Laura is… his unwavering love. Well all right then!
I won’t tell you how it ends—hint: FUCKING CRAZY—but when you know in advance that Armando Bo and Isabel Sarli made 27 films together—with her rolling around naked in every single one of them—and that they were famously lovers for years (although he never left his wife for her), you can start to project all sorts of unhealthy psychological things onto Fuego. First off, Bo wrote the script and so he therefore wrote the cuckold role for himself. There’s also the voyeuristic aspect of Bo arranging to see his woman getting her tits out for so many other guys.
There’s a certain “cucky” subtext to Fuego, let’s just say and leave it at that.
Waters calls Fuego: “A hetero film for gay people to marvel at” and truly, it’s a movie that covers all the bases. I’d recommend watching it in a group. It’s enjoyable no matter what, but like most “so bad that it’s good” movies, experiencing it for the first time with a bunch of other people is the way to go. If you just saw Fuego cold, with no background information about it, it might take a while to figure out how you are supposed to react to it.
Armando Bo died in 1981 and Sarli stopped making films. She became a cult figure with a devoted following. Sarli was feted at Lincoln Center in 2010 and profiled in TIME magazine. In April 2018, John Waters presented Fuego in Argentina and got to meet Sarli. She died in 2019 at the age of 89.
In the clip below from his John Waters Presents Movies That Will Corrupt You show, the Fellini of Baltimore waxes poetic about one of his favorite films, and candidly admits that he “stole” a lot of stuff from Fuego:
Every year around this time, Westgate Gallery‘s poster concierge extraordinaireChristian McLaughlin drastically cuts prices for his annual Black Xmas 50% Off Sale.
Anyway, my pal McLaughlin, a novelist and TV/movie writer and producer based in Los Angeles, is the maven of mavens when it comes to this sort of thing. You couldn’t even begin to stock a store like his if you didn’t know exactly what you were looking for in the first place, and if you want a quick (not to mention rather visceral) idea of his level of deep expertise—and what a great eye he’s got—then take a gander at his world-beating selection of Italian giallo posters. Christian is what I call a “sophisticate.”
He’s got a carefully curated cult poster collection on offer that is second to none. His home is a shrine to lurid giallo, 70s XXX and any and every midnight movie classic you can shake a stick at. But why would you want to shake a stick at a bunch of movie posters to begin with? That would be pointless. And stupid.
The Westgate Gallery’s Black Christmas 50% off sale sees every item in stock at—you guessed it—50% off the (already reasonable) normal price. All you have to do is enter the discount code “BlackXmas2020” at checkout and your tab will be magically cut in half.
The selection below is only a very tiny sliver of what’s for sale at Westgategallery.com.
South Carolina-based filmmaker Christopher Bickel’s first film, the widely praised The Theta Girl, was released three years ago. Bickel recently unleashed a trailer for his second film, Bad Girls. The pandemic’s effects changed everything for everyone, but thankfully, with many of his original cast and crew from The Theta Girl, the film is on target to see the light of day in 2021. When the trailer was released, Bickel launched an Indiegogo page to help raise a modest amount of funds to help cover some of the film’s costs, which had a budget of 16K. The response was enthusiastic and, to date, has raised just over $10K. This does not include the cost of distributing Bad Girls, as in Bickel’s own words, they intend to stay true to their “DIY punk rock roots.” Here’s a bit from Bickel’s Indiegogo page that echoes this sentiment and helps give you a little insight as to what you can expect from Bad Girls:
“Citing influences as diverse as Jack Hill, Russ Meyer, Gregg Araki, R. Kern, David Lynch, Monte Hellman, Sam Peckinpah, John Waters, and Robert Downey (Sr.), we have crafted a vision more than just the sum parts of those influences. More than anything, it was probably the get-it-done-cheap lessons of Roger Corman that were the guiding light of this picture. This is a punk rock demo tape of a movie made for people who love punk rock demo tapes and movies.”
If you’re nodding your head because you too love punk rock demo tapes and movies, I get it because I love both of those things too. Also, if Christopher Bickel’s name is familiar to our Dangerous Minds regulars, he spent a few years here as a popular contributor. Since Christopher and I go back a bit, I called him (yes, on the phone) and had a chat about Bad Girls. Who knew it would be so much fun to pick the brains of someone who likes to blow brains up on screen? Well, I did.
DM: When an art form is censored, that inevitably creates an underground movement. Your first film, The Theta Girl, utilized a few perceived cinematic “taboos” such as full-frontal nudity and nude scenes with people of all sizes and colors. As the leader of a collective of creative people working to subvert the norm, what did you do in Bad Girls to keep that vibe going?
