Rolling Stone, perpetually perched on the cutting edge...

Hey, I love "Mad Men" as much as the next guy (more, as a matter of fact), so it's always nice to see the Baby Boomer Bible catch up with it...

... as it winds through its fourth season. What's next? A big feature on "Freaks and Geeks"?

By the way, if you want to hear how much I love "Mad Men," check out the podcast I take part in every post-"Mad Men" Monday. Don't worry -- I'm not the only one talking.

The Never-ending Battle (of the Network Stars)

The 1970s get a bad rap, and justifiably so, but if you were a kid back then and too young to know (or care) about Nixon, Vietnam, the gas crisis or the economy, it was actually a fun time to be alive. And one of the reasons it was so much fun is that even though you only had about three TV channels, you could still see things like this:



You could never do this sort of thing today, in the media-saturated, full-of-irony world we live in. A guy like Robert Conrad, if he were a star today, would be too self-aware to actually argue about some meaningless race.

But here, in this vintage clip, we see the glory of seventies celeb-hood in all its glory -- Telly Savalas acting cooler than cool (and smoking at an alleged athletic event), Gabe Kaplan chuckling at Conrad and Howard Cosell presiding over the entire spectacle like some wise sage -- but still, somehow, managing to treat "The Battle of the Network Stars" as if it were something approaching an actual sporting event.

100 Favorite Films Project, Part 4: 'Sunset Blvd.'

I'm running down the list of my 100 favorite movies in no particular order. Join me, won't you?


'Sunset Blvd.'
1950, written by Charles Brackett, Billy Wilder and D.M. Marshman, Jr., directed by Billy Wilder

If forced at gunpoint to choose my favorite dead director (and someday, I secretly hope this happens), I'll probably end up eating a bullet because it's a toss-up between The Great Billy Wilder and The Great Stanley Kubrick. They're about as different as two directors can be, but I love 'em both to pieces -- and, as you might have guessed, they'll both show up on this list more than once. Today, however, Mr. Wilder gets the spotlight with what might be the greatest movie about movies ever made, "Sunset Blvd."

The story of a hack writer (William Holden) who stumbles into the mansion of a forgotten silent star (Gloria Swanson), "Sunset Blvd." works as (a) a satire of Hollywood history, (b) a horror film oddly reminscent of "Dracula," (c) a drama about a woman refusing to face the truth, (d) a melodrama about a crazy woman ensnaring a sane man in her web, (e) a romance gone horribly, horribly wrong, and (f) an empowering tale of an aging female reclaiming her position of power. And that's just off the top of my head.

The cast is star-packed, with Holden and Swanson getting strong support from Erich Von Stroheim, Nancy Olsen and Jack Webb (!), plus cameo appearances from Cecil B. DeMille, Buster Keaton, H.B. Warner, Hedda Hopper and Anna Q. Nilsson. But as good as they are -- and all of them, especially Holden and Stroheim, are very good -- this is Swanson's movie. An actual silent film star who walked away from her actual silent film stardom, Swanson isn't Norma Desmond, but she can identify with her and manages to give the fictional faded star a power and pathos that actually has us rooting for her at the end.

Unlike Holden's Joe Gillis, who implies he's a great writer without ever having actually written anything approaching greatness, Norma really was a star once, one of the biggest in the world. Those fan letters may be fakes now, but they were once real, and both the glimpses we see of Norma's past (in actual Swanson silent film clips) and the energy and emotion she shows in the present prove she still has the presence of a star.


It's easy to accuse Swanson of chewing her way through the scenery, but that's missing the point -- she's playing a woman who's playing a star, and everything Norma does -- like when she dramatically stands up into the light of the projector and declares she'll be back -- is part of a performance. From Gillis' first glimpse of her, when she and her loyal butler (very loyal, as we discover) Max are making plans for the monkey funeral to the final scene, when her eyes light up upon hearing the cameras have arrived, Norma is a woman giving a performance -- and it's one of the most entertaining, enthralling performances in the history of movies.


