Take it off: Joe Namath’s 1970 motorcycle flick hit ‘C.C. and Company’
02:52 pm


Joe Namath

C.C. and Company
Did you get a load of Joe Namath in his fur coat at the Super Bowl? It reminded me of the days when he was a Super Bowl star himself. As every football fan knows, in early 1969 the underrated Jets were set to play the mighty Baltimore Colts in a matchup between the NFL and the upstart rival league, the AFL. The Packers of the older NFL had already won Super Bowls I and II. Namath, as quarterback for the Jets, “guaranteed” victory and then delivered on his promise, which did a great deal to legitimize the newer league. Only a year or so later, the NFL and the AFL would merge, and everyone would live happily ever after except for the dudes with the concussions. Given that Namath’s team was from New York, that one game would ensure that sports fans in the Big Apple would never, ever shut up about “Broadway Joe.” (The Jets haven’t won a title since, and the Jets fans consider themselves, with fairly good reason, as being one of the more put-upon fan bases in the league.)
Joe Namath
In late 1970, Embassy Pictures released C.C. and Company, a biker movie starring none other than Joe Namath as “C.C. Ryder,” an affable moto-counterculture type who hangs out with his The character name was obviously inspired by “C.C. Rider,” the 1966 hit by Mitch Ryder & The Detroit Wheels, a rollicking track that provides the soundtrack for the opening credits. 

C.C. and Company was produced by Allan Carr, who later produce the 1978 hit Grease as well as the 1980 Village People vehicle Can’t Stop the Music. In the movie, C.C. is hanging out cheerfully shoplifting from a clueless supermarket when he and a couple of his gang mates from “The Heads” come upon a beautiful fashion journalist named Ann whose limo has stalled in the desert. Instead of letting his buddies rape Ann, he intervenes and gets them to go away, which pisses them off as well as the leader of the gang, named “Moon,” who’s played with effective menace by William Smith. C.C. and Ann begin to fall for each other as C.C. tries to extricate himself from the Heads.
C.C. and Company
The movie’s got a jocular style—but all in all, it’s pretty crappy. But this tells you everything you need to know about that era: this wasn’t some obscure release—according to Variety, C.C. and Company was the #1 movie in America for two solid weeks in October 1970!

So my only question is, when does victorious Seattle Seahawks QB Russell Wilson start filming his biker flick? Shoot, I’d settle for some kind of Fast and Furious knockoff.

Posted by Martin Schneider | Discussion
Conversation piece: Francis Ford Coppola’s bizarre Fuji commercial
01:02 pm


Francis Ford Coppola

This must have been the easiest money Francis Ford Coppola ever made: an advert for FUJI cassette tapes, in which the hirsute director of The Conversation is filmed in medium close-up, dreamily caressing the C60. It’s kind of weird and bizarre and I can almost hear the ad director prompting, “Now, rub it in your beard, Francis, rub it in your beard. Make love to it with your chin.”

In a comparative terms of time and effort, the money Coppola made for this 1980 FUJI advert (and who knows he may have given all the earnings to charity?) was as easy (if not easier) as the extra half-a-million-dollars Marlon Brando was said to have earned during the making of Apocalypse now, when the beefy actor supposedly spent a week listening to Coppola read him the film’s source story, Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness

H/T Indiewire, with thanks to Bessie Graham!

Posted by Paul Gallagher | Discussion
‘Lost’ Frank Zappa student radio interview from 1978 is ‘a legend in awfulness’
12:37 pm


Frank Zappa


“Have you ever defecated onstage?”

Straight from the horse’s mouth, take it away Bob Andelman:

When I was a freshman at the University of Miami in 1978, I worked at WVUM 90.5 FM as an air personality. One day, the station manager, Bob “Bear” Mordente, was looking for someone willing to go out to the Royal Biscayne Hotel in Key Biscayne to interview musician and pop culture legend Frank Zappa.

