Like their masterpiece Eskimo, the story of the Residents’ new album starts with a cryptoethnomusicological discovery: in this case, the complete recorded works of an albino bluesman from western Louisiana named Alvin Snow.
Under the stage name “Dyin’ Dog,” the story goes, Snow cut ten agonized electric blues originals with his band, the Mongrels, before falling off the face of the earth in 1976. Whether the last straw was the death of his pet dog, the death of his elderly ladyfriend, or the death of Howlin’ Wolf, no one can say. Only these screams of rage and shame remain.
Dyin’ Dog’s songs about sex, death, death, sex and death came out last year on a now quite scarce seven-inch box set released by Psychofon Records. On the new album Metal, Meat & Bone: The Songs of Dyin’ Dog, the Residents interpret the Alvin Snow songbook with help from the Pixies’ Black Francis, Magic Band and Pere Ubu alumnus Eric Drew Feldman, and other high-quality musical guests. The album also reproduces Dyin’ Dog and the Mongrels’ demos in full stereo abjection.
John Sanborn’s video for the Residents’ take on “Bury My Bone,” exclusively premiered below, is mildly NSFW. Then again, in time of plague, work itself is NSFW. And this is a blues song about a dog looking for a hole to bury his bone in, for fuck’s sake.
The world wasn’t supposed to end like this. Not if you were brought up, like we were, on the most deliciously lurid horror and exploitation films of the 1960s - 1980s. As a global society, we’ve been bracing for nuclear annihilation since 1945. Whatever was left of civilization would crumble into scattered, desperate pockets of humanity, mentally and physically scarred, and as depicted in the smash-hit Australian Mad Max trilogy, and the subsequent wave of cheaper, wilder Italian post-apocalyptic ripoffs like Warriors of the Wasteland (aka New Barbarians, 1981), traffic laws and vehicular safety regulations would become a distant memory as aggro alphas battled for precious petroleum to fuel outlandish road-machines used to subjugate the weak, who could look forward to imprisonment, slavery and rectal trauma at the merciless hands (and wangs) of sneering brutes in scavenged ensembles of Folsom Street finery. And that’s if a new breed of fiendishly clever mutated super-rodent didn’t rise from the ruins of a decimated metropolis (or the Cinecitta Studios backlot) to finish off you and your punked-out pals in a variety of unpleasant, micro-budget ways, as in Bruno Mattei’s 1984 Rats: Night of Terror.
“Social Distancing’ was taken to then-new and overheated heights in the 1982 Stephen Sayadian/Jerry Stahl cult classic Cafe Flesh. In this remarkable, highly stylized bone-bender — part-Cabaret, part-MTV, part-porno chic — after the ‘Nuclear Kiss,” 99% of the population cannot touch another person without immediate and severe nausea, so the remaining 1% — including studly circuit-star Johnny Rico (Kevin James — not the one from King of Queens) are governmentally conscripted to perform together in subterranean cafes for the huddled, irradiated, voyeuristic masses (including a youngish Richard Belzer). Nick and Lana (fan fave Michelle Bauer aka Pia Snow), “the Dagwood & Blondie of Cafe Flesh”, find their loving asexual coupledom threatened by a sordid secret — Lana’s actually sex positive — and yearning for some good, hard, old-fashioned nookie!
Before COVID-19 we were, of course, familiar with the concept of a pandemic — but a different, more dynamic, unambiguous, way less meh pandemic, rendered in clear black and white, with accents of dripping blood-red. George Romero set the new bar in 1968 with Night of the Living Dead: the at-risk demo was limited to fresh corpses, who promptly rose up and sought out healthy humans to consume — an army of indiscriminate cannibals, unstoppable short of fire or a bullet to the head. Romero cemented the modern zombie template in his stunning full-color sequel Dawn of the Dead (1978), Tom Savini’s jaw-dropping gory makeup effects compelling young horror fans to evade the unrated film’s self-imposed “No One Under 17 Admitted” by any means necessary. Produced by Euroshock maestro Dario Argento, Dawn did especially phenomenal box-office in Italy, igniting a Spaghetti Splatter subgenre kicked off by Lucio Fulci’s expertly crafted, pulpy, EC Comics-flavored Zombie (1979) and Antonio Margheriti’s 1980 Invasion of the Flesh-Hunters (aka Cannibal Apocalypse).
