Featuring...
muse-letter \’myüz-‘le-tər noun
1: a personal message, inspired by a muse of one's own creation, addressed to a person or organization, in the course of which, the sender becomes absorbed in thought; especially turning something over in the mind meditatively and often inconclusively.
2: a letter from a poet, or one who envisions oneself as such, in which he or she “muses” on that which is perceived to be news, or newsworthy in some ironic or absurd way.
A Half-dozen Quirky Films You’ve Never Heard Of (or Forgot)
That Are Worth a Look
The 91st edition of the Oscars will be telecast on the 24th of this month. No doubt, clips from some movie classics will be shown throughout the proceedings. Films that most of us have seen. Several times over, in some cases. They are timeless. There’s no need to “round up the usual suspects” for any further questioning. What more can be said about Casablanca?
Then there are the movies you’ve never heard of. Or at best, forgot. Maybe because they were released so long ago. Maybe even before you were born. Or came and went without a whimper. Or were ahead of their time. Or were summarily dismissed by the critics. Maybe they were just not that good. Yet, there’s something about them that can stick.
Maybe, a scene... an image... a concept...an irony... a backstory... a personal reference point(s). What each have in some way, is what I like to call a “quirk factor.” Or in the plural, “factors.” If anything, that alone warrants their viewing.
In the interest of time and space—there are too many films that could fit this profile— I offer just six. A half-dozen movies, that even after over half of a century, I can especially recall, if only in some small way. And with the aid of Google, I can now fill in details I’d forgotten or never knew.
In no particular order, excepting for the first which I consider a Quirk Classic, they are:
1) Pressure Point (1962)
Notables: Sidney Pottier, Bobby Darin, Stanley Kramer (Producer/Director)
Thumbnail: A psychological drama about a prison psychiatrist (Sidney Pottier), who is called upon to treat a Nazi sympathizer (Bobby Daren). And as usually follows, the man is also anti-Semitic, racist and a misogynist. It is based on a short story, “Destiny’s Tot.“ And with all the topical unrest about race, white supremacy, and MeToo movements, this movie is far too apropos.
Quirk Factor: So many, as I once noted (Somewhere Beyond the Sea; February 2005 Muse-Letter).
That Bobby Darin, essentially a cocky lounge-style singer, would be cast in a pivotal featured role in a film of such gravitas, is off-beat casting to say the least. And that he gives such a great performance is even more surprising.
As for Pottier, he had this to say: “Obviously a picture about a black psychiatrist treating white patients was not the kind of sure-fire package that would send audiences rushing into theatres across the country.”
“Hollywood” never recognized Pressure Point to have even existed, as it dealt with such dicey subject matter. The film also had the misfortune to be released in a year when Oscar nominations included Lawrence of Arabia, To Kill a Mockingbird, The Longest Day, and Mutiny on the Bounty. Which only added to its obscurity.
It included a theatrical stage approach to storytelling by way of “flash-back” scenes played adjacent to those in the present tense.
Its use of odd special effects and camera angles had been not seen before.
But the pièce de résistance, is the a game of Tic-Tac-Toe gone wild. It includes the unsettling specter of a woman being humiliated, by having it played on her face using her own tube of lipstick.
2) Rififi (1955)
Notables: Jules Dassin (blacklisted Director)
Thumbnail: A French crime drama about four men who come together to commit an all but impossible heist of an exclusive jewelry shop, on Rue de Rivoli. “Rififi,” roughly translates to “of a rumble amongst men.” Some modern movie critics now regard it as one of the greatest works in French film noir.
Quirk Factor: The heist scene, which is done with utmost precision, and takes up a half hour in real time, while being shot in silence. No dialogue nor music the whole time. Just the sound of the tools being used for breaking and entering
As a ten-year-old, I found this absolutely mesmerizing. In effect, it literally shows how to commit a crime. Which is why it was banned in some countries. Which I didn’t know at the time. But to sit through a half hour of complete silence? For a kid? Unheard of.
3) Killer’s Kiss (1955)
Notables: Stanley Kubrick (Writer/Producer/Director)
Thumbnail: An interesting hybrid genre that has been described as an “American crime film noir.” Though there’s no resemblance in style, between it and “Rififi.”
The plot involves three prototype characters: a boxer, a gangster, and a dance hall girl living within the steamier side of Gotham.
Quirk Factors: This is a chance to see a Kubrick just starting out; only his second film. The first being two years prior.
In lesser hands, it would be just another B movie. But Kubrick’s artistic mixing of genres and moody pacing, makes it compelling. All done with a miniscule budget. And if there’s a scene that’s not played in darkness or shadow… I missed it.
Old Penn Station, demolished in 1963, is prominent in the film. It seems as if a character in itself. A sad reminder of a charismatic icon long gone.
But finally, there’s fight to the death between the boxer and gangster that is so atypical and engaging, that I can only resort to clichés to describe it: “off the wall”…” “out of left field” … “thinking outside the box.”
It takes place in an abandoned warehouse full of mannequins, wherein the combatants use them and their various body parts as weapons or shields. No way this was in the script. If in fact there was much of a script. Kubrick must have improvised along the way, as he has been known for doing.