I said I’d do it if no one else volunteered. Then, as now, I wasn’t afraid of interviewing anyone. Then it was foolish; I had no on-air experience and even less experience interviewing anyone for broadcast. Oh, and I knew absolutely zero—ZERO!—about Mr. Zappa.

A time was set for the next day and I went back to my dorm to see if anybody had any idea what I should ask the man. Lucky for me (not really) the drug dealers—I mean students—in the room next to me had piles of Zappa and the Mothers of Invention albums and purported to be experts on the man. Experts on the myth, as it turned out, but “urban legends” as a buzzphrase was still a good 20 years off. Anyway, these two knuckleheads filled me up with wide-eyed stories of ridiculous things that Zappa allegedly had done on stage over the years and I took copious notes.

The next day, Mordente and I drove out to the Royal Biscayne Hotel and our moment with destiny. Mordente handled recording the sound on a reel-to-reel machine so I could focus on Zappa and my litany of ludicrous questions.

I asked the most idiotic, moronic things of this brilliant American master and I must say that he treated me with great kindness in return, encouraging me to see him as a person, not some bizarre cartoon, and to just engage him in conversation. It was advice I remember and follow to this day, whether I’m talking to musicians, authors, politicians, athletes or entrepreneurs.

My unvarnished, unedited interview with Frank Zappa aired immediately on WVUM, was repeated often, and became a legend in awfulness.

Despite this, I had a blast working on the college radio station, mostly handling Friday and Saturday overnights, spinning deep album cuts, taking requests from my pals in the dorms and meeting some really bizarre stoner listeners in the greater Coral Gables community.

What survives from my day with Frank Zappa—we were together a couple of hours—is the edited, 30-minute recording you’re about to hear. Ladies and gentlemen, my day with Frank Zappa, September 14, 1978.


Below, Zappa a month later on October 13, 1978 at The Capitol Theatre in Passaic, NJ. Zappa is playing the famous burnt guitar that Jimi Hendrix gave him:


Posted by Richard Metzger | Discussion
Watch Michael Caine’s master class on film acting in its entirety
11:17 am


Michael Caine

IMDB lists this hour-long session of Michael Caine teaching some students the art of film acting as being produced in 1987, but I have a hunch it was recorded a few years earlier. For one thing, aside from Alfie (1966), the acting exercises lean heavily on two movies that would have been very current in, say, 1984: Educating Rita and Deathtrap. Also, I think I remember seeing this on Bravo (yes, kids, there once was a time when Bravo had almost entirely highbrow, high-quality programming) earlier than 1987, although I could be wrong about that.

Noted non-actor Howard Stern has said of this documentary, “I watched the video and had my doubts ... I thought a lot of what he said was horseshit, but halfway through the movie I thought: The son of a bitch is right!”—so you know it has to be good. Howard Stern says so!

The appearance of this video on YouTube warmed my heart. It’s a pleasure to see such detailed evidence of Caine’s mastery of movie acting.

The most famous bit from this documentary is when Caine demonstrates a couple of key tips about closeups in the movies: “If I keep blinking, it weakens me. But if I’m talking to you, and I don’t blink, and I just keep going, and I don’t blink, and I keep on going, and I don’t blink, you start to listen to what I’m saying….” 
Michael Caine
Michael Caine—not blinking….
Caine’s very charming and tells a number of illumating stories along the way. One of his memorable bits is a story about George Cukor telling Jack Lemmon that the best movie acting is simply doing “nothing.” It’s startling to see him explain a point by doing some lines from the scene we have just seen the student actors doing. No disrespect to them, but it’s quite amazing how different and how much better Caine’s versions are! And you can also see decided improvement in the students’ performances as the hour goes on. Unfortunately, I don’t recognize most of the young actors—two of them apparently became regulars on strictly-for-U.K.-audiences Coronation Street and EastEnders. I did recognize Celia Imrie from a few U.K. mysteries; I don’t remember her from Star Wars: Episode I—The Phantom Menace but I congratulate her on landing such a lucrative gig.

