Mingus directed by Thomas Reichman in 1968 is a film that is much more than a music documentary about Charles Mingus. It digs deep into what was like to be Black, a genius, broke and living in America in the Sixties.

On the music tip, there’s plenty of terrific footage of Mingus playing that bass. And there’s plenty of substance in Mingus who had an incredible mind and who refused to shut up in the face of a culture designed to keep him in his place or deny him any place at all.

Mingus has been available in segments on YouTube. Here it is in uninterrupted form.
 

Photo by Chris Saunders
 
David Lynch doesn’t like giving interviews. He has to be coaxed by interviewer Mark Cousins, to give answers to his questions.

Mark Cousins: David Lynch, you don’t like doing interviews, do you?

David Lynch: No I don’t.

Mark Cousins: Why are you sitting on this sofa then?

David Lynch: To do you a great favor.

Lynch certainly does a great favor here, in this fine documentary Scene By Scene, as the cult director goes on to explain his thoughts on films and film-making:

A film is its own thing. And in an ideal world, I think film should be discovered knowing nothing, and nothing should be added to it, and nothing should be subtracted from it.

The usually taciturn Lynch then opens-out about his life; his insecurities (why he once wore three ties); his ideas on the speed of rooms; why he doesn’t follow politics (‘I don’t understand the concept of two sides’); and his response to criticism in his portrayal of women:

..the problem is that somebody sees a woman in a film, and then mistakenly assumes that that is the way the person sees all women, when in actuality it’s just that particular woman within this particular story.

The interview concludes with Cousins asking Lynch about his thoughts on mortality.

Inside, we’re ageless.  And when we talk to ourselves, it’s the same person we were talking to, the same age, when we were little, and it’s the body that’s changing around that ageless center.

Recorded prior to the release of The Straight Story, this fifty-minute documentary, made by BBC Scotland, gives great insight into David Lynch and his method of film-making.

Watch it—before it’s gone!

A full transcript of the interview with David Lynch can be found here.
 

 
Via IndieWire
 

 
If I threw the words “sexy vampire comedy” at you, what are the first images that come to mind? A Catskills Lothario, fanging luscious and lonely housewives all across the East Coast? We should be so lucky! (Yes, I would watch the living end of that.) Instead, those key words do not have the best pedigree. There’s belly dancing/actress Nai Bonet’s star vehicle to nowhere, Nocturna and the straight out of Germany, 1982’s Dracula Blows His Cool. The latter best known for giving the world the song, “Rock Me Dracula (Suck Me Suck Me)” and not a whole lot else. But there is one film in this highly iffy arena that has been building a slow simmer of a cult status since 1974..

The film in question, one that was thought to be lost for years until it was recently unearthed, cleaned up and released by Impulse Pictures earlier this year, is Sexcula. (That’s pronounced sex-kula.) Made in Canada, complete with Federal funding from an undoubtedly unknowing Canadian Film Development Corporation, Sexcula was only screened once and then disappeared. That one private screening gave birth to years’ worth of gossip and word-of-mouth. Few could have expected that this mega-obscure skin flick with fangs, complete with a cast that have dropped off the face of the Earth, would someday be easily available. Even fewer could even begin to know what to truly expect from this ridiculous but overall fun hybrid of a film.

You’re given the false sense of safety, at first, with the dark castle in the thrall of night, while the phrase, “Those Evil deeds of the Countess” appears. (And yes, “Evil” is capitalized like that.) The title credits begin to roll, with character credits including “Benchtest and Hooker,” which is the first sign that we’re not in Kansas anymore. After this, a young couple drive around the countryside until they arrive at a large house, which looks more like urban ruins than the former glamorous glory of the girl’s (Debbie Collins) familial castle. Her family’s unusual history is summed up with the phrase,“the stories about this place would curl your pubes.” Not to state the obvious, but pubic hair generally is curly, but this is really beside the point. I gave up all rights to complain about logic the moment I entered a universe called Sexcula.

