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Eight Evil Vampires

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Scene from Carl Theodor Dreyer’s Vampyr (1931)

Note that I didn’t say sexy vampire or funny vampire or really cool vampire. The vampire film has mutated over the years into all sorts of things that don’t interest me very much. That’s why the following list is so short and why there are only two films on it made since 1970. As with yesterday’s witch/warlock post, the entries below are in alphabetical order by title:

  1. Blood and Roses (1960). Lesbian vampires. French title: Et Mourir de Plaisir. Directed by Roger Vadim based on a great novelette by Sheridan LeFanu entitled Carmilla.
  2. Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1992) with Gary Oldman. Directed by Francis Ford Coppola.
  3. Dracula (1931) with Béla Lugosi. Directed by Tod Browning.
  4. Dracula Prince of Darkness (1966) with Christopher Lee. My favorite of the Hammer Draculas, directed by Terence Fisher.
  5. Horror of Dracula (1958) with Christopher Lee. The original Hammer Dracula. Directed by Terence Fisher.
  6. Nosferatu (1922) with “Max Schreck” (real name unknown). Directed in Germany by F. W. Murnau. Truly terrifying.
  7. Nosferatu the Vampyre (1979 with Klaus Kinski and Isabelle Adjani. Almost a shot-by-shot remake of Murnau’s version. Directed in Germany by Werner Herzog.
  8. Vampyr (1932). Directed in Denmark by Carl Theodor Dreyer. A must-see classic.

Since this is Halloween, I thought I would send you to some earlier postings on the subject of horror literature and film:

  • Ten short horror stories that have impressed me. For some reason, I’ve found that short stories are particularly good at conveying a sense of terror.
  • Thirteen horror films that I love.
  • A special nod to my favorite horror filmmaker, Val Lewton.

Nine Witches and One Warlock

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Lisbeth Movin as the Witch’s Daughter in Day of Wrath

In honor of Halloween, I decided to list my favorite movies involving witches, plus one with a warlock. Bear in mind that, for the most part, I don’t care as much for recent films; so a number of recent titles which you might include are not represented here. The films are listed below in alphabetical order:

  1. Bell, Book and Candle (1958). Kim Novak as the witch. Directed by Richard Quine.
  2. Black Sunday (1960). Barbara Steele as the witch. Directed by Mario Bava. Gorgeous B/W photography.
  3. Curse of the Demon (1957). Released in England as Night of the Demon. Niall MacGinnis as the warlock. Directed by Jacques Tourneur. A truly terrifying film based on the short story “The Casting of the Runes.”
  4. Day of Wrath (1943). The lovely Lisbeth Movin as the witch’s daughter. Directed by Carl Theodor Dreyer in Denmark. By far the best film on this list.
  5. The Devil and Daniel Webster (1941), also known as All That Money Can Buy. The stunning Simone Simon as the witch. Directed by William Dieterle.
  6. Häxan (1922). Numerous witches. Directed by Benjamin Christensen in Denmark.
  7. I Married a Witch (1942). A comedy starring Veronica Lake as the witch. Directed by René Clair.
  8. Rosemary’s Baby (1968). I guess Ruth Gordon would be the witch. Directed by Roman Polanski.
  9. The Wicker Man (1973) with a whole island of witches and warlocks, led by Christopher Lee. Directed by Robin Hardy in England.
  10. The Wizard of Oz (1939). Margaret Hamilton and Billie Burke as the evil and good witch respectively. Directed by Victor Fleming and George Cukor.

I will try tomorrow to present my ten favorite vampire films.

3D

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Wearing Glasses for a 3D Movie

I don’t see many movies in theaters these days, but today Martine and I went to the Old Town Music Hall in El Segundo to see a 1953 3D movie. The film was The Maze released by Allied Artists and directed by William Cameron Menzies.

In the titles, Menzies was credited as Production Designer and Director. It was an appropriate choice, as this film was by far the most visually elegant 3D film I have ever seen. The sets in the old Scottish castle that was the scene of most of the action were beautifully designed. Never mind that the script and acting were not up to the mark.

Similar to the Menzies films I had previously seen—such as Things to Come (1936) and Invaders from Mars (1953)—the film was beautiful to look at, but at times simply laughable.