This video is available on Amazon as a standalone DVD or as part of a six-DVD product called BBC Acting Set. The other five classes (also available as individual DVDs) are Simon Callow’s Acting in Restoration Comedy, Janet Suzman’s Acting in Shakespearean Comedy, Brian Cox’s Acting in Tragedy, Jonathan Miller’s Acting in Opera, and Maria Aitken’s Acting in High Comedy. Furthermore, Caine also published a book on film acting, Acting in Film: An Actor’s Take on Movie Making.

Posted by Martin Schneider | Discussion
Disgraceland: Steven Van Zandt rips on Paul Simon
09:48 am


Paul Simon
Steven Van Zandt

Little Steven
Little Steven at a press conference where Coretta Scott King accepted the first $50,000 check (on behalf of The Africa Fund) from Artists United Against Apartheid, 1985
Perhaps one of my least punk predilections is a weakness for Paul Simon, and the album Graceland, specifically. It’s not that I have any compunction about liking “mom rock,” (moms are awesome, and my love for Carole King is also well-documented), but Graceland is steeped in some pretty nasty history. For one, I’m inclined to believe Los Lobos, who appear on the last track, “All Around the World or The Myth of Fingerprints,” when they say Simon should have given them a writing credit. The album made bank, and he certainly could have stood to give them credit and a little compensation.

But the most well-known controversy of Graceland is Simon’s refusal to cooperate with the cultural boycott of Apartheid—most of the album was recorded in South Africa, but Simon apparently considered himself exempt from the politics of the situation, since he had been invited by South African musicians and didn’t play live shows in the country. I’ll be the first to admit that cultural boycotts can be difficult to understand. From an artist’s perspective, no one wants to be told to avoid an audience or a musical collaboration because their governing body is corrupt. But Paul Simon pulled what we refer to in radical political circles as a “total dick move.”

If he was really committed to solidarity with South Africans (which he insists, to this day, that he was), it would have been incredibly easy for him to just ask the African National Congress if it was cool for him to visit, just to make sure that he wasn’t, ya know… undermining the struggle for liberation of a long-suffering people. He was even explicitly advised by Harry Belafonte to do just that, (and when Harry Belafonte gives you civil rights advice, you’d best just listen). Simon decided he was just going to go, and upon his arrival, he was treated to protests, with signs demanding, “Yankee Go Home” and “Go Back Simon.”

And here’s the thing—he still hasn’t fucking apologized. I’m not sure if it’s because the album was incredibly successful or because it broke South African vocal group Ladysmith Black Mambazo to a larger audience, but he seems to think the legacy of Graceland completely excuses his totally politically unconscionable transgression. In Under African Skies, the 2012 documentary on the album, he’s still a smug dick about it.

And this is why I love Steven Van Zandt. In addition to being a truly brilliant musician, a dedicated and studious curator of rock ‘n’ roll history, and Silvio Dante, Little Steven is down with the people, and a committed activist. In a recent interview with rock critic Dave Marsh on his Sirius/XM radio program Kick Out The Jams with Dave Marsh, he discussed his work with Artists United Against Apartheid. The whole thing was fascinating, but the very best part is Van Zandt hilariously calling out Paul Simon.

Picking up from the point where Little Steven tells the armed resistance movement, the Azanian People’s Organisation, not to just fucking assassinate Paul Simon for his bullshit…

Dave Marsh: I was with you the first time you saw Paul and talked to him about this, at [entertainment attorney] Peter Parcher’s 60th birthday party.

Van Zandt: That’s right, that’s right, that’s right! I’m glad you were a witness, because wait’ll you hear the latest on that. Anyway, I said to them, “Listen, this is not gonna help anybody if you knock off Paul Simon. Trust me on this, alright? Let’s put that aside for the moment. Give me a year or so, you know, six months,” whatever I asked for, “to try and do this a different way. I’m trying to actually unify the music community around this, which may or may not include Paul Simon, but I don’t want it to be a distraction. I just don’t need that distraction right now; I gotta keep my eye on the ball.” And I took him off that assassination list, I took Paul Simon off the U.N. blacklist, trying to…

You mean you convinced them to take him off…

Yeah, because this was a serious thing…

Because this was gonna eat up the attention that the movement itself needed.

