Birds fly, bullets rain: Deceased Artiste Dede Allen

Let me move backward chronologically through Dede Allen’s superb career as the first celebrated woman film editor. Yeah, she did a Spike Lee movie and Wonder Boys in recent years, but Ms. Allen, who died the other day at 86, also assembled that thoroughly entertaining but way too beloved hallmark of Eighties mainstream angst, The Breakfast Club. She also in 1981 co-edited Warren Beatty’s pretty damned good epic Reds, which of course would have its important concluding moment in full public view:



It was noted in her obits that not only was she the first critically lauded woman editor, but she was also “among the first” editors to share in a film’s profits (I wonder who the other first ones were). She edited two of Sidney Lumet’s absolutely perfect NYC films, Serpico and the indelible Dog Day Afternoon (1975). I link to a trailer here, with the proviso that Ms. Allen more than likely didn’t cut it, but it offers a good reminder of the film:



In 1972, she edited a film by the underrated director George Roy Hill that, although its lead is miscast, perfectly captures both the trippiness and the emotion of its sublime source material, Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut:



Of course she was best known for having worked on a string of classic films with Arthur Penn when he was on his gorgeous streak of revisionist genre films. Looming extremely large in her legend was the last scene of Bonnie and Clyde:



A more sedate scene from the latterday noir Night Moves:



And let us end where she began (almost), by noting that she edited the perfect The Hustler by Robert Rossen, and a noir that ranks up among the very best, the film that Jean-Pierre Melville was wholly obsessed with (and rightly so), the extremely haunting Odds Against Tomorrow. The whole movie can be found here, but here is the trailer:



and a representative sequence that shows off the film’s gorgeous pacing:

The seriously silly Mr. Neil Innes: the Funhouse interview

This week I had the distinct pleasure of interviewing Neil Innes, the terrifically talented singer-songwriter-humorist who co-founded the Bonzo Dog Band, has been dubbed “the Seventh Python,” and, most prominently, was (and is) the driving force behind the Rutles.

As a preview of our chat, which lasted over an hour, and yielded great anecdotes about the Bonzos, the Beatles, and the Pythons, I offer a trio of clips. First, Neil reminisces about the early days of the Bonzos:



Next, he holds forth on the current state of pitching television programs in England (and, one would assume, over here). He also sings the praises of YouTube, and slams b.s. in general:



And, last, he talks about his less-discussed serious side, and his latest "identity":

Of drinking songs and the "Aintree Iron": I'm led to the Scaffold

When I interviewed Neil Innes (more info above!), he brought up a British band that I had heard for what I think was the first time ever earlier that very day — the oddly organized site that is Pandora.com had supplied me with “music that is related to” the Bonzo Dog Band, and thus I was presented with the insane catchiness of the Scaffold. It turns out Innes wasn’t just personal friends with the members; his second post-Bonzo band was in fact GRIMMS, which was composed of the three members of the Scaffold, himself, a gent named Andy Roberts, and the one and only Viv Stanshall.

The Scaffold existed off and on for 11 years (1966-77), and was composed of a trio of Liverpudlian poet-songwriters who sang their own material but played no instruments. They were Mike McGear, Roger McGough, and John Gorman; McGear’s name was actually McCartney, and he was indeed the brother of that guy Paul. It is noted on the group’s Wikipedia entry that on their early records they were backed by, among many others, Graham Nash, Jack Bruce, Elton John (still named Reg Dwight at the time), and Jimi Hendrix.

All the above is merely trivia — what matters most is the insane catchiness of the band’s four best-remembered songs. Three of them function as drinking songs, and all of them have a chorus you can not forget. In the case of their first big hit, “Thank U Very Much” (spelled that way three decades before Prince and four before texting), I was familiar with the song, but as covered (and lyrically altered for American viewers) by the Smothers Brothers on their Sixties variety show.

The phrase “Aintree Iron” means nothing to Americans, and I found that most English folk can’t even agree on what it means: it is noted on various sites that the phrase could refer to a noted English footballer, an area in Liverpool, or Brian Epstein! In any case, the song’s chipper hookiness can’t be disputed. You do know you’re listening to something from the Sixties when the singer brings up both “the family circle” and the napalm bomb as things to be thankful for.



A Scaffold song that is both catchy as fuck and also has the simplicity of a kids tune is “Gin Gan Goolie.” And the band’s last chart hit was a sort of anthem for their hometown, “Liverpool Lou.”

The one that got me, though, was this totally bouncy ditty that pays tribute to Lydia Pinkham’s pills for women. It’s called “Lily the Pink” and a somewhat awkward live TV performance of it can be found here, but the recorded version is the one that will stick in yer head. Never has the phrase “medicinal compound” been used so musically (then again, this was the Sixties…).