The girl goes on a hunt for her grandmother, Dr. Fallatingstein’s (Jamie Orlando) diary. As the young lovers go on a picnic, where curiously the woman is full on starkers while her date keeps his polyester finery on., he begins to read the diary. Turns out, her grandmother delved into Frankenstein-esque activities, with her piece-de-resistance being the perfect man, aptly named Frank (John Alexander). He’s a smashing success except for one minor detail. Frank’s got the sex drive of a dead dog doped up on salt peter,  a source of tremendous frustration for his creator. The Dr. is left with only one solution—to call her niece, Countess Sexcula (Debbie Collins, again) for help. Turns out Sexcula is one busy lady, combining one glamorous and DNA-riddled lifestyle of vampirism and hooking, with a twist of nymphomania. In fact, take two guesses what our heroine is up to as her Aunt gives her a ring? That would be a firm yes, with the ultimate romantic gesture of getting it on flanked by the ultimate swanky notes of a Herb Alpert-esque tune. The sex scene ends with her smiling and flashing the peace sign at the lens, hinting at a time when women and men were more likely to get naked and friendly in front of the camera as an act of cultural rebellion and good times.

The Countess makes her way to Castle Fallatingstein immediately, leading to the introduction of the rest of the Dr’s motley lurid crew. There’s Benchtest (Marie McLeod), an emotionless love-bot, Orgie (Tim Lowery), the mongoloid hunchback with ants in his pants and even a Gorilla (Bud Coal, which is a fab name), who seems to get more action than poor Orgie.

The girls try numerous techniques on hapless Frank, including a romantic carriage ride, hypnotism, sex cell blood transplants or, my personal favorite, a dramatic striptease. The latter may sound harmless enough, but throw on some pink lights, a sweet turned savage gorilla and guns (!) into the mix, and than you have the way into my fetid little heart.

Unfortunately, things start to wane pretty quickly, with the latter half of the film inexplicably focusing on a mock wedding on a porno shoot that turns into one sterlingly retarded swing party. My best guess is that the filmmakers needed to pad things out with an unrelated loop or footage from an abandoned project, since it shares none of the actors and lacks the goony, gothic glow that permeates the rest of the film.

Sexcula is a fascinating, if not wholly successful curiosity. It’s not really a horror film, though it has some of the superficial trappings of one. It’s not really lough-out-loud funny either, though in its best moments it is earnestly ridiculous and cute. The cast obviously had some fun and not just in the body-love sort of way. Collins, touted as a Canadian Marilyn Chambers, actually gives off more of a sunny Melanie Griffith, circa the early 80’s vibe than anything else.

With films like Sexcula, the whole “whatever happened to” thought is bound to cross into your noggin, but perhaps it is for the best that the cast is mired in fringe film obscurity. While you and I are probably cool enough to be impressed that say, our lawyer or teacher was in a weird Canadian vampire-sex spoof film from the 70’s, society is still in devolve mode.

Past, present and future, Sexcula is one of the reasons why the information age can be a great tool. Films that have been thought to been lost for decades are starting to turn up, which is a beautiful thing for any film lover worth his/her salt. As for Sexcula itself, while it’s almost more of a saucy experiment than anything else, it is also lovably daffy in moments and bless Impulse Pictures for releasing it.

 
Perhaps a little too cute for Dangerous Minds (I couldn’t help myself) these Star Wars-themed sushi Ewoks look damned delectable!

There’s a step-by-step “how to” at LydMc.

Below, elder Ewoks made from kiwis.

 
Via Nerdcore

 
It’s an hallucinatory, almost trance-inducing experience, said underground film-maker, photographer and poet, Ira Cohen about his film The Invasion of Thunderbolt Pagoda (1968).

It’s like going on an ecstatic journey to another planet, full of magical beings, animals and plants.

It’s certainly all that and more, and also has a soundtrack by The Velvet Underground’s original drummer Angus MacLise. 

Cohen filmed this phantasmagorical short at his apartment in New York’s Lower East Side. Cohen called his home “The Mylar Chamber,” as its walls were covered with Mylar, and he used its distorted and reflective quality to photograph various artists, writers and musicians. It was also a key component to The Invasion of Thunderbolt Pagoda, where its wonderful ripple effect is like one long trip. But to Ira Cohen back in the 1960s, it was “just reality.”
 

 
Previously on Dangerous Minds

Shaman of the Lower East Side: Ira Cohen R.I.P.