The only classical 3D films I remember seeing were André de Toth’s House of Wax (1953), Alfred Hitchcock’s Dial M for Murder (1954), and Arch Oboler’s The Bubble (1966). I have seen some more recent 3D productions, such as James Cameron’s Avatar (2009), but was disappointed by all the computer-generated imagery (CGI).

Although I enjoyed The Maze, even with its ridiculous moments, of which there were many, Martine had problems making the 3D glasses that were handed out work for her. For some reason, she was unable to see properly through the left lens. Like me, Martine wears glasses; but she has eye problems that might make watching 3D movies more problematical for her.

The Film Screening Cooperative

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UCLA’s Melnitz Hall

When I was in the graduate film program at UCLA around 1970, I served as the second chairman of the Film Screening Cooperative (FSC). I didn’t realize it at the time, but it was actually a seminal film society. We invited director Budd Boetticher to screen and talk on the subject of his film Arruza about Mexican bullfighter Carlos Arruza. We also had some wild programs, most notably a quintuple feature of Edgar G. Ulmer films.

Among the voting members of the Film Screening Cooperative were:

  • Willard Huyck and Gloria Katz, the husband-wife team who wrote American Graffiti
  • Thom Andersen, a filmmaker, critic, and film teacher who served as the first chairman of the FSC
  • Steve Manes from USC, a screenwriter (Mother, Jugs & Speed), author, and magazine columnist
  • Alain Silver and James Ursini, who collaborated on numerous books on film, particularly Film Noir
  • Charley Lippincott of USC, who was closely associated with George Lucas

The films were screened at the luxurious theater connected to UCLA’s Melnitz Hall.

It was at Melnitz that I was badly spooked on February 9, 1971, the day of the Sylmar earthquake that was ranked at 6.5 on the Richter scale and cause extensive damage and fatalities across Southern California. That evening, I attended a screening of Alfred Hitchcock’s Sabotage (1936) at Melnitz. Just when Hitch showed an anarchist sabotaging the electrical system of London, we all felt an aftershock; and all the lights went out.

Two Blind Warriors

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Shintaro Katsu as the Blind Swordsman Zatoichi

I am thinking of two incredible blind warriors. One is from the Japanese cinema circa 1970s; and the other is from the literature of Edwardian England, around the time of the First World War.

During the 1970s I was a big fan of Daiei Studio’s Zatoichi films. At the time, Daiei owned two movie theaters in Los Angeles: the Sho Tokyo in Downtown L.A.’s Little Tokyo and the Kokusai on Crenshaw just south of Adams. Both theaters are long since gone.

Zatoichi was a blind masseur and gambler who also was a samurai-grade swordsman who could slice his opponents to ribbons due to his superior hearing ability. Between 1962 and 1989, Daiei produced some 26 Zatoichi films starring Shintaro Katsu. At the time, Daiei had some excellent action directors such as Kazuo Ikehiro, Issei Mori, Tokuzo Tanaka, and Kenji Misumi. Probably my favorite title was Zatoichi’s Fire Festival (1970).

Skipping to the other blind warrior, we have Private Investigator Max Carrados created by Ernest Bramah, a London tea merchant, who was also responsible for the Kai Lung stories, which can be described as fantasy Chinoiserie.

Max Carrados may not have been a swordsman, but his skills were no less incredible.In “The Coin of Dionysius,” a man named Carlyle investigates a Sicilian tetradrachm, taking it to the blind detective:

For a few seconds Carrados handled the piece with the delicate manipulation of his finger-tips while Carlyle looked on with a self-appreciative grin. Then with equal gravity the blind man weighed the coin in the balance of his hand. Finally he touched it with his tongue.

“Well?” demanded the other.

“Of course I have not much to go on, and if I were more fully in your confidence I might come to another conclusion—”

“Yes, yes,” interposed Carlyle, with amused encouragement.

“Then I would advise you to arrest the parlourmaid, Nina Brun, communicate with the police authorities of Padua for particulars of the career of Helene Brunesi, and suggest to Lord Seastoke that he should return to London to see what further depredations have been made in his cabinet.”

Both the Zatoichi films and the Max Carrados stories are highly entertaining, even if a bit fanciful.

Why We Fight

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How the Axis Powers Planned to Divide the Spoils

In my senior year in college, the frontal headaches from my pituitary tumor (which I didn’t know I had) typically lasted twelve hours, usually noon to midnight. It was at midnight that I would begin to do my homework assignments. Naturally, as an upperclassman I stayed away from classes that began before noon.