Christopher Bickel: I don’t think there are any taboos left—everything’s been done. When you’re creating something new, you’re drawing from ideas you’ve seen before. If there is anything about this movie that sets it apart from anything else, it’s a different reconstitution. There are some elements that may shock people, but it’s presented in a unique way.
DM: The response to the PR for Bad Girls has been exciting to watch. Tell me a little about some of the artists you used to create posters and other artifacts for the film, and how some of their bold visuals were incorporated.
Christopher Bickel: We got really lucky with (poster artist) Ethan Hanson, as he was just a guy I knew from Columbia who was making films, and eventually moved to the West Coast to be a graphic artist. His short film The Checkout Line blew me away and it’s where I really fell in love with the acting of Jonathan Benton, who I ended up casting as “Rusty” in Bad Girls. Hanson’s portfolio is jaw-dropping and his work on the Bad Girls art gives me a Michael Mann vibe. After seeing The Theta Girl, we got together, and I offered him some creative advice, and I think contributing his artwork to Bad Girls was his way of saying thanks. It also makes Bad Girls look like “an actual real movie.” I was introduced to Corinne Halbert by Christina Ward of Feral House and I just fell in love with her work instantly. It really captures the anarchic spirit of the film.
‘Bad Girls’ poster by artist and filmmaker Ethan Hanson.
DM: You and your crew came up with some creative, special effects for Bad Girls. I’m wondering if you might have any behind-the-scenes stories to share about the effects you created for Bad Girls. Kind of like along the lines of when Dan O’Bannon paid bonuses to members of his The Return of the Living Dead crew if they would eat calf brains to help increase the authenticity of the zombie scenes?
Christopher Bickel: Well, I knew I wanted a baby to be “accidentally” blown up with a shotgun in Bad Girls so I was trying to figure out how to actually do that. Then I remembered the scene from David Cronenberg’s 1981 film Scanners when they blew up the first scanners’ head (played by unfortunate Canadian actor Louis Del Grande). They eventually figured that getting that kind of effect would need use of a shotgun. So we did the same thing, and I insisted on doing that stunt myself. There’s a definite danger element in a stunt like that. I set up a barrier and cleared the set and we did it. I believe you need to have those “what did I just see?” moments in a film around every ten minutes.
DM: You took on a lot of responsibility with The Theta Girl beyond directing it, such as the film’s cinematography, some of the sound/music, the arduous process of editing and providing some of the funding for the film. What was the scope of your “job” this time around?
Christopher Bickel: In a way, I did way more this time. I didn’t write The Theta Girl. But this one I did co-write with Shane Silman. One thing I learned was it is hard to direct and shoot at the same time. You’re either paying attention to the frame or the performance and if you’re too involved with one you’re not paying attention to the other. For Bad Girls, I was running a second camera next to my director of photography, Stephen Nemeth, the entire time so we could capture two different angles. So I ended up in the same boat I was in with The Theta Girl—doing too much. I always try to follow the Roger Corman lesson, which I believe is something like “do whatever you have to do to get things done in the time you have.” So most times that means wearing a lot of different hats.
DM: You had over sixty cast and crew members working on The Theta Girl. Did many of them return to work with you on Bad Girls?
Christopher Bickel: Yeah. At least four actors from Theta Girl returned for this one. I like the idea of having a John Waters “Dreamland” sort of group who come back to work on each project.
DM: Did you actually destroy actor and co-writer of Bad Girls’ Shane Silman—as Danny Lucifer’s—house? I have to know!
Christopher Bickel: The place that played the part of Danny’s house was filmed using three different houses. Two different interiors and one exterior location. We lit a controlled fire that appeared to burn in a house but wasn’t in an actual house. So, technically that’s four locations. We shot the exteriors of the police siege in the front yard of one of our producers, Stephan. His neighbors were… not too happy. I was actually hoping they would call the cops because I needed a shot of some cop cars!
If this all sounds pretty great to you, then you clearly appreciate films with a penchant for bloodshed and roving female gangs out for blood. To learn more about Bad Girls or to help support the film (which will get you some very cool campaign presents, like signed Blu-rays, a t-shirt featuring artist Corinne Halford’s incredible Bad Girls design or more, visit the Bad GirlsIndiegogo page. In the meantime, take enjoy some of the stills and promotional images for the film, then turn up your speakers and set up a splash guard while you check out the trailer for Bad Girls!
(Above and below) Two vintage-looking ‘Bad Girls’ lobby card done by director Christopher Bickel.
The festive-sounding fictional punk band Christmas Tits from ‘Bad Girls.’
A still from ‘Bad Girls’ featuring director Bickel as a cop. The film also features several classic cars from Gate Keeper Corvette Gasser owned by Rob Tansey and Shauna Morgan Brown. The pair also did the stunt driving in ‘Bad Girls.’
Bad Girls SMASH!