 
Bonus: rarely screened interview with Ira Cohen, after the jump…
 

 
Congrats to DM pal Toby Amies! The British filmmaker’s new feature-length documentary, The Man Whose Mind Exploded—seven years in the making—will be premiering at the Sheffield Doc/Fest next week on June 13th:

Drako Zarhazar lives in the here and now. He doesn’t have much choice: his anterograde amnesia means he can’t create new memories. He’s certainly had his share of life’s woes—he’s quick to tell you he has survived two comas, two nervous breakdowns and two suicide attempts. Despite past angst, the Drako of the present is cheerful and extroverted, and more than happy to let Toby Amies film him, in all his tattooed, frequently naked glory. His heaving Brighton flat is a phallic-themed art installation, with many mementos of Drako’s colourful past. It’s also increasingly a health hazard. Over the months, Toby becomes more than documentarian, filling in as both carer and friend. He struggles to keep Drako safe and under the radar from social services in this tender and nuanced portrait of an outsider.

With original music by Adam Peters.

Sheffield Doc/Fest information
 

 
You can run from Suspiria... You can hide from Suspiria... and now you can eat there, too?

Huh? That’s right, kids, Dario Argento’s 1977 horror classic Suspiria, well-known for its sumptuous sets, innovative lighting and oh so Technicolor blood, has had its signature “look and feel” appropriated for a trendy new eaterie by the owners of Cambiare, an Italian bar & grill located in Tokyo’s Shinjuku nightclub district.

Most “theme” restaurants are tacky affairs with the sort of mediocre food that attracts tourists and never the locals, who’ll avoid them like the plague. Having said that, I think I’d simply have to eat at a Suspiria-themed restaurant at least once should one ever open in my backyard… if only to check out the lighting and the carpaccio (!)

I suppose Argento’s 1993 film Trauma was not in consideration for a theme restaurant? Probably not!
 

 

 

 

 
Via Fearnet

 
The worlds of film and music can be so simpatico to the extent of being fraternal twins. This is why a format like music video can be jewel-like, when done correctly. Of course, nowadays most music videos look more like ads for Pier One or the lamest nightclubs in the world. But in the sea of mediocrity, one underground artist stands out and her name is Actually Huizenga.

I first found out about Actually when I discovered the music video for her song Don’t (from her self titled album, which is quite excellent, by the way) via Tumblr. One happenstance click and I was floored both by the music, which was very much in the mold of what I like to call “sin-synth”, but also by the video. Shot in Greece, it was both stunningly beautiful, with Actually looking like a sexual revenant in parts. The themes of power play, the beauty of lust and the darker recesses of human love and eroticism are ones that come up again and again in her work, but nowhere are they more strong than in her short film series, SoftRock.

Made in collaboration with uber-talented photographer and partner-in-crime/co-star, Socrates Mitsios, SoftRock eschews the safer sound of pop and focuses on a landscape that Huizenga has phrased as “snuff pop”. The first segment, SoftRock I, mainly centers around Huizenga and Mitsios. Fragments of coupling with hints of violence, all edited in a way like it’s the recollection of a memories of the dying. The soundtrack, a sonic collage consisting of scraps of musicality (including something that might be a sample from Burzum’s Dunkelheit) sewn in with borderline white noise, reflects the beautiful wrongness of it all.

The nightmare of Eros continues with SoftRock II, picking up where the first one left off. In addition to the figures of Mitsios and Huizenga, there are others spotted, including a thin brunette terrorized. The horror hinted at in the first one has grown both gothic and gritty, with images of Actually, wide-eyed and holding melting candles to scenes of queasy sexual aggression. It’s this combination that will undoubtedly throw off a lot of people, but the reason why it is so compelling and even pure is for that same reason. Human nature, all of its light and dark facets can be alternately glowing and greasy, which is demonstrated so strikingly here.

Rounding off the initial trilogy is SoftRock III, with everything that was brewing in the first two come to a head.  For starters, there are the repeated scenes inter-threaded throughout of Actually running naked through a wooded area, mouth red with blood,  looking all but like a heroine from a Jean Rollin film. The sexual violence aspects come up alongside this, all playing out like a pagan ceremony gone awry. Yet amidst all the darkness and depravity, one of the last images is also one of the sweetest, revealing a message of love in a sea of lurid drives and dark intention.