The headaches didn’t come every day, usually every other day on the average.So, half the time, I took my classes with the tumor pressing on my optic nerve. I had complained about it at the student infirmary several times, but my real pain was pooh-poohed by the doctors and nurses—which left me thinking I was a terrible wuss.

Around that time, I hung around at Fairbanks Hall, headquarters of Dartmouth Films, which acted as an audio-visual service for the college, and which ran the Dartmouth Film Society, of which I was second in command. In the evenings, I would check out what 16mm film prints had been ordered for various classes and, if the titles interested me, I would screen them for myself.

This is how I watched the “Why We Fight” series of U.S. World War 2 propaganda films, which were produced under the supervision of the man who directed It’s a Wonderful Life, namely Frank Capra, who served as a Major in the Army Signal Corps. Capra served directly under General George C. Marshall in directing or supervising these films. They consisted of:

  • “Prelude to War” (1942)
  • “The Nazis Strike” (1943)
  • “Divide and Conquer” (1943)
  • “The Battle of Britain” (1943)
  • “The Battle of Russia” (1943)
  • “The Battle of China” (1944)
  • “War Comes to America” (1944)

Not part of the series, but viewed by me around the same time, was “Know Your Enemy: Japan” (1945), which was embarrassingly racist.

Other films I remember from this period are two French musicals directed by René Clair (Sous les toits de Paris and Le million, made in 1930 and 1931 respectively). Then there was a French documentary directed by Nelly Kaplan entitled Abel Gance, hier et demain (1963). Once I got to Los Angeles, I made every effort to see as many of Gance’s films as I could. His silent biopic Napoléon (1927) is one of the greatest films ever made.

When I wasn’t screening films for myself, I would chat with my friend Peter Jensen, who was using Dartmouth Films’ Movieola to edit a film he had made based on a Chekhov short story.

Dartmouth Films had a major impact on my life.

The Eyes of Hedy Lamarr

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Clark Gable and Hedy Lamarr in Comrade X (1940)

It was a strange movie made at a strange time by an eminent director (King Vidor). I had never seen Comrade X before, and what I remember most about it were the eyes of Hedy Lamarr. It was an early Hollywood film—released by MGM no less—by the Austrian actress who caused a succès de scandale seven years earlier when she appeared in the buff in a Czech film by Gustav Machaty called Ecstasy.

The strange thing is that Hedy was one of the most intelligent-looking actresses in Hollywood. This is borne out by the fact that she also had a career as an inventor. Not the sort of thing one would expect with a nudie actress.

Hedy Kiesler (Later: Lamarr) in Ecstasy (1933)

I have always regarded Hedy Lamarr as one of the most beautiful actresses in Hollywood. I watch her films whenever I can because seeing her films gives me a frisson of sorts.

Comrade X was released a year before the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. We were officially an ally of Russia at the time and were running aid ships to Stalin via the port of Murmansk. In addition to Gable and Lamarr, the film starred all the usual Slavic suspects, such as Oscar Homolka, Vladmir Sokolov, Felix Bressart, and Mikhail Rasumny. In a few short years, the film’s goofy innocence would be a red flag to Senator Joseph McCarthy, who saw the film as a kowtowing to the Soviet enemy.

Hedy Lamarr as a Russian Streetcar Motorman in Comrade X

When I have recovered sufficiently from my broken collar bone, I plan to seek out and read Lamarr’s ghost-written autobiography, Ecstasy and Me.

Quadruple Feature

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Shin Sabure and Michiyo Kogura in Ozu’s The Flavor of Green Tea Over Rice

I had not done such a thing since my early film freak days. Then it was not unusual to sit through five John Ford, Alfred Hitchcock, or Budd Boetticher films projected one after the other in a screening room. Yesterday I did the same sort of thing as I watched four Yasujiro Ozu postwar films from Shochiku Studio screened between 5 pm and 12:30 am by Turner Classic Movies (TCM). I could have made it five pictures, but I had to miss Tokyo Twilight (1957) because I was beginning to fade by the time that midnight rolled around.

