Well, dear readers, it is hot outside and also it is raining outside, as it has been doing on and off all the livelong day. I should think it would be lovelier if the damn heat went away, but that’s supposedly going to happen today – we shall see if it does. But really, let’s not talk about that, let’s talk about sleaze, as in sleaze cinema. I’ve just about had it watching the low-to-no-budget trash I’ve been watching. Oh, it’s amusing for a few minutes, but then it just goes on and on and on, repeating the same scenes over and over again because, well, they had an idea for a plot but not the brains to know they have to develop it. Now, the truly amusing thing is to look up the ratings on these things and see how many “fans” sleaze cinema has and how these people think the directors who do these films are somehow good at their job. I can assure you they are NOT good at their job. They are bad at their job. Patrick Bronstein’s films are masterpieces compared to what I’ve been watching. I’m not gonna go into most of it, but I mean, The Gore Gore Girls, un film de Herschel Gordon Lewis? It’s not fun, it’s not funny, it’s disgusting on every level and yet his fans are legion. Last night’s film, The Hollywood Strangle vs. The Skid Row Slasher, un film de Ray Dennis Steckler was not only horrible, it was incomprehensible. The entire film has narration because they couldn’t afford sound. There is a composer credited, but I believe most of the music is from a stock library. The only upside of it is that it was shot in 1979 Los Angeles. However, Mr. Steckler is so inept that you never see quite enough to know exactly where you are. Some Hollywood locations are recognizable in longer shots, but mostly the camera is at a position where you actually see no signage at all. In fact, the only real thing I was able to find was Plato’s Retreat on Ivar, which, of course, no longer exists, long torn down. And the film itself is literally eighty minutes of the lead character, the titular strangler, showing up at pretty girls’ apartments for reasons that are unclear, and taking photographs of them in naughty poses and frequently sans clothing. Then he strangles them. That’s the plot and that scene happens about twenty times in the movie. And the guy is so sleazy-looking who in their right mind would go anywhere near him? And these are not weak little girls – any one of them could gouge this wimp’s eyes out or pull his hair out or, I don’t know, scream, but instead they are docile, letting him choke the life out of them, while they occasionally gently paw his arms. And the titular slasher? Same thing – the slasher follows homeless drunks and then slits their throats while they open their mouths and tomato soup comes pouring out. At the end, they kill each other.
But I’ll give them one thing: I think they knew how inept they were, and I think they just loved making whatever sleaze they could. So, what are we to make of the 2012 film, Sal, about the last days of Sal Mineo, directed by James Franco? Well, let me help you out. I don’t want or need to see any other films made by hipsters. This film is so dull, rigorously dull, something Mr. Mineo certainly was not. The film opens with Sal, played by someone who looks nothing like him, working out in the gym with weights. This scene, if you want to call it that, goes on and on and on to no purpose whatsoever. And every scene that follows is exactly the same. The dialogue sounds completely improvised and is therefore terrible, scenes go on way past their expiry point, we get lots of poorly framed driving shots, out-of-focus shots, we see a rehearsal of the play Sal was rehearsing when he was killed – P.S. Your Cat Is Dead, with a non-lookalike actor playing Keir Dullea. The killing of Mr. Mineo lasts exactly three seconds, and then the “film” is over. I will never understand how a completely mediocre actor like Franco ever gets the dough to make this tripe and other than playing festivals, these films lose all their dough because – how can they not? I also watched part of Curtis Hanson’s first film, a Roger Corman special starring Tab Hunter and it, too, is completely incomprehensible and completely no-budget, with gratuitous nudity inserted wherever Mr. Corman wanted it because first timer Hanson had no say in it. It, too, gets kudos – in fact, it got kudos from Kevin Thomas in the LA Times when it finally played third on a sleaze triple bill six YEARS after it was made. But enough about sleaze.
Yesterday, I only got six hours of sleep, was up at eleven, answering e-mails, having telephonic conversation after telephonic conversation, setting a couple more roles in the web series, having a conversation with Cindy Williams, who was concerned because someone said our show would be on Amazon Prime. I explained that anything can be on Amazon Prime just like anything can be published on Kindle. Once she understood that it wasn’t actually an Amazon Prime show, she was fine. She just didn’t want her manager getting upset.
I did a quick errand, came home, had a few more conversations, and now we’ve boiled our fourth regular down to two people – I’ll make the choice, but we’ve asked them to both do one more self-tape of a different scene. Either of them would be fine, so I’ll just go with my gut instinct. Then we had our first rehearsal – just two people – Danika Masi and Robert Yacko. I had to adjust some of the arrangement things and now everything seems to be working very well. After they left, I went to McDonald’s and got stuff to bring home. I ate it and it was fine and within my calorie count. I finished watching The Hollywood Strangler, started a couple of other things, and then it was time to write these here notes.
Today, I’ll be up by eight-thirty and out the door by nine, for she of the Evil Eye is coming. I’ll eat a light breakfast and then return around noon o’clock. Other than writing commentary, I plan to do as little as possible, and then I’ll watch, listen, and relax.
Tomorrow is our second Kritzerland rehearsal and we’ll thankfully have our full cast of players. That will take up most of the day and then the helper person may come by to finish doing the perks stuff. Not sure if that will work or not – if not, we’ll do it on Thursday. Monday is a catch-up rehearsal for three people, Tuesday is our stumble-through, and Wednesday we do our show. I’m sure some of us will go downstairs for a bite afterwards.
Oh, and we announced our two new titles finally – the final volume in the Bagley series – I think we’ve done over forty releases – and the London cast recording of How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying.
Well, dear readers, I must take the day, I must do the things I do, I must, for example, be up by eight-thirty and out the door by nine, eat a light breakfast, do a few things, come home, write commentary, and then at some point, watch, listen, and relax. Today’s topic of discussion: What would your idea of heaven be right about now? Let’s have loads of lovely postings, shall we, whilst I hit the road to dreamland, thankful to be done with sleaze watching.