The blog for the cult Manhattan cable-access TV show that offers viewers the best in "everything from high art to low trash... and back again!" Find links to rare footage, original reviews, and reflections on pop culture and arthouse cinema.
And since there was a Beatle-ish slant to the past two D.A. tribs, why not end up with an actual FOTF (Friend of the Fabs), Gordon Waller, the latter half of Peter and Gordon. Gordon died of cardiovascular disease last Friday here in the States at 64.
A Scotsman, Waller was the “dreamier”-looking member of P&G (he’s on the right in the picture), and was the one with the deeper voice. Peter and Gordon were a fine Everly Brothers-influenced duo that had, according to the obits, nine Top 20 hits during their four years together. I have a major fondness for their best tunes, as I heard ’em back at my uncle’s many years back, before I could even begin to contemplate how depressing the lyrics are, and how lovely the melodies and pure-pop production.
Their biggest hit was of course “World Without Love,” given to them by a certain P. McCartney, a friend and boyfriend at the time of Peter’s sister Jane:
The wonderfully direct “I Don’t Want to See You Again” (Paul could write ‘em back then, hasn’t since the late ’70s) performed live on Ed Sullivan (Gordon’s vocals are much better on the record):
A hook and nothing more, but hard to forget. “Nobody I Know,” also by McCartney for his friends:
My all-time fave by the duo, the wonderfully melodramatic and well-produced “Woman.” Again written by McCartney, this time under a pseudonym to see if it would still hit. It did. (I have the LP this came from, and “Right From the Start,” its B-side, is a great farfisa-organ ditty).
But P&G didn’t only have hits penned by McCartney. Here’s another bouncy ode to being fucking dumped, “I Go to Pieces,” by the ever-awesome Del Shannon:
And my other fave besides “Woman,” P&G’s novelty-style pop ditty “Lady Godiva.” Here they are performing it on one of those many failure shows that Uncle Miltie hosted in the mid-‘60s.
I was apprised of another behind-the-scenes musical personality’s shuffling off this mortal coil this week from friend Stephen’s blog, one Tom Wilkes, whose album cover designs are burnt into all of our brains — those of us who are “of a certain age” (what a lovely, ambiguous, insidious phrase).
The best single-glance round-up of Wilkes’ work appears here. You know an online article has hit home when it is responded to by not only the subject’s daughter, but also a certain former subject of his, Van Dyke Parks:
This week I found out about three deaths that relate to Sixties' musical phenomena. The first is the demise of an artist who oversaw the trippiest animated feature of the latter part of that decade, Yellow Submarine. Edelmann was primarily a dedicated graphic designer of posters and illustrations, who also taught for a good deal of his latter years.
Edelmann has the distinction of having made the film the psychedelic masterwork that it is, by designing the characters and “locations.” The piecemeal construction of the picture meant that many other animators were involved in different segments (nearly every song has its own distinct “look” on a visual level), but Edelmann was the eye in charge of the project. With the film he helped jumpstart the so-called “cosmic art” look at the same time that Peter Max became its foremost and most unabashedly commercial exponent (the reason most folks think Max originated the look and collaborated on the film, which he didn’t). Edelmann was quick to note in interviews that he was happy to move on from “head art” shortly after the film was completed.
Funhouse friend Stephen Kroninger pretty much assembled all the links you need in his Heinz-trib which you can find right here (it might take a short bit to load on certain browsers, but it’s worth the trip). Stephen has also added a wonderful National Lampoon parody written by “Mr. Mike” himself and illustrated by Randall Enos that perfectly spoofs Yellow Submarine.
As for the Edelmann, I will just add on this nice bit from an article you can find here written by one his students, Christoph Niemann (it formed the basis of the New York Times obit’s catchiest passages):
Mainly, his teaching consisted of metaphysical monologues examining the links between the arts, literature, the irreversible dumbing down of youth, Asian mythology and graphic design. In case someone happened to be late for class, arriving in the afternoon, his inquiry about Mr. Edelmann's previous presence could easily be answered via a glance at the center of the floor. A rather large pile of ashes would be found there-a reminder of the numerous cigarettes Mr. Edelmann was bound to consume during his lectures — clearly indicating that one had missed him and would thus have to wait until the next day to discuss one's work with him.
One of the first things he would tell a student when they came fresh into class, was to avoid pursuing a career in illustration. Edelmann had worked in all major areas of graphic design and obviously concluded that illustration is the shortest way to desperation, and to make things worse, illustrators are not even reimbursed adequately for their sufferings (unlike, for instance, their colleagues in advertising). One of the most impressive things was that he was not only extremely well informed (on everything but soccer, which he pretended not to like), but also that he was actually working in all the disciplines he talked about. Therefore his insights did not stem from some slowly grown academic wisdom and bitterness, but from his experience on a job finished just the night before.