The films I saw were:

  • Record of a Tenement Gentleman (1947) about a small child lost in the ruins of a bombed-out Tokyo
  • A Hen in the Wind (1948) about a young wife sells her body to pay her son’s medical bills
  • The Flavor of Green Tea Over Rice (1952) about a middle-aged couple that begins to separate over various issues, but comes together again in the end
  • Early Spring (1956) about the travails of salary-men in Tokyo

All four films were brilliant, and all featured interpersonal problems which ended in some form of reconciliation. In the divided West, such reconciliation would be replaced by buying a gun, wearing camouflage clothing, and committing a hate crime. We seem to prefer the irreconcilable in our own entertainment.

I am enthralled by TCM’s Ozu festival. So far this month, I have seen nine Ozu films; and there are four more screening next Tuesday, plus two more that I missed but could see using TCM’s WATCH NOW feature.

Why do I love Ozu’s films so much? For one thing, they are jewel-like in their perfection—even the silent films Ozu made before 1937. Also, they make me feel good without being saccharine in any way: His films, psychologically, are true to life. (In two of the films, there are depressed little boys with a bed-wetting problem.) Finally, Ozu’s films have a Buddhist sense of Mono no aware, which can be translated as “the pathos of things” or “the bittersweet awareness of impermanence.”

Yes, his films are all bittersweet. But they all end in sweetness.

The Spaces Between Scenes

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Japanese Film Director Yasujiro Ozu (1903-1963)

I did not post yesterday because I was enthralled by an evening of Yasujiro Ozu films on Turner Classic Movies (TCM). Likely, I will be equally remiss on the remaining Tuesdays in May, because TCM will be screening his films on those days.

If not the greatest filmmaker who ever lived, he is certainly one of the top three. Ever since I saw Late Spring (1949) and Tokyo Story (1953) at Dartmouth College, I have been enthralled by Ozu. I literally cannot let a film of his go unwatched if there is any chance I could see it. Consequently, I was up last night past midnight watching a triple feature of:

  • The Ozu Diaries (2025), a biopic directed by Daniel Raim based on the director’s diaries
  • I Was Born But … (1932), a silent feature by the director
  • The Only Son (1936), the director’s first sound feature

I could have stayed up until 3 am to watch A Story of Floating Weeds (1934), but I was starting to flag past the midnight hour.

What makes Ozu’s films so special?

Most of the dozen or so features I have seen to date concentrate on family relationships, especially where children are involved. This is interesting because Ozu never married. In fact, he lived with his mother until her death in 1961. Yet his portrayals of female characters and children are second to none in the entire history of the cinema. If you see Setsuko Hara as Noriko in Late Spring or the little boys in I Was Born But …, you will know what I mean.

No other filmmaker so lovingly includes scenes in which (apparently) nothing happens. Perhaps there is a scenic shot in which a train passes by. Other times there are empty rooms or laundry hanging up to dry or simple kitchen household objects. In one of his diaries, Ozu admits to being interested in “the spaces between scenes.”

Very Buddhist, this. In fact, Ozu and his mother are buried under a stone in which the only identification is the Japanese character mu, “Nothingness.”

At times, Ozu’s directorial touch is so perfect that even God Himself could do no better if he took a turn behind the camera.

No, Not Tonight, I Have a Headache

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#OscarsSoPolitical

Usually around the time of the Academy Awards, I write a negative appraisal of the Oscars, if not of all award shows. Here are just some of my negatory yawps in no particular order:

This year I will refrain from casting aspersions on the awards except to say that I have no idea who won what this year, nor do I care.

Instead, I will say that I have not seen any current movies this last year. I am tired of paying an inordinate amount of money to see a bunch of young actors making faces at one another in a vehicle that is devoid of story or cinematic value. The filmmakers I worshiped are all gone: John Ford, Alfred Hitchcock, Howard Hawks, Jean-Luc Godard, Kenji Mizoguchi, Yasujiro Ozu, Akira Kurosawa, Federico Fellini, Ingmar Bergman, Carl Theodor Dreyer, and Luis Buñuel among others. They have been replaced by people from television, video games, and TikTok.

When people watch films on smart phones and other small screens, it’s pretty much game over.

Perhaps this marks me as an old-timer, but I don’t give a damn. I will continue to watch the great films that have meant so much to me, and to boycott the current product unless it shows signs of genius. So far, there haven’t been many films worth watching.