The first time I watched "Sunset Blvd.," it was under less than ideal conditions. I had recorded it off the TV late one night, and besides the typical commercial interruptions and the low quality of the much-used VHS tape it was on, the station cut a few scenes, including the card game with Keaton, Warner and Nilsson. But nevertheless, when Norma reached out to all of us "wonderful people in the dark" and the image began to go hazy, I'm told I just about levitated out of my chair and said "What a great movie!" Even chopped, interuppted and on faulty videotape, "Sunset Blvd." still packed -- and packs -- a hell of a punch.

Trivia note: One of the giggling girls hogging the phone at Jack Webb's New Year's party is none other than Yvette Vickers, memorable co-star of "Attack of the 50 Foot Woman" and "Attack of the Giant Leeches" (and Playmate of the Month, June 1959.

Seeing is believing?

I've never heard of him before, but Neatorama hipped me to the work of Chinese artist Li Wei, who creates some amazing images of people seemingly doing the impossible -- falling, flinging each other around or crashing (usually headfirst) into object. And instead of Photoshop, he apparently uses such old-fashioned elments as scaffolding, wires and trained acrobats. Here's a sample to whet your appetite...

Check out more in the "Falls" series here.

And here's a sample of his latest series, the even more amazing "Flying"...

You can see a lot more of his work by clicking here.

100 Favorite Films Project, Part 3: 'Rock 'n' Roll High School'

I'm running down the list of my 100 favorite movies in no particular order. Join me, won't you?

'Rock 'n' Roll High School'
1979, written by Richard Whitley, Russ Dvonch and Joseph McBride (screenplay) and Alan Arkush and Joe Dante (story); directed by Allan Arkush with uncredited help from Joe Dante and Jerry Zucker


And not because it features the Ramones, either. Well, at least not just because it features the Ramones. See, "Rock 'n' Roll High School" is the sort of glorious mess where all the varied elements that could make it terrible instead combine somehow to make it great. Roger Corman notoriously wanted to make a movie that cashed in on the disco craze, but Arkush wisely convinced him that disco wouldn't have the same action-packed edge. Then, in searching for a group, the producers supposedly considered Cheap Trick and Devo. I like both bands (hell, I live in the hometown of one and I attended the alma mater of the other), but I think we can all agree that if the kids at Vince Lombardi High rocked out to either of those groups, this would be a very different movie. And, needless to say, not nearly as good.

No, my beloved Ramones are the perfect centerpiece for the film because they're so damned unlikely. Would Riff Randell, the film's teen queen (though PJ Soles was almost 30 in 1979) really dream of writing a tune for the slovenly boys from Queens? Or (in one of the films oddest -- and best-- scenes) fantasize about the band serenading her in her bedroom and bathroom? Of course not -- just like Vincent Van Patten wouldn't be a terrified of girls and have to seek help from Clint Howard, here shedding his normal nerd role and playing Eaglebauer, the coolest kid in the school.

As a bonus, you also get cult film stars Mary Woronov and the late Paul Bartel as members of the Vince Lombardi High faculty. Woronov plays Principal Togar, a formidable villain who utters the immortal line "Do your parents know you're Ramones?" Bartel plays music teacher Mr. McGree, who takes off that stuffed shirt to reveal a Ramones T. I don't know if Arkush and company were hip to how welcoming the Ramones music could actually be, but McGree's transformation from uptight square to rock 'n' roll revolutionary is perfect illustration of that principle.

And then there are the Ramones themselves. Making an unforgettable first appearance in a convertible with a GABBA GABBA HEY license plate, they shamble gloriously through the film. Onstage, of course, they're the picture of punk confidence and energy, but in their non-musical moments they're hilariously awkward, either biffing their lines completely or delivering them in a wonderfully off-kilter manner. Whatever they're doing, it can't really be called "acting," but somehow, that adds to the charm of the whole thing.

When they pick up those instruments, well, that's another matter entirely. I've already mentioned the number in Riff's bedroom, and the concert is electrifying, but better than both is the moment late in the movie when, after Riff and the rest of the students have taken over the school, we cut to Marky banging that drum, and, well, why not see for yourself...