All his films are crossed by the same obsession with twilight, the solitude of beings, the difficulty of human relations.—Jacques Rivette
Nicholas Ray is in the top rank of American filmmakers for a number of reasons, among them that he made such a deep impression in such a short period of time with so few films, and that the films have remained emotional powerhouses a half century later. His best-known film, Rebel Without a Cause (1955), is grounded in Fifties America, but its depiction of the trials of a teenage misfit is timeless. In a similar fashion, They Live By Night (1949) is in the top rank of “lovers on the run” films, The Lusty Men (1952) is an impeccable portrait of macho self-destruction, Johnny Guitar (1954) is one of the most unique Westerns ever — a baroque creation that is both sincerely operatic and wildly satiric (both of Western clichés and McCarthyism), Bigger Than Life (1956) is perhaps the ultimate statement on the American family in the Fifties (and an amazing template for The Shining, minus the violence), and Bitter Victory (1957) is one of the best war movies ever, exploring cowardice and bravery while giving the young Richard Burton one of his first great movie roles.
This week’s Funhouse episode presents a survey of the filmmaker’s career, in conjunction with the current Nicholas Ray retro at the Film Forum in lower Manhattan. I urge everyone reading this to try and check Ray’s films out on the big screen, especially his later CinemaScope creations. Barring that, I think ya just gotta see the films in one sitting, as his sense of pacing was immaculate, and the stronger films do still pack quite a punch. Since the Internet continues to yield untold pleasures and is one of the finer (and most accessible) research tools, I offer the following clip-survey, courtesy of (you guessed it) YouTube:
An interview clip, from Ray’s Seventies teaching phase:
For some reason no trailer for the perfect They Live By Night can be found on YT, but a French firm has put up an isolated scene from early in the film:
In a Lonely Place (1950) is one of Ray’s best, and also gave Bogart one of his finest roles. The film costars the wonderful Gloria Grahame (who had been Ray’s wife, but the two were in the process of separating while the film was being made). Here is the trailer:
Johnny Guitar has many memorable moments but this exchange of dialogue between Johnny (Sterling Hayden) and Vienna (Joan Crawford) is among the most famous. Godard has been a fan of the film since it came out, and still is — it was included in his recent Histoire(s) du Cinema project:
And in case you can’t imagine what a baroque Western looks like, check this out:
Rebel Without a Cause is available in its entirety on YT:
The trailer for Ray’s masterful Bigger Than Life:
This Bigger Than Life scene serves as a backdrop on the show this week. Here you can watch it with dialogue intact:
Ray’s Bitter Victory (1957) is available on DVD perfectly letterboxed and is a must-see. The opening can be found here:
An eye-catching interlude from Wind Across the Everglades (1958):
Another item that appears on this week’s show, under my commentary. A Cyd Charisse musical number from Party Girl (1958) in BRIGHT Technicholor:
And for those in search of a complete Ray rarity, one generous poster has put up the film The Savage Innocents (1960), which has never been available on VHS or DVD in America. The film is best known for having inspired Bob Dylan to write "Quinn the Eskimo" which became a hit for Manfred Mann. It is also the last real Nick Ray feature film, as his next two works were for-hire epics, and the student film he worked on for years, We Can't Go Home Again hasn't been shown publicly since it was first conceived, and it was a quite complicated piece that involved different types of film (8, super 8, 16, 35mm). The Savage Innocents has been buried for quite some time, and I wonder if that is due to the fact that it would currently be labelled un-"p.c." in its depiction of Eskimos. What Ray was after, however, was to depict a race that has its own moral codes and perfectly organic way of life — and is then disrupted by the white man's sense of "order" and "civilization."
Most viewers had their first and final glimpse of Ray himself in Wim Wenders’ elegiac Lightning Over Water, aka Nick’s Movie:
But this is truly the most amazing Ray rarity on YouTube, the short “The Janitor,” which Ray made for an anthology called Wet Dreams in 1974. It’s quite a bizarre and debauched piece that features Nick in two roles. It is well worth your attention, and I can guarantee you haven’t seen it anyplace else if you live in the U.S.:
I conducted this interview back in 1996 when Mr. Hill was touring the U.S. promoting the re-release of his 1975 film Switchblade Sisters. In the first clip he discusses his “incredibly strange” cult pic Spider Baby, which was made in 1964, but released in 1968.
Here he discusses the actress he essentially “discovered,” the great Ms. Pam Grier:
And since there was a Beatle-ish slant to the past two D.A. tribs, why not end up with an actual FOTF (Friend of the Fabs), Gordon Waller, the latter half of Peter and Gordon. Gordon died of cardiovascular disease last Friday here in the States at 64.