Actress Sanethia Dresch in action.
Actress Morgan Shaley Renew in a still from ‘Bad Girls.’
A Japanese movie poster prominently featuring Sally (played by actress Marilyn Burns) for ‘The Texas Chain Saw Massacre’ 1974.
As we’re all in need of a good distraction right now, let’s momentarily escape into the cinematic world of hillbilly cannibals, as told by Tobe Hooper in 1974’s The Texas Chain Saw Massacre. First of all, it’s that time of year again if you’re still keeping track of the current date or happen to remember what we used to use calendars for. For myself, a year-long dedicated horror film fanatic, I make it a point to re-watch my favorite horror films during October’s 31 days, and TCM ‘74 is always one of them. Like so many great movies, it was filmed under remarkably difficult circumstances—yielding agonizingly authentic performances from its cast. To say nothing of the athletic screaming and real injuries suffered by one of Leatherface’s targets, Sally, played by actress Marilyn Burns (RIP). Let’s begin this dusty, blood-filled journey through Texas with some of the things Burns was subjected to on the film’s set.
Marilyn Burns is one of cinema’s best known scream queens and was in her early 20s when she won the role of Sally in The Texas Chain Saw Massacre. Burns had appeared in a few films before TCM, but, according to the actress, her scenes ended up on the “cutting room floor.” Shot in extremely isolated areas around Texas, Hooper’s goal of creating the isolation necessary for a killing ground to thrive was immersive. Filming began during the summer heat of 1973, where temperatures in the famous Texas Chain Saw house would reach 120 degrees. Actors would need to take a break from filming to vomit due to the heat enhancing the smell of rotting animal bones and carcasses. Outdoor temperatures were boiling into the 100-110 degrees region every day. Enter Burns, in one of the film’s many chase scenes, being pursued by 300lb, 6’4 Icelandic actor Gunnar Hansen (RIP) in full Leatherface gear, rumbling chainsaw in hand. To increase your blood pressure for this story, Hansen had never used a chainsaw in his life before he appeared in the film. The story of one of Sally’s more serious injuries on set while being relentlessly chased through the thicket by Leatherface, was revealed by Hooper in the Toronto-based newspaper Excalibur in 1974:
“She (Burns) had a few accidents on the set. After running through the thicket, she had to go to a plastic surgeon to have thorns removed from her breasts.”
An image of Hooper’s interview in Toronto newspaper Excalibur, March 27th, 1974.
So, as it pertains to Burns’ famous screaming in TCM, in this particular instance (and others in the thicket), Burns’ screams are all too real, and the blood on her shirt is largely her own. Talk about taking one for the team. Here’s another recollection from Burns about how she and the rest of the kids in the doomed van almost met their maker by messing around with gunpowder:
“It was real hot and miserable, especially when Ed [actor Ed Neal who plays the hitchhiker] came on and gunpowder had to explode, and we didn’t know what we were doing. They just put gunpowder on his hand and lit a match. We almost killed ourselves!”
Moving on to Leatherface, Gunnar Hansen probably suffered more than anyone else in the cast except for Burns. If you’re a horror nerd like myself, you probably know that Tobe Hooper required that Hansen’s Leatherface costume never be washed to ensure continuity. His smell would become intolerable to Hansen and the entire cast, adding to the oppressive feeling of decay and demise. Additionally, in nearly every case in the film (with the notable exception of Mary Church, Marilyn Burns’ stuntwoman), no stunt doubles were used. Hooper would film chainsaw segments in three stages—once with the real blade, another with just the chain “roaring” and a third with the clutch out (noted in the Excalibur article). So, let’s imagine the horror of being Gunnar Hansen, running through the dark, with a real, running chainsaw in his “Killing Mask” (one of three different masks worn by Leatherface depending on his mood). I mean, what could possibly go wrong? Lots, it turns out, including a one-take shot in the darkness with Burns and Leatherface where Hansen fucking tripped, sending the running chainsaw flying through the air. NO BIG DEAL.
For all his efforts, and after waiting nine months for his paycheck, Hansen, who wrote a book about his experience in the film, received a whopping $47.50 for his performance in TCM. The final insult would come from the media in his homeland of Iceland who were completely unaware of Gunnar’s participation in the film and gave the film a two-star rating. And since we were just discussing chainsaws, let’s find out more about how they contributed to Wayne Bell’s infamous “score.” And who better to talk about what that was like than the man himself:
“Pretty much my job was finding all the sound effects we needed, which often meant inventing ways to make them. You have to ask yourself, what does chainsaw teeth hitting a wheelchair sound like? How do you capture it? What we would now have a few effects editors, a background editor, and a Foley team do, I did it all myself back then. We didn’t do any post chainsaw. We made a point to capture what we needed while we were on set. Gunnar, the actor that played Leatherface, was a real team player – most of the production chainsaw you hear in the film was operated by Leatherface himself.”