The movie could end there, on a crazy, kooky altogether joyous note, but what I love about "Rock 'n' Roll High School" is it takes things one step further, giving us one last reminder that this isn't your typical Hollywood high school musical (like, for instance, "Grease" -- yeech). Riff, the Ramones and the rest of the class exit the building, then ... well, once again, why don't you see for yourself...


You wouldn't see a movie -- even a goofy, silly cartoon of a movie -- end with a school blowing up. The last time a comedy even tried something like that was back in 1989 with "Heathers," and that explosive ending somehow feeled like a cheat or a compromise, something the writers came up with because there was no other solution. Here, it's just the opposite -- it's the only possible solution, the TNT-packed cherry bomb on top of the sundae. I remember reading a review of "Rock 'n' Roll High School" in my well-thumbed copy of Danny Peary's "Cult Movies," and Peary (who was no Ramones fan) thought the movie should've ended when the kids took over Vince Lombardi High and renamed it (what else?) Rock 'n' Roll High School. He figured that takeover accomplished their goals, and without a high school, what was the point of the rebellion?

But the thing is, the movie needs the explosive finale as an exclamation point to all that's come before. Kids in the audience -- hell, kids everywhere, no matter whether they're watching the movie or not -- daydream about their institution of secondary education erupting in a huge fireball (and those blasts in the movie, which are obviously real, are pretty impressive). It's not a Columbine thing. It's a standard student fantasy. You don't want anyone to get hurt -- heck, you don't even want the school to blow up. You just want to relieve some of that tension that's been building since kindergarten, and your adolescent brain figures a big explosion is the most direct way. Then, once you've pictured the blast, you can go back to focusing on your studies. It's as American as apple pie. "Rock 'n' Roll High School" delivers that fantasy in such an appealing, cheery, downright upbeat manner that you can't help but cheer on Riff and her fellow students.

And the song "Rock 'n' Roll High School" never sounds better than when it's punctuated with those perfectly timed booms. Gabba gabba hey indeed.

100 Favorite Films Project, Part 2: 'The Bank Dick'

I'm running down the list of my 100 favorite movies in no particular order. Join me, won't you?

"The Bank Dick"

1940, directed by Edward F. Cline, written by Mahatma Kane Jeeves (aka W.C. Fields -- read that name again slowly)


Many fans of the Great Man are going to tell you that 1934's "It's A Gift" is the W.C. Fields classic. And make no mistake, that's a wonderful film, too, with some brilliant bits (my personal favorite being the guy looking for Carl LaFong -- "Capital L, small a, capital F..."). But "The Bank Dick" is so crazy, so loosely tethered to the wispiest of plots and so willing to let Fields ramble on and on in that distinctly Fieldsian way that it's like no other movie ever made -- and a hell of a lot better than most.

In "The Bank Dick," Fields plays Egbert Souse (pronounced "Soy-zay, accent grave over the e," as Egbert explains again and again), a henpecked husband and do-nothing drunk stuck living with his horrible family. During the brief course of the film (it clocks in at a mere 72 minutes), Souse prevents a handful of bank robberies, improvises the script for a film and involves his idiot son-in-law, who sports the memorable monicker of Og Oggilby, in a half-baked investment in some "Beefsteak Mine." It barely makes sense, but that, of course, is half the charm. The other half is Fields himself, mumbling and stumbling through the entire film.


There's never been another screen presence like Fields. Proudly drunk and hating his family (with good reason), he's not afraid to tackle any situation as if he's an expert, whether it's fixing a car (the engine drops out) or directing a movie (he changes it from an "English drawing room dray-ma" to a "circus picture"). And then there's this memorable exchange with the bartender (none other than Shemp Howard) of the Black Pussy Cafe and Snack Bar:

"Was I in here last night and did I spend a twenty-dollar bill?"

"Yeah."

"Oh boy, what a load that is off my mind. I thought I'd lost it."