Sidebar: My uncle who was a professional boxer, is shown in the background in a scene at a gym. He got $50 to do it. Which was quite a lot of money for an extra in 1955. It translates to $468 in 2019. A non-union extra today only makes about $170 for an 8-hour day. I thought you might like to know.
4) Suddenly! (1954)
Notables: Frank Sinatra, Sterling Hadden
Thumbnail: In a small California town, a train carrying the President of the United States is scheduled to pass through. A hired assassin and his henchmen take over a home that is in a perfect location, to set up a gunner’s nest from which to kill the President.
Quirk Factors: It’s the first time Sinatra played a heavy in a film following his Oscar winning performance as a sympathetic character in From Here to Eternity a year earlier.
The story seemed far-fetched at the time. Something like that would never, could never, happen in modern day America.
Yes, presidents were assassinated. In history. But no one in 1954 could ever imagine this type of assassination scenario: broad daylight… avoiding all vigilance by the Secret Service… firing fatal shot(s) with a telescopic rifle from a high perch… at a president in a moving vehicle… who is waving to the people along the route. Spoiler alert: it was thwarted in the film. But just nine years later, well…
5) How I Won the War (1967)
Notables: John Lennon, Michael Crawford
Thumbnail: A flat out unabashed anti-war film, that uses a variety of styles—vignette, straight to camera and a parody of the war film drama and docu-drama, with absurdist/surrealist touches thrown in. Forget about plot. It’s all beside the point.
Quirk Factors: Every time a soldier is killed, he is a replaced by a character in red, blue, or green-colored uniform, with his face painted the same color, so that he appears to look like a living toy soldier. The point that war is hell, and not a game, is uniquely driven home.
6) Last Summer (1969)
Notables: Richard Thomas, Barbara Hershey, Bruce Davidson, Frank Perry (Director) Eleanor Perry (Writer), Catherine Burns (an unknown who got an Oscar nomination for Best Supporting Actress)
Thumbnail: Not to be confused with Endless Summer. Or, The Long Hot Summer. Or, I Know What You Did Last Summer. Or, Suddenly Last Summer… Summer of ’42… A Summer Place. Simply…Last Summer.
It’s been defined as “…a coming-of-age movie about adolescent sexuality.” To which I would add, with an ending that turns into Lord of the Flies.
Quirk Factor: It deals with bullying, and sexual abuse, spoiler alert... that degenerates into a savage rape (by peers no less), that you didn’t see coming. Topics that are as current as yesterday’s news. Uncanny and unfortunate.
The Ghost of Circus Past
I don’t remember running off to join,
nor it coming to town,
The Circus. Yet there I was.
Swallowing
w
o
r g
d n
s i
! t
a
E
f
i
r
e.
Then there were these devilish
clowns clowns clowns clowns
clowns clowns clowns clowns
clowns clowns clowns clowns
clowns clowns clowns clowns
spilling out each morning from a karma too small
that stops off at my front door.
But I do recall those who left the tent
far too early
perhaps a tad tired of my act.
The…
g l
g i
u n
j g
of balls while spinning
e
h e
w l
s
through the elephant dung.
The balancing act of
commitment and multi-tasking
while jumping through hoops of
R & R:
Rules and Regulations.
Yet I would fear in turn,
their act:
perhaps the one-trick pony of dying.
And how simple it is to learn quickly
and perform so well.
—Ron Vazzano
This stark scene is so etched in memory, that well over fifty years later, I felt compelled to finally identify the pretty actress whose expression, without speaking a word, speaks volumes. Her name is Mary Munday. She passed away over twenty years ago at age 71.
The John Lennon character (his only role in non-musical film), is hit by fatal artillery fire leaving a gaping hole in his stomach. He looks out into the camera and says, “You knew this was going to happen.” No, we didn’t! At least not until that December evening 13 years later.
It is impossible now to separate the two: this scene from a war movie and a reality in front of The Dakota.
Roger Ebert did not like the film with its “…grab-bag full of technical tricks….” What most of us of that age in those explosive late sixty years found so compelling, obviously eluded Ebert.
Upon Hearing of the Death of the “Saloon Priest,” One Year After
Last month I dropped by the West Bank Café in celebration of a friend’s birthday. I hadn’t been to this actors’ hangout in well over a year. At one time, especially soon after my permanent return to New York, it was a place I’d frequent. And as I’d come to find out it was a haunt of Father Peter Colapieto, the so-called ‘Saloon Priest,’ during his 18 years as pastor for Holy Cross Church just up the block on west 42nd street.
Years prior to that, he had been assigned to a church on the upper East Side around the corner from the legendary Elaine’s, in which he became a regular. Celebrated restaurateur Elaine Kaufman loved Father Pete. And he, her.
They were both bigger-than-life characters, and not just in the figurative sense. Fr. Peter at six feet, weighed in at 325 pounds. He liked to eat and especially drink, and was self-depreciatingly humorous about these excesses. When Elaine died, he said: “I gave her my heart, and half of my liver.”