Of course, there are other sounds throughout TCM, including noise made by kids’ toys—specifically of the musical variety such as cymbals, maracas, and the ever-popular xylophone. Bell also amusingly recalls “torturing” his Kay stand-up five-string bass doing anything they could to cultivate other creepy sounds to enhance the film. According to Bell, these additional sounds were recorded in a room in Hooper’s house, filled with all kinds of instruments. Any animal sounds heard in the film are credited to Bell’s father, a very talented animal sound imitator. Who knew? Fun fact! Any chicken sounds you hear are from actual chickens, not Bell’s pet-imitating Dad. Though no actual “soundtrack” exists for TCM, the original quarter-inch tapes do, and Bell has mused about the possibility of putting out a “LoFi, distorted, noisy and dirty” version of it someday. One final thing regarding the sounds you hear in TCM concerns the uneasy noise you hear during the opening and again after the film. Bell is very protective of the sound, which he describes as a “stinger” that he created that has become synonymous with TCM ‘74, and to date, he has never revealed how it was conceived or made. Kind of like the secret ingredient in a certain barbeque sauce.
Put on a happy face! Three of Leatherface’s masks. Image source for this and the following three images.
A candid shot of Burns traipsing through the thicket in the dark.
Another image of Leatherface pursuing Sally through the brambles.
Whether or not you rank the Nicolas Cage starrer Mandy highly on your list of cinematic treasures, if you’ve seen the film, you must at least have a grudging respect for the absolute conviction the actors had for their roles, none more so than Linus Roache, who played crazy cult leader Jeremiah Sand. But Roache’s identification with Sand has gone beyond the confines of the film itself. In 2018 the actor assumed the character again for the release of two songs “by Jeremiah Sand” on Bandcamp, as part of the marketing effort for Mandy.
And now, the Sacred Bones imprint has announced an entire album “by Jeremiah Sand.” Lift It Down with liner notes by the late Genesis Breyer P-Orridge—someone who knew the ins and outs of being a cult leader—will be released on October 30th. It’s even coming out on 8-track tape? Yes, it’s even coming out on 8-track tape.
Here’s the elaborate backstory “bio” of Jeremiah Sand:
In 1974, Jeremiah Sand and his nascent cult The Children Of The New Dawn decamp LA for the Shasta Mountain region and Redding, CA. They set up shop, begin printing leaflets, hold gatherings and start growing their ranks through recruitment. Jeremiah and the Children are not necessarily an odd addition to Redding in 1974. Since the 1930s, psychonauts and spiritual seekers have been drawn to this area in Northern California under the shadow of the dormant volcanic cone of Shasta. By 1974, urban California hippies worn down by direct political engagement with state security forces have started drifting North and the towns along the border with Oregon state are filled with ad-hoc spiritual organizations, commune builders and lost souls. Jeremiah and the Children fit right in. A few years prior to assembling his flock, Sand had self produced and released an album of psych-folk that was unremarkable in almost every way, save for the unrelenting vanity and egoism on display in the lyrics. This early album is one of the only existing documents of Sand. The commercial failure of the album became the catalyst for Sand to leave Southern California and settle in a place where his “truth” would be “received by pure and open hearts”.
By mid 1974, the Children have grown in rank and Jeremiah becomes obsessed with recording “his masterpiece”...a musical message to the world, communicating a “Truth” that only he has been given spiritual access to. This project becomes the central focus of the Children. His lieutenant Brother Swann overhears that there is a small recording studio just North of the city. He arrives one day at the reception with a large gym bag full of cash and instructs the owner to cancel all sessions on the books. The studio will now focus on one thing and one thing only: helping Jeremiah realize his vision. Tents and rough structures appear on the surrounding property as the Children make the studio and its grounds their new home. They hold recruitment meetings where Jeremiah evangelizes in between endless recording sessions. The owner and his staff begin to feel as though they’re being held hostage but the money is good and the Children keep paying. Overpaying.
This goes on for years. New members drift into the sessions. A disgraced professor from the Electro Acoustic Music program at Evergreen State arrives with a full Buchla system he’s “liberated” from the university, Jeremiah is entranced by it and for a few weeks the only sounds coming from the studio are blasts of atonal, corroded noise underpinned by ominous chanting. The mood changes. The town begins to turn against the Children. A few people have gone missing. Some teenagers. A studio engineer.