Yes, and the European unions were serious about this stuff, man. You were on that [U.N. blacklist], you did not work, okay? Not like America, which was so-so about this stuff, man. Over there, they were serious about this stuff, you know? Anyway, so yeah, this was in spite of Paul Simon approaching me at that party saying, “What are you doing, defending this communist?!”

What he said was, “Ah, the ANC [African National Congress, the organization of which Mandela was President at the time of his arrest and imprisonment], that’s just the Russians.” And he mentioned the group that [murdered black South African activist Steven Biko] had been in, which was not AZAPO…

Was he PAC [Pan-Africanist Congress]?

It doesn’t matter [for this story], but [Paul Simon] said, “That’s just the Chinese communists.”

Yeah, yeah. And he says, “What are you doing defending this guy Mandela?! He’s obviously a communist. My friend Henry Kissinger told me about where all of the money’s coming from,” and all of this. I was, like, all due respect, Paul…

I remember it very vividly, because it was aimed at everybody standing in the general direction.

Yeah, but mostly he was telling me.

Well, yeah, you were the one… Everybody knew who to get mad at first. [laughter]

He knew more than me, he knew more than Mandela, he knew more than the South African people. His famous line, of course, was, “Art transcends politics.” And I said to him, “All due respect, Paulie, but not only does art not transcend politics… art is politics. And I’m telling you right now, you and Henry Kissinger, your buddy, go fuck yourselves.” Or whatever I said. But he had that attitude, and he knowingly and consciously violated the boycott to publicize his record.

Well, to make his record. That’s the violation of the boycott — to make his record.

Yeah, and he actually had the nerve to say, “Well, I paid everybody double-scale.” Remember that one? Oh, that’s nice… no arrogance in that statement, huh? [laughter]

Now, the punchline. Cut to 30 years later, or whatever it is. He asked me to be in his movie [Under African Skies, the documentary on the making of Graceland, included as a DVD in the album’s 25th anniversary boxed edition]. I said, “Alright, I’ll be in your movie, if you don’t edit me. You ready to tell it like it is?”

He says, “Yep.”

“Are you, like, uh, apologizing in this movie?”


“Okay. I’m not gonna be a sore winner. I’ll talk to you.”

I did an interview. They show me the footage. Of course, they edited the hell out of it to some little statement where I’m saying something positive about Paul. [laughter] And I see the rest of the footage, where he’s supposedly apologizing, with Dali Tambo [founder of Artists Against Apartheid and son of late ANC leaders Adelaide and Oliver Tambo]. He says, “I’m sorry if I made it inconvenient for you.” That was his apology.

In other words, he still thinks he’s right, all these years later!

You’re the only person who’s ever met Paul twice who thinks that’s surprising. [laughter]

I mean, at this point, you still think you were right?! Meanwhile, that big “communist,” as soon as he got out of jail, I see who took the first picture with him. There’s Paul Simon and Mandela, good buddies. I’m watchin’ CNN the other day. Mandela dies, on comes a statement by Bono and the second statement’s by Paul Simon. I’m like oh, just make me throw up. You know, I like the guy in a lot of ways, I do; and I respect his work, of course. He’s a wonderful, wonderful artist, but when it comes to this subject, he just will not admit he was wrong. Y’know, just mea culpa. Come on, you won! He made twenty, thirty million dollars at least, okay? Take the money and apologize, okay? I mean, say “Listen, maybe I was wrong about this a little bit.” No.

Well…unfortunately we live in a country where the money means you don’t have to apologize, and let’s leave that there.