Father Peter Colapieto died on February 5, 2018. Cardinal Dolan celebrated the Funeral Mass five days later at St. Monica Church on the Upper East Side.
I learned of his passing at that birthday gathering, almost a whole year after the fact. How did I miss this in the local tabloids, which I peruse online daily? Or the invariably extensive obit that only The New York Times can write? I once noted that you don’t die as well in any other place but The Times. Which begins:
Peter Colapietro, ‘Saloon
Priest Who Ministered to
Lowly and Mighty, Dies at 69
“… a Roman Catholic priest and outsize New York personality whose late-night presence as a regular at celebrity hangouts, contrasted with his low-key work at Theater District parishes, died on Monday in the Bronx. He was 69.”
And so on and so forth; and so forth and so on.
I can’t pin down exactly when I first met him, unless I go digging through my journals now at volume 24. But it was memorable. As would be others.
Sitting next to him at the bar in the West Bank, we got to talking and I asked him what he did for a living. Dressed in ‘civilian clothes,’ he said “I’m a priest.” Which for a second, I thought he was putting me on. As in “A priest, a rabbi and minister walk into a bar….” At that point we spoke about the seminary in Yonkers that he had attended and left. (“Before they could throw me out”). In time he went back.
In the course of conversation we also got on to Andrew Cuomo, who Fr. Pete knew well. Whom he said had a temperament unlike his eloquent and legendary father Mario. “Not a nice guy,” he concluded. And then maybe he mentioned the mobster over whose funeral mass he had presided over that morning. Or was that at another later time? They tend to run together.
But for certain, as I was about to leave that night, I asked how I might become a Lector at his church. (I’d had experience as such, for five years in Santa Monica). He said, “Talk to my people.” When I asked how I might get in touch with them, figuring I’d have to drop by the church rectory or some other formality, he motioned toward the other end of the bar, “They’re over there.” At that point, I wondered when the church organist might show up. So that was Fr. Pete; regular guy. His priestly side would be brought home in a second more personal and indelible encounter.
At a rather scary time in my life, I had come to New York from LA to seek out options as how to proceed to treat a newly discovered cancer. I had had a rough day of it, and didn't like what I was hearing, and so of course, I did what anybody in that situation would. I went over to the West Bank for an early happy hour drink.The only other person in the place on this cold mid-week day in early January, was Fr. Pete. It had been a few years since I'd first met him, and no way he'd remember me.
We hadn't as yet gotten into any conversation, when he looked over and simply said, “What can I do for you?” I told him about the cancer. He off-handily said, “I have leukemia. But that’s not what’s going to kill me.” And we went on from there. And with his comforting words (and some wine), I had the sense that all would turn out well. And it did.
He didn't have to be there at that exact time on that exact day. And that we two would be the only ones in the place. I would always look at this as an “angel-like" encounter. Corny. I know.
But this bit of memoir, is an extremely whiter shade of pale compared to “The Mickey Rourke Story.” Rourke as in, the actor. Everyone who knew Fr. Pete has heard it. It can easily be Googled so I won’t go into detail. But it involves a gun… Rourke’s desire to do a revenge killing regarding the possible rape of his wife … leave a suicide note he had on his person…then kill himself.
Fr. Pete... talked him out of it… took the gun away… had Rourke leave the note behind a statue of St. Jude, the saint of impossible causes… followed by a few glasses of wine in the church basement… a few cigarettes… and a tragedy of mythological proportions was averted. Rourke has verified all of this in public. It’s a movie in itself. Though what studio would ever buy such a premise?
They developed a close 24-year friendship. Rourke, who would refer to Fr. Pete as “my guardian angel,” (see!) sent this flower arrangement to the funeral home upon getting the news.
The good priest was right. Leukemia didn’t kill him. Emphysema did.
Christmas Eve two years ago, would be the last time I’d see him. And welcomed him back into a neighborhood in which he belonged. As I noted in a journal entry…
“…St. Malachy’s Church ... midnight mass... the famous‘Saloon Priest’ Fr. Peter Colapieto presiding.
He puts on a Santa Claus cap at the end of the mass, and from his sack gives away a few GUND bears to some small kids. I’ve never seen that before. The coming together on the altar, of religious and secular Christmas.”
As the former New York City Police Commissioner William Bratton put it…”He brought humanity to religion.”
Amen.
Oscar Nods Note
As I write, the Oscar nominations have just been announced. I can’t help but note (oh, I could if I really tried), that what I felt about Spike Lee (Best Director) and BlacKkKlansman (Best Movie) back in the SEPTEMBER, 2018 Muse-letter (Spike Does the “Righter” Thing), has been shared by the Academy. And as I thought at the time, a deserving Adam Driver has also gotten a nod with a “Best Supporting Actor " nomination.
The film’s $48 million domestic gross puts it in 58th place in box office rankings for 2018. Great for a Spike Lee film, but sort of echoes what Sidney Pottier had to say about Pressure Point 55 years ago... “not the kind of sure-fire package that would send audiences rushing into theaters across the country.”
Which is where we came in.
finito