By the Spring of 1977, the entire session has broken down into hallucinogen and cocaine fueled chaos. Bad vibrations. One night in early March, after a particularly grueling mixing session, the producer and owner of the studio is startled awake by by an extremely agitated looking Brother Swann. Swann is sweating and wild eyed, casually holding a gun, explaining to the producer that “plans have changed” and that Jeremiah has “heard a calling and a Great Summons”. They are leaving. All of them. That night. Swann directs the producer to put the existing reels in a lock box along with a short 16mm film, lyrics, album art and scribbled notes. Swann tells the producer Jeremiah will be back to finish his masterpiece. It all goes in the box and it’s not to be opened until the Children return. They never do.
In 2018, wildfires rip through Redding, CA and burns it to the ground. Over a thousand of homes are incinerated. One rough structure north of the city is partially saved. There’s a massive concrete basement filled with smoke and water damaged recording equipment and in the back…a lockbox.
No one knows who originally took the tapes out of the charred ruin of the studio but in a few months, a very strange album is making the rounds in the more esoteric circles of the underground. A long and confusing chain of custody ensues. A lost artifact of the transitional period between the late 60s and late 70s. A flawed and malignant sounding unfinished thing, clearly the product of a psychotically inflated ego and hubris. The album is by turns: amateurish, haunting, deranged, ridiculous and (for those attuned to these things) filled with crackling negative psychic energies. So much so that Light In The Attic flat out refuses to reissue it. Eventually, it lands in Caleb’s lap and Sacred Bones decides to restore the audio and give it a general release all in the name of preserving a historical document of a very weird place and a very weird time.
Like I said, you have to admire the courage of their conviction!
But they didn’t stop there. Recently they’ve “discovered” some “unearthed footage” of Sand that purports to have been “filmed by a cult member at Purple Mountain studios in the late ‘70s.”
If you have a spare fifteen whole minutes, you could do worse than check out the new short film John Was Trying to Contact Aliens on Netflix about John Shepherd, a guy who has spent 30 years beaming out obscure music to aliens, constructing a homemade SETI project based at—and taking over—his grandparents home in rural Michigan. We shot the breeze with director Matt Killip.
Dangerous Minds: Firstly, how did you come across John Shepherd, the subject of your new short film on Netflix?
Matt Killip: I first saw a picture of John in the book Messengers of Deception by the UFO researcher Jacques Vallée. The same photo is in my film: John is seated in front of a large bank of UFO tracking machines in a living room, with his grandma next to him doing her knitting. I immediately wanted to know more about this image—what was going on here?
Luckily I was able to track John down and make contact. When I heard about the circumstances of his personal life I started to realize his story could make a beautiful film. A while later I found some footage of John broadcasting the band Harmonia into outer space. It turned out that John was broadcasting loads of music that I love into the cosmos: Kraftwerk, Tangerine Dream, Terry Riley, Gamelan music from Indonesia, free jazz, loads of reggae and dub ... It was an amazing playlist—in effect a cosmic radio station broadcasting music for aliens.
DM: He’s quite amazing, playing music into deep space for aliens to come across and make contact. But most people would maybe have a dream of doing this, whereas John takes over his grandparents house to actually do this!
Matt Killip: Ha! Well, John is completely self-taught, he built many of the machines you see in the film himself. He has an incredible technical mind, a deep love of physics and, in particular, electricity. He spent a lot of time hunting in scrap yards and military auctions with his grandfather, who was a machinist and also helped him build some of the equipment. The radar John built was sitting on a tower made out of a scrapped ski lift! But I don’t really explore the science behind what John was doing in my film. I was afraid of getting slowed down in technical details when I was most interested in the fundamentally romantic idea of contact: this search John had for something beyond him.
DM: Yes , he seems to be on a romantic quest of some kind, to ‘make contact.’
Matt Killip: I know a lot of people might view John’s project as quite eccentric but I would encourage everybody to think about it another way: we are on a planet, that’s part of a galaxy, one of billions with an infinite number of other suns and planets. We don’t know what else is out there ... Why wouldn’t you try to make contact? John was using music as a sign—or even a gift—to other consciousnesses.
DM: You pack a heck of a lot into fifteen minutes.. It has the three act structure of a feature film… in fact it is better than many feature films I’ve seen…
Matt Killip: Thanks!
DM: What are the challenges of keeping a film short? Were you tempted to make it as a feature doc?
Matt Killip: I just wanted to stick to the core of the storytelling. Originally there was a whole section about UFO culture, but I cut it out to make the story flow better. Also, I’ve only made short format films, so maybe I’m a little scared of making a longer one…
DM: Your earlier films are pretty bonkers. There’s one about teenage backyard wrestler and horror filmmaker Ronny Long, and another about a guy who arranges microscopic creatures onto slides in psychedelic patterns. What’s the connection?