Via Backstreets

Posted by Amber Frost | Discussion
Vintage adult film posters are campy, clever, sleaze-tastic and sometimes even quite lovely
07:34 am



Consenting Adults (1982)
The New York Times recently profiled Vinegar Syndrome, a company that collects, catalogs, restores, and distributes antique skin flicks. And while not a vintage X aficionado myself, I was struck by the posters I found from both Vinegar Syndrome and Distribpix (another company that does re-releases); there is some truly cool and campy poster art to be found in the adult section, folks!

And as the Internet continues to cut out the middle man of the adult film industry, I’m a little sad to know that these kinds of posters have gone the way of the dinosaur, probably never to return. From corny, to clever, to downright pretty, a once dynamic medium is now no more. A moment of silence, please.
I Wish I Were in Dixie (1969)
Marilyn and the Senator (1975)
Open Air Bedroom (1971)
People (1978)
Spread Eagles (1968)
The Telephone Book (1971)
Tigresses (1979)
Wanda Whips Wall Street (1982)

Previously on Dangerous Minds:
‘The Telephone Book’: A girl falls in love with the world’s greatest obscene phone caller
Kill the Pigs or How I Stopped Worrying and Took a Punk Vacation
Russ Meyer’s ‘Fanny Hill’: Bosomania Gets Fancy
Via The New York Times

Posted by Amber Frost | Discussion
Philip Seymour Hoffman: Titan of the Theater
06:47 am


Stephen Adly Guirgis
Philip Seymour Hoffman

Philip Seymour Hoffman and Stephen Adly Guirgis
Philip Seymour Hoffman with longtime collaborator Stephen Adly Guirgis

What can one say about something like this? It’s a waste. But let us not judge Philip Seymour Hoffman, let us praise him. We’ll have his many, many startling movie performances forever, and that’s how he will be most remembered. It was in the movies that Hoffman made his most profound mark, because that was the way he reached the most people, that’s how he became famous.

For me, Hoffman was almost as much a figure of the theater as of the screen. I spent a big chunk of my twenties and thirties (roughly 1996 to 2010) attending a whole lot of plays in New York City, and I can say without a shred of exaggeration that Hoffman was a key contributor to several of my most memorable moments as a theatergoer, including THE most memorable and vital and enjoyable night of theater I’ve ever experienced—bar none.

In addition to his movie work, Hoffman was a member of the LAByrinth Theater Company starting in 1995; the company had been founded by a group of actors three years earlier. Over time, partly due to Hoffman’s increasing fame and partly due to his own extensive involvement in the company, Hoffman became arguably its most important member. At LAByrinth, Hoffman forged a kind of partnership with a terrifically talented playwright named Stephen Adly Guirgis—in my estimation he is the best American playwright working today—and Hoffman directed four of his most important plays (Guirgis has written only nine plays)—Jesus Hopped the ‘A’ Train, Our Lady of 121st Street, The Little Flower of East Orange, and The Last Days of Judas Iscariot.
Our Lady of 121st Street
Our Lady of 121st Street
The working relationship between Hoffman and Guirgis is well on the way to becoming a key part of Off-Broadway legend. Guirgis is an extremely gifted talent but also a wildly undisciplined one. One of the best things about him is that he doesn’t write tidy, well-constructed plays; his plays are sprawling comic/tragic masterpieces in which you rarely know what the hell is going to happen next. (His only Broadway play so far, The Motherfucker with the Hat, had a much more conventional structure.) The word undisciplined is a pale imitation of the truth—apparently for most of Guirgis’ best plays, Hoffman had to wheedle, cajole, browbeat the damn thing into existence.

Gillian Jacobs, before she was on Community, had a part in The Little Flower of East Orange, the last play Hoffman ever directed, I believe—and she reported her experience (go to the 40th minute) of working on that Guirgis/Hoffman production:

The funny thing about Stephen Guirgis is that he’ll write like the first half of a play, and he’ll have that for about two years, and then he won’t write the second half of the play until about a week before the audience comes. … Turned out I didn’t have any lines in the second half of the play, so it was fine, but Ellen Burstyn had to learn a 20-minute monologue in like a week. … It’s the way he works, they literally like go to his apartment—it’s mythology at this point in the theater company of like, Phil or somebody banging on his door, to like “We need the second act!!” … I’d say like a week before the audience we got the second half of the play. I didn’t have any lines, so I was fine! But Ellen Burstyn had to learn this enormous monologue. It was crazy.