He wasn't fond of them, but here they are: Robert Altman's Scopitones!

Ranking right up there with “Uncle Jean” in my personal Pantheon of filmmakers is the ultimate American maverick, Robert Altman. I only encountered the gentleman in person three times, all extremely brief. He was very, very sick (but nobody knew it) in the last instance, when he made his final public appearance in NYC with Garrison Keillor at the Museum of TV and Radio. Thus, he looked extremely cranky when ensconced in a chair in the “green room” area where he was supposed to meet and talk with press.

On the first occasion, however, at a book signing/promotional event for Short Cuts, he was in fine form, and I wound up asking him if he would ever think of releasing his short films, which included things he lent out to the Museum of the Moving Image in Astoria for a comprehensive Altman retro (Pot au feu, The Katherine Reed Story, etc.). He said they weren’t very good and, no, he didn’t really want them to be released on a laser disc (this tells you how far back this was).

In the case of one of them, a Scopitone called “The Party” or “In Crowd,” he said he didn’t own the music (“Bittersweet Samba” by Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass), so that one couldn’t be released. Well, it has now shown up in public, and is available for public perusal and saving as a download.

The Scopitone is a piece of vintage Sixties filmmaking that adheres to the “party principle” of Sixties pictures, whereby any comedy or music picture could be shaken up by a sudden party sequence, preferably with girls in bikinis in attendance. Here, Altman had to visualize a Herb Alpert track, and so the actual movie is gone, we’re left with just the party. Which is just fine with me:



And because the Internet is a source of constant wonder, here is another of the FOUR Scopitones made by Altman (you learn something new every day), “Girl Talk” by Bobby Troup (who later of course got the last line in M*A*S*H). Here again the “chick factor” is in full effect, and had to be, since Troup was a great musical talent as a songwriter, but as a singer and personality… well, he just wasn’t Buddy Greco!!!



The third Robert Altman Scopitone found on YouTube is Lili St. Cyr shaking her money maker to “Ebb Tide.” This leaves only one Altman Scopitone (“Speak Low”) unaccounted for, but I never thought, as a diehard fan of the man’s work, that I’ve even see these three in public view.



Thanks to M. Faust for pointing the way to "The Party." As I often say on the Funhouse TV show, the Sixties are the gift that keeps giving, and giving, and giving….

Godard's latest provocation, and a tribute to his "brother" in cinema

This week on the Funhouse I’m paying tribute to filmmakers whose work I love: the Kuchar brothers, Nicholas Ray, and Marco Ferreri. Thus, I thought it would be only fitting to pass along links to two new short works by a gent who dwells in the top of my personal Pantheon, Jean-Luc Godard, aka “Uncle Jean” for those who care.

Godard’s “older brother” Eric Rohmer died some weeks back, as I chronicled here. Well, there was a very special night Feb. 8th at the Cinematheque Francaise, where various friends and collaborators of Rohmer shared their memories of the man. The participants included Barbet Schroeder, Arielle Dombasle, and Claude Chabrol. Uncle Jean was present in the form of a short film that he and the Cinematheque have allowed to be shown on the Internet. The page containing Godard’s film and tributes by the other celebrities (in French, no subs) can be found here.

However, for those who don’t speak/read French, and would like to have the “in” references to Rohmer and Godard’s friendship decoded, I’d recommend visiting “The Auteurs” website to read the comments that were posted below the film, which basically translate Godard’s narration, and also explain what his references are about. The film is beautifully done (no surprise) and perhaps the grace note is JLG’s final citation of the last line of Flaubert’s Sentimental Education, “That was the happiest time we ever had.” Uncle Jean is getting sentimental in his old age, and it’s very touching. We’re very lucky to still have him around.

And because he is still primed and ready to make cinema, I should direct you to the weirdest “stunt” associated with any of his recent-vintage films. Various trailers have been posted online for his latest film, Socialisme, which is set to do the film festival circuit shortly. I linked to the original trailer for the film here.

Because he will always be a provocateur in addition to one of the premier cinema poets, though, he also has provided two other trailers that are wholly unique: their visuals comprise the *entire movie* played at very fast speed. Thus, you can “see” the whole film in its visual state, which means that Godard is either commenting on the nature of trailers “revealing” the heart of a movie — or he is possibly pissed at his producers or distributors. In any case, it’s a very weird experience to watch what is surely a 90-minute film flying by in four minutes, with onscreen titles explaining what one will encounter in the film (things, words, etc.).

Here is the four-minute version of the trailer:



And for those with real ADD, here is Godard’s one-and-a-half minute version:



And for those who’d just like to see the actual, “normal” trailer for the film, replete with English subtitles, here it is. The fact that “god” is part of the man’s name is not at all in accurate.