Matt Killip: I’m think I’m drawn to people who have found ways to escape everyday reality into other worlds. I’m really sympathetic to that impulse.. I share it to a certain extent, but I’m lacking the obsessive drive needed to see it through. It’s a very singular vision that allows Ronny the teenager to keep creating for his own pleasure, or John to broadcast music for 30 years, never knowing for sure if anyone could hear it.
DM: Tell me more about Ronny. (Full disclosure - I met Ronny Long when he visited the UK to hold an exhibition at the Horse Hospital in London. Ronny is as great as you would imagine from watching Master of Reality.)
Matt Killip: I’ve always loved wrestling for the characters and story lines, it’s like a kind of folk theatre. In the early 2000s my interest led me to Ronny Long’s website “Texas Boneyard Wrestling.” Ronny had started a horror-based wrestling federation in his backyard in the suburbs of Dallas. It was a really elaborate affair and so much thought and effort went into it. He was fifteen at the time. After speaking with him I realised that wrestling was only part of Ronny’s story—he was obsessed with Bigfoot and cryptozoology, was continuously drawing and painting and had been making abortive attempts at horror movies for several years. He was burning up with this stuff. His output was enormous and it seemed like he was compelled to create these things. He was not getting support or encouragement from anywhere—certainly not from school—but he was just off, creating these worlds. I really love that about him.
DM: Are you still in touch with Ronny?
Matt Killip: Still in touch… These days Ronny is still drawing and painting. He also records a wild talk show in his basement.
DM: I really love his paintings of Bigfoot.
Matt Killip: As a nine-year-old kid he really believed in Bigfoot. They are him. He has something of an outsider quality to him. And yes, his paintings are amazing.
DM: And The Diatomist?
Matt Killip: I love nature and have made several shorts that could be considered in some way nature films. In the case of The Diatomist, I came across an extraordinary image of an antique diatom arrangement. I couldn’t quite believe that these beautiful microscopic sculptures were actually tiny sea creatures, completely invisible to the naked eye.
In general I get tripped out by the extraordinary variety to be found in the natural world. Looking through books on moths, beetles, mushrooms or lichen, the multiple different forms, related but always changing, are completely amazing to me. It’s as close to a religious experience as I can get. Diatom arrangements completely embody that sublime feeling. After more research I discovered that there was one man, Klaus Kemp, keeping this Victorian art form alive, so I immediately got in touch with him. Klaus is undoubtedly obsessive, but it’s a beautiful obsession. He is practicing an artform that embodies Darwin’s phrase: endless forms most beautiful and most wonderful have been, and are being, evolved.
DM: The films all seem to end in a cosmic way, with the humans somehow part of a great cosmos.
Matt Killip: I guess we are all trying to find our place in the cosmos. It’s just….. there’s a good quote by Carl Sagan… here it is … “The nature of life on Earth and the search for life elsewhere are two sides of the same question - the search for who we are.”
Five years ago, we told you about the marvelous documentary, ‘Michael Des Barres: Who Do You Want Me to Be’. At the time, the doc could only be seen on the film festival circuit, but recently it’s been made available on streaming platforms for the first time. As my last viewing had been years ago, I recently watched it anew via Amazon Prime. I was reminded that director J. Elvis Weinstein did an incredible job presenting Michael’s truly amazing life, and the film was a joy to see again.
Below is a slightly revised version of our 2015 post concerning ‘Michael Des Barres: Who Do You Want Me to Be?’.
*****
Musician/actor/satellite radio DJ Michael Des Barres has worn many hats over his decades-long career. As a vocalist, he’s fronted such acts as the Power Station, filling in for Robert Palmer on their lone US tour (with a high-profile appearance at Live Aid), and the highly underrated Somebody up There Likes Me, a neglected LP that deserved better. His biggest success (in the form of royalties) has been as songwriter, having co-penned “Obsession,” a worldwide hit for ‘80s synth-pop act Animotion. In addition, he’s a talented character actor, best known for his recurring role as TV villain Murdoc on MacGyver. His versatility is acknowledged in the title of the fabulous documentary, Michael Des Barres: Who Do You Want Me to Be?. Dangerous Minds got in touch with the director of the film, J. Elvis Weinstein, and asked him some questions via email.
How did you come to know Michael’s work?:
J. Elvis Weinstein: The first time I came to know Michael as a musician was when he joined the Power Station, but I recognized him from TV roles at the time. I was a TV junkie as a kid. He lived in my head as a trivia question for many years. I’d always notice him in TV and movie roles.
The many faces of Murdoc.
How and when did you approach Michael about making a documentary about him? Was he open to the idea or did it take some convincing?:
J. Elvis Weinstein: We met several years ago working on a TV series, me a as writer/producer, he as a cast member. We spoke about writing a book and even did some interviews at the time, but it never materialized. Then a few years ago, we ended up guests on the same radio show and I mentioned we should have done a documentary instead of a book. There was instant agreement; we were shooting within three weeks.