"The Bank Dick" is full of great moments, from the wild and wooly car chase that ends the film to Souse's surreal pitch convincing Og to embezzle enough money to invest:

"Beer flowing through the estate over your grandmother's paisley shawl."

"Beer?"

"Beer! Fishing in the stream that runs under the aboreal dell. A man comes up from the bar, dumps $3,500 in your lap for every nickel invested. Says to you, 'Sign here on the dotted line.' And then disappears in the weaving fields of alfalfa."

My favorite bit, though, comes when the pompous bank president rewards Souse's efforts with what he terms "a hearty handclasp." And we're rewarded with this memorable screen moment -- so good, they repeat it later...


Trivia note: About 20 years ago, Faber & Faber released the paperback "Three Films of W.C. Fields," which contained the screenplays for "Never Give a Sucker an Even Break," "Tillie & Gus" ... and "The Bank Dick." As a bonus, the screenplay of "The Bank Dick" -- written by Fields, remember -- is the original version, which includes some great bits not found in the finished film. You can get your own copy of the book here.

The 100 Favorite Films Project, Part 1: 'Confessions of a Dangerous Mind'

In a bid to get some content on this sadly lacking-in-content blog, I'm going to do the film geek thing and write about my 100 favorite movies of all time. The beauty of this plan is (a) if there's one thing I can ramble on about with little or no effort, it's movies; and (b) I've already got a list (all film geeks secretly do) but, because each movie gets its own post, I can endlessly revise the list and you'll never know (Goodbye "Confessions of a Psycho Cat," hello "Scott Pilgrim vs the World"? Maybe...)

So, without any further ado, here's the first movie in the sure-to-take-years-to-complete series. Picked almost at random, because these really aren't in any order, I give you...

"Confessions of a Dangerous Mind"
2000, directed by George Clooney, screenplay by Charlie Kaufman, based on the book by Chuck Barris


I loved this movie from the moment the credits rolled ten years ago in the (nearly empty) theater. As a kid who grew up watching Barris' magnum opus, "The Gong Show," I felt like I knew the guy, and as one of the few people who actually read Barris' "unauthorized autobiography" when it first arrived in book form, I was eager to see how this crazy story -- game show producer by day, CIA killer by night -- would look on the big screen.

I wasn't disappointed. George Clooney, in his directing debut (but showing plenty of influence from buddies the Coens and Steven Soderbergh) does an excellent job of combining the kitsch of Barris' game show life with the darker (but still somewhat kitschy) visions of his assassin sideline. Sam Rockwell, one of the best actors around, delivers a multi-layered performance as Barris, making him both funny and sad, and he gets strong support from Clooney (as an agent on the slide), Drew Barrymore, Rutger Hauer and, of all people, Julia Roberts, an actress I normally can't stand.

The reason I fell in love with "Confessions of a Dangerous Mind" is that this is a movie that tosses in everything, then tosses in some more. Quirky scene changes, flashbacks, flashforwards, actual commentary from "Gong Show" regulars (including Gene Gene the Dancing Machine, now missing the bottom half of both legs) and even the infamous dating show clip where the woman tells Bob the strangest place she ever made whoopee. If it has any relation, no matter how tangential, to the story, it's in here -- and it's probably filmed in some oddball manner. "Confessions" isn't sophisticated and streamlined, like Clooney's next film, the almost-as-good "Good Night, and Good Luck," but its overstuffed style fits its overstuffed subject matter perfectly.


Plus, it's dark. Really dark. All those CIA murders are mostly played for laughs, but Chuck himself comes across as a tragic figure, and one who knows it, too. Many of the main characters are dead by the end credits, and the last thing we see in the film is black-and-white footage of the real Chuck Barris, describing his idea for a game show where the contestants are dared to kill themselves. Not your average Hollywood ending.

Trivia note: The young Michael Cera plays the young Chuck Barris.

Here's the movie's trailer, which I always liked (and which, for some reason, isn't on the DVD). The original version used the Who's "Who Are You" to strong effect, just before that tune become forever linked with "CSI," but this one, for some reason, replaces it with a more generic tune. Oh well.