I saw Hoffman with his Boogie Nights co-star John C. Reilly in Sam Shepard’s True West at the Roundabout Theater in 2000. As great as that was, even better was my first experience with Guirgis, which was in 2003 for Our Lady of 121st Street at the Union Square Theater. It remains the most exciting, wonderful evening of theater I have ever experienced and certainly the best new work I have ever seen; after the show Hoffman and Guirgis and a few cast members took the stage for a stimulating Q&A.
Our Lady of 121st Street
It’s difficult to do justice to Our Lady, especially after more than ten years have passed. The play is quintessentially New York—but not in that boring “quintessentially New York” way. It’s a raucous, profane, hilarious, profound play that doesn’t necessarily hang together so much as plot but delivers nearly a dozen vivid characters in a seemingly endless series of phenomenally kinetic, evocative, moving scenes that run quite the emotional gamut. It’s one of the few plays I went back to see a second time. It was truly a special play and a special production—and Hoffman directed it.

A week or two after I saw Our Lady, eager in that way one gets to establish that I wasn’t crazy and that I had indeed seen something extraordinary, I encountered the following review by John Heilpern in The New York Observer:
John Heilpern review 
I don’t cut reviews out of newspapers, but I made sure to keep that one.

After seeing Our Lady, I made a vow never to miss a Guirgis play if I could possibly avoid it. In the years since I have seen The Little Flower of East Orange, The Last Days of Judas Iscariot, and The Motherfucker with the Hat. Those plays are quite different—Guirgis is never afraid to try something new—but all of them have top-notch dialogue, vivid characterizations, strong themes, avowedly “adult” subject matter, and a tendency to blend the comic and the tragic in an unfussy, organic, intuitive fashion that reminds me most of all of Shakespeare himself. He has his problems—as befits someone who delivers his drafts at the last minute, they’re a little shaggy; some of them might benefit from some edits. It’s safe to say that all of his characters (somewhat like those of Neil Simon) tend to talk the same way, like your hilarious, salty uncle who works at the docks. But these are scarcely complaints: Guirgis’ work is brimming with humanity in all of its aspects, always surprising and always deeply familiar and deeply dramatic. And from what I understand, we have Philip Seymour Hoffman to thank for helping tame his abilities and bring him much wider exposure than he ever would have received otherwise.

Here you can see some snippets of The Little Flower of East Orange, written by Guirgis and directed by Hoffman:

On February 2, 2012 (nobody could have known it then, but it was two years to the day before Hoffman’s death), I was lucky enough to catch Hoffman, Linda Emond, Andrew Garfield, and director Mike Nichols at the cozy Greene Space in New York for a conversation about Death of a Salesman:


Posted by Martin Schneider | Discussion
‘Just like punk, except it’s cars’: Subaru’s unintentionally hilarious ‘grunge’ commercial

The out-of-left-field commercial success of grunge in the early ‘90s took practically everyone by surprise, and produced a lot of amusing and embarrassing attempts to play catch-up (couture flannel on fashion runways and the brilliantly played grunge-speak hoax at the expense of the New York TImes were among my favorites), but watching the advertising and marketing industries in particular caught with their pants down was illuminating. Never before or since have the massive promotional machines that drive the American status-anxiety economy been caught so unprepared, and forced to scramble so publicly to chase a demographic it hadn’t yet even begun to comprehend. Some of them nailed it—Fruitopia, for example, was pretty gross, and its pandering was shamefully transparent, but they sure did sell a metric shitload of sugar-water for awhile. But successes aren’t as funny as massive public failures.