What drove you to make the documentary?:
J. Elvis Weinstein: I knew that there was a great story to be told and that there were things I could learn for myself from telling it.
Michael appears open and frank during the interview segments in the film. Were you surprised by anything he told you? One of the things I learned from watching the film is that Silverhead was really Michael’s project and the other members were hired guns—I never knew!:
J. Elvis Weinstein: Michael was very generous in his willingness to examine and re-examine his life as honestly as possible through this process. I think he realized very early on that I wasn’t striving for a sensationalistic telling of the story but rather a very human one.
As for surprises, I don’t have any specific ones that jump out. While Silverhead were hired musicians, they quickly became a very collaborative and tightly knit band. Michael was very much the leader, but the sound evolved from the players.
A fan shows Michael some love during a Silverhead gig, 1974.
I also learned that Michael and his ex-wife Pamela (Miss Pamela of the GTO’s) met on the set of a movie (the still unreleased Arizona Slim). It’s really interesting to see some of their first interactions captured on film. What do you make of their relationship, then and now?:
J. Elvis Weinstein: I think the thing that is the coolest about them is the relationship they’ve cultivated since splitting as a couple. The respect, warmth, and love they maintain for one another as friends and parents of a great son is a lovely example for everyone.
Beyond the Pale, the new album by Jarvis Cocker’s group Jarv Is… is out now and the former Pulp frontman has opted for an innovative video promotion for it that doesn’t involve touring. He was aided in this cause by directors Iain Forsyth & Jane Pollard—co-directors of the great Nick Cave documentary, 20,000 days on Earth—who shot the group live at Peak Cavern, Derbyshire. The film premieres tomorrow on YouTube at 8pm BST (that’s 3pm EST, noon if you’re on the west coast) and you’ll have 24 hours to watch it before it disappears.
Cocker posted on YouTube:
Beyond the Pale was written (& partially recorded) in front of a live audience, so it feels extra-strange not to be able to take it on the road at the moment. Fortunately, our friends Iain & Jane suggested a way round the problem: set up our equipment in a cave & they would film the results. We have invented a new way of playing a concert.
Backing Jarvis Cocker during the program are Serafina Steer, Emma Smith, Andrew McKinney, Jason Buckle, Adam Betts and Naala. There’s a trailer for the concert below. Once it’s live you can view it here.
There is a very good reason why you’ve probably never seen—or even heard of—a 1997 film titled The Brave that was both directed by, and starred, Johnny Depp: It’s one of the worst films ever made. I mean like as in one of the very fuckin’ worst movies ever made, okay? How else to explain why a feature directed by one of the then most bankable movie stars in Hollywood, and that features a soundtrack by Iggy Pop and one of the final film roles of Marlon Brando, has never been released in the United States, either theatrically, on cable TV or even on DVD? Yes, it’s that bad.
The Brave is an appalling and horrendous piece of shit that apparently left audiences at the Cannes FIlm Festival slack-jawed and saw Depp’s “people” swoop in to make sure that it wasn’t about to ruin their cash cow’s reputation. If The Brave had an odor, it would be lethal and take a hazmat suit with a gas mask to deal with. The film has only ever seen the light of day in ex-US territories, mostly Asia, where it was immediately bootlegged. Trust me, they did Depp a major solid by trying to bury this turd as deeply as possible. (For fun, put yourself into the shoes of the manager or agent who had to put it to one of the world’s biggest movie stars that he’d made a film that was unreleasable! Depp probably looks back on it now and thinks “Thank god I listened to them.”)
Now, be aware that I say all of this as somewhat of an enthusiast, even a connoisseur of “bad films,” myself, but they have to be of the “so bad they’re good” variety, not films that are just… shitty, misguided and boring. The Brave is all that and a lot more. It’s awfulness is special. One of a kind.
The Brave is Depp’s The Day The Clown Cried.
I first read about the film’s existence in Jane Hamsher’s book Killer Instinct, about the insanity she experienced during the of filming of Oliver Stone’s Natural Born Killers. There is just a paragraph or two describing the plot of The Brave in the book and after reading this, I just had to see it. However, this was approximately 1999 when I read it and sans bit torrent, it wasn’t going to be that easy to get my hands on it. A few days later, I figured out that a friend of someone I knew invested in the film and I got him to ask for a copy. The reply came in the form of a suspicious question: “Why does he want to see it?”
Why do you think?!?! Nevertheless, I got a copy with the extracted promise that I wouldn’t say where it had come from. Seemed fair.
So what is it that’s so freaking bad about this film, anyway? God, where do you start?