SoftRock stands out for a number of reasons. For starters, it’s highly unusual to see an artist from a pop music background not only get directly involved with film making (right down to the editing) but on top of that, create something that by its very DNA is going to alienate most mainstream audiences. Even better, the power couple of Huizenga and Mitsios have created something entirely arty and uncompromising. It’s a feverish nightmare chock full of rich colors, grainy footage that looks like an outtake from Fleshworld magazine, but with love, fear and exorcism thrown in for good measure. With rumors of a fourth installment, not to mention news that Actually is working on follow up to her debut album, it will be exciting to see what future art emerges. Whatever shape it takes, like a lipstick smear on a cocktail glass, it will be evocative, a little sleazy and hard to erase.

 
‘All of my films have really been statements about America, strangely enough,’ said director Terry Gilliam in this documentary about his work and career, made for The South Bank Show in 1991.

If you look closely at them, or I sit and try to describe them in some way, they’re all me reacting to that country I left. They’re seen through the eyes of somebody who lives in Britain, who’s been affected by this world, but they’ve all been messages in film cans back to America.

They’ve been disguised with the Middle Ages and the Eighteenth Century and everything, but it’s about that. This one [The Fisher King] has no disguise—that’s what’s interesting about it. It’s there, it’s naked, this is the world.

Gilliam concludes the interview by dismissing any possibility of complacency in light of the success of The Fisher King .

Let’s say this film is successful and America is going to offer me money, there will be that tendency to say, “Oh, I’ll make more like this.” It’s easier to make films like this because I don’t have the same battles and I hope the perverse side of my nature is still there to rescue me from this, because I think that’s what’s kept me going is the sheer perverseness and because the easy path is that way…(Makes hand gesture) [and] I don’t do it

I think I’ll know when I’m really middle-aged when I go that way. If the next film is an easy film—you know it’s over. You’ll know he’s middle-aged, he’s fat, he’s a slob, he’s given up the battle.

As if that is ever going to happen, Mr. Gilliam!
 

 
Watch Terry Gilliam’s latest film ‘The Wholly Family’ after the jump…
 

 
The issue was money. Sergio Leone originally wanted Henry Fonda to star as the “Man With No Name,” in his film A Fistful of Dollars (1964). But the production company could not afford such a famous Hollywood actor. The role was then offered to Charles Bronson, who turned it down, because he thought the script “bad.”

Then came the list of those who could have been and the one who eventually became the “Man With No Name:” Henry Silva, Rory Calhoun, Steve Reeves, Ty Hardin, James Coburn and Clint Eastwood.

Leone wanted Coburn, but at $25,000, he was too expensive. The role, therefore, went to Eastwood, who was $10,000 cheaper.

Having finished working on the long-running cowboy TV series Rawhide, Eastwood was not keen on making another western. But encouraged by his agent, he read the script. Eastwood recognized the screenplay as a direct lift from Akira Kurosawa’s Yojimbo. Intrigued, he took the part.

What Leone liked about Eastwood was that he moved like a cat—quietly assured, self-confident. It was a quality other actors and directors would notice. Richard Burton, who co-starred with Eastwood in Where Eagles Dare, compared him to Robert Mitchum, as having a “dynamic lethargy.” Director Don Siegel said Eastwood did nothing, and made those around him appear to be acting.

A Fistful of Dollars nearly collapsed during filming as a copyright license had not been agreed upon with Kurosawa. This meant the film was only given a European mainland release, and was banned from being shown in the U.S.A. and Britain. However the film made sufficient profit to fund Leone and Eastwood in making a sequel, the aptly titled For A Few Dollars More (1965), and then a third the following year, The Good, The Bad and The Ugly (1966).

By 1967, all license agreements had been cleared and Leone’s trilogy was released in America. The critics hated it, and damned all 3 films outright. Yet, the public rightly adored the series, and the films became Classic Westerns.

This is “Out of the West” which formed the first of a 2-part documentary on Clint Eastwood. This section looks at Eastwood’s early life (from childhood to drifter, to Army) and on to his first acting roles, success in Rawhide and working with Sergio Leone. The documentary concludes with Eastwood setting-up his own company Malpaso, and his collaborating with Don Siegel on Coogan’s Bluff, Two Mules for Sister Sara, The Beguiled and Dirty Harry.

If you have an interest in film, this is definitely one to watch before it disappears.