In 1992, somebody decided that it would be a great idea to sell Subaru’s newly-introduced Impreza by filming a grunge kid making proto-Dane Cook gesticulations and explaining to us that “This car is like PUNK ROCK!” Nevermind (sorry) that in spite of grunge chart successes most people still thought of punk as the milieu of unhygienic, violent, misanthropic dropouts—because IT WAS. Never mind the utter absurdity of drawing an equivalence between an explosive expression of rage against complacency and a drab, modest grocery store assault vehicle. And never mind that almost nobody who might be moved by such an appeal had money or credit for a brand new car. There were so many perfectly sensible arguments against attempting such a stupefyingly dumb marketing tactic, and yet this happened anyway… Talk about Crass commercialism (again, sorry!)

Astute readers (and people who can see the plainly visible caption on the video) may recognize the young actor in this total mistake as Jeremy Davies, who would quickly overcome all this unfortunate business with his starring role in the well-received indie feature Spanking The Monkey. He’d go on to a lauded performance in Saving Private Ryan, and he even appeared in Lars von Trier’s daring experimental films Dogville and Manderlay. His filmography is impressive, but he’s probably most widely recognized from his portrayal of Daniel Faraday in seasons four and five of ABC’s cult hit Lost.

Posted by Ron Kretsch | Discussion
‘This is for fighting. This is for fun’: Stanley Kubrick directs ‘Full Metal Jacket’
04:11 am


Stanley Kubrick
Full Metal Jacket

In the early eighties, after he had finished making the The Shining, Stanley Kubrick began to look for another story to film, another movie to make.

“When I don’t have a story, it’s like saying a lion walking around in the veld isn’t looking for a meal. I’m always looking.”

Eventually, he found his story: The Short-Timers, a semi-autobiographical novel by Gustav Hasford about Vietnam. In 1987, Kubrick explained the book’s appeal to the Washington Post:

“This book,” Kubrick says, “was written in a very, very, almost poetically spare way. There was tremendous economy of statement, and Hasford left out all the ‘mandatory’ war scenes that are put in to make sure you understand the characters and make you wish he would get on with the story ... I tried to retain this approach in the film. I think as a result, the film moves along at an alarming – hopefully an alarming – pace….”

“I think it tries to give a sense of the war and the people, and how it affected them. I think with any work of art, if I can call it that, that stays around the truth and is effective, it’s very hard to write a nice capsule explanation of what it’s about.”

From 1983 on, Kubrick read everything he could find about Vietnam including “countless movies and documentaries, Vietnamese newspapers on microfilm from the Library of Congress and hundreds of photographs from the era.” He was relentless, obsessive, single-minded. He worked on a screenplay with Hasford and Michael Herr, which he then filmed at an old T.A. barracks, and at disused gasworks on the banks of the Thames River at Beckton. The result was Full Metal Jacket.

These brief clips of Kubrick directing Full Metal Jacket shows (as Michael Herr once described) the legendary director as “control freak” also being “philosophical about the things he can’t control.”

Bonus documentary on the making of ‘Full Metal Jacket,’ after the jump…

Posted by Paul Gallagher | Discussion
Neil Gaiman, Jesse Jackson and ‘Weird Al’ Yankovic read ‘Green Eggs and Ham’

Author Neil Gaiman, known for the Sandman comic book series, the teleplay and novel Neverwhere, and the book and film Coraline, among many other wonderful works, has made an amusing video of himself reading aloud from Dr. SeussGreen Eggs and Ham. There’s probably a rich lode in the notion of Gaiman/Seuss mashups, but this was done for charity:

I promised WORLDBUILDERS that if they made it to $500,000 raised I would read Green Eggs and Ham ob video. They did, so I did. I hope you enjoy it.


It’s fun, but it doesn’t touch Jesse Jackson’s infamous read of the book on Saturday Night Live in 1991:

Another winning contender in the Green Eggs and Ham-off is “Weird Al” Yankovic, whose response to a fan letter asking him to read the book on TV is hilarious:

I will not include Ted Cruz in this roundup. This is Dr. Seuss, we need to keep this dignified and respectful, please.

Via Metafilter

Posted by Ron Kretsch | Discussion
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