Okay, first the plot: Depp play a Native American guy named Raphael who lives with his wife and catatonic children in a shantytown near (in?) a garbage dump. He’s an alcoholic and sees no hope for ever being able to pull himself and his family out of their abject poverty. Raphael, who is illiterate, is told of a sinister man named McCarthy who is willing to offer $50,000 if Raphael will agree to be brutally tortured, dismembered and murdered for a snuff film. Raphael sees this as a last ditch way to lift his family from the life they are leading. After a scene of Brando acting as psychotic as you’ve ever seen him, delivering a ridiculous (obviously improvised) wheelchair-bound soliloquy about how the snuff movie will allow those who see it to face death more honestly, and how Christ-like Raphael’s sacrifice will be (it’s Island of Dr. Moreau-worthy stuff), Raphael is given a bag of cash as an advance and signs a bogus contract consisting of gibberish that he thinks will secure his family’s future after he’s gone. If Raphael skips out on the contract, he is told by one of his henchmen, McCarthy will find, fuck and eat his wife and kids
Raphael is supposed to return at the end of seven days to McCarthy’s seedy bunker to be killed in the snuff film. Most of the rest of The Brave shows him showering gifts on his wife children (such as hiring in a small fun fair) and dealing with the fate he’s signed up for. On the seventh day, Raphael returns to the fortress where McCarthy makes his films and The Brave ends (thank god!).
On a technical level, the film is well-shot (by frequent Terry Gilliam collaborator Nicola Pecorini) and edited. Clearly Johnny Depp would have access to the best “below the line talent” money could buy. It’s a technically competent film. The biggest problem with The Brave—the fatal problem, in fact, and precisely what makes it so incredibly bad—is Depp himself in the lead role. Casting himself as “Raphael” was a major, major miscalculation for several reasons, with Depp’s movie star looks being the primary culprit. As I understand it, the original novel/script called for the character to be brain-damaged from alcohol abuse or somewhat mentally handicapped. Had the role been played by a Native-American actor who was dumpy and monosyllabic, it might have worked (or at least not turned out to be the atrocity it did). The audience just never buys pretty boy Depp (looking like a Silverlake hipster) in the role for even a single second and scenes that might (I said might) have otherwise been moving with a different actor in the part, are instead just fodder for loud guffaws, sideways glances, and mucho eye-rolling. It’s a mawkish mess. It tries to manipulate the audience’s emotions, but only elicits… boredom, disgust and pointing and laughing at the screen.
Everyone I watched it with HATED IT, just fucking hated it, and unless you’re a weirdo with shitty taste in films, you will probably hate it, too. When it’s (finally) over, you just want to take about twenty showers and try to scrub it out of your mind. Which. Is. Not. Possible.
Of course, I realize that to some of you reading this, that even this negative review sounds like an endorsement of some sort—perhaps of the “this smells like shit, take a whiff” variety. After all, when I secured my own copy of this gargantuan awfulness 20 years ago, it was certainly my firm expectation that I would be seeing a colossally bad film (and I did). This is not to say, however, that having had that experience, that I’m now recommending watching The Brave to others (to be clear, I am not). If you don’t care and want to see it anyway (it’s all over the web now, just search for it on Google) do yourself a favor and do what I didn’t do and turn it off after Marlon Brando’s scene near the beginning of the film. It’s the only, uh, “good” part of it and as I wrote above, truly one of his single most most berserk onscreen moments.
The rest of it, trust me (no really!) you really, really, really don’t want to see. Not only is it a complete waste of 90 minutes of your life that you will never, ever get back, it’ll just make you feel icky. For days.
Like their masterpiece Eskimo, the story of the Residents’ new album starts with a cryptoethnomusicological discovery: in this case, the complete recorded works of an albino bluesman from western Louisiana named Alvin Snow.
Under the stage name “Dyin’ Dog,” the story goes, Snow cut ten agonized electric blues originals with his band, the Mongrels, before falling off the face of the earth in 1976. Whether the last straw was the death of his pet dog, the death of his elderly ladyfriend, or the death of Howlin’ Wolf, no one can say. Only these screams of rage and shame remain.
Dyin’ Dog’s songs about sex, death, death, sex and death came out last year on a now quite scarce seven-inch box set released by Psychofon Records. On the new album Metal, Meat & Bone: The Songs of Dyin’ Dog, the Residents interpret the Alvin Snow songbook with help from the Pixies’ Black Francis, Magic Band and Pere Ubu alumnus Eric Drew Feldman, and other high-quality musical guests. The album also reproduces Dyin’ Dog and the Mongrels’ demos in full stereo abjection.
John Sanborn’s video for the Residents’ take on “Bury My Bone,” exclusively premiered below, is mildly NSFW. Then again, in time of plague, work itself is NSFW. And this is a blues song about a dog looking for a hole to bury his bone in, for fuck’s sake.
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