With the steady onslaught of gut-munching imports eagerly savored at local grindhouses, on pay-TV channels after dark, or as VHS and (briefly) Betamax “Video Nasties,” in 1985 Hollywood responded with glossier, widely released fare like Dan O’Bannon’s Romero-unrelated Return of the Living Dead, Fred Dekker’s retro revenant rodeo Night of the Creeps, and Tobe Hooper’s Lifeforce, a Cannon/UK co-production that detailed in big-budget, MPAA-baiting graphic detail a world apocalypse via extraterrestrial vampires led by foxy, frequently naked Mathilda May. It’s amassed a heavy cult following since bombing at the US box office — if Cannon had used any of the skull-frying Italian poster designs, things could’ve been quite different.
Let’s not forget that being dead was hardly an iron-clad prerequisite for succumbing to contagion — in a dizzying, nerve-shredding array of terror triumphs rampaging across screens both large and small, characters in surgical masks weren’t speculating about coughing Whole Foods co-shoppers. Plague victims wore it loudly, proudly and homicidally, whether infected by tainted meat-pies in the gleefully disgusting shocker I Drink Your Blood (1970); a sexually transmitted parasite in David Cronenberg’s body-horror debut They Came From Within (aka Shivers, 1975), or a stinger concealed in the silky armpit of Marilyn Chambers in his equally ferocious 1977 follow-up Rabid; or guzzling bargain-priced hooch from a Skid Row liquor mart that’s not only corrosive to the liver… we get liquefied, exploding winos, as it wipes out Street Trash (1987) more efficiently than a fun-hating, Deuce-phobic NYC mayor.
For many of us, being trapped at home these many weeks has triggered re-decoration impulses, and now Dangerous Minds’ favorite original movie-art webstore, WestgateGallery.com, has it made it frightfully easy. All of the posters seen here, as well as their entire massive international inventory of rare gems, are now 50% off for a limited time only, by using the discount code CRUELEST20 at checkout… and as part of their biggest-ever summer sale, they’re offering further incentives to sweeten the deal: spending various amounts ($400/750/1000) unlocks escalating bonus store credit ($100/250/600) — meaning $1000 buys you $3200 in list-price wall-candy. Displaying any of these posters is the perfect way to commemorate surviving COVID-19… and if we’re all doomed, then why the hell not splurge?
Director John Hillcoat (The Road, Lawless, The Proposition) made his 1989 feature debut with the gripping prison drama Ghosts…Of The Civil Dead, which contains a brief, but unforgettable appearance by Nick Cave. It’s a really amazing film, but one that is sadly little-known outside of Australia (and extreme Nick Cave fanboys—admittedly I saw Ghosts… almost alone, at its sole midnight screening in NYC.)
Perhaps it is a misconception, but due to the worldwide popularity of films like Chopper and the classic camp TV of the women-in-prison soap opera Prisoner: Cell Block H, I can be forgiven, I hope, for assuming that Australians, on the whole, are a bit obsessed with criminals, violent crime and incarceration. I guess it’s in their blood, so to speak. (I kid, I kid, Aussie readers! Please don’t kill me!) Loosely based on the life and writing of Jack Henry Abbott—the psychotic murderer turned literary protégé of Norman Mailer turned psychotic murderer once again—and research done with David Hale, a former guard at an Illinois maximum security prison, Ghosts… Of The Civil Dead features a cast of real-life ex-convicts, former prison guards and tough-looking motherfuckers they found in local Melbourne gyms. This film is realistic. Scary realistic. HBO’s Oz is a day spa in comparison.
Narrated by a (fictional) former prison guard, Ghosts… takes place deep in within the bowels of a maximum security prison, somewhere in the Australian outback. The place is an incessantly humming, fluorescent-lit nightmare. Due to outbreaks of violence, there has been a three-year lockdown that is still ongoing. The tension is palpable, the place is a claustrophobic, concrete Hell that no sunlight penetrates, a hatred and resentment-fueled bomb with a very short fuse just waiting to go off.
As events transpire, the viewer begins to see that the prison authorities are actively trying to provoke the prison population, and that they are pitting the guards against the inmates, preying on both to escalate the violence in order to crack down on the prisoners ever harder and to justify building a fortress even more fearsome, inescapable and “secure.”
Ghosts… has layers of unexpected meaning. Although the script (co-written by Hillcoat, Cave, one-time Bad Seeds guitarist Hugo Race, Gene Conkie and producer Evan English) tells a reasonably straightforward tale of the prisoners—captive in a high security fortress that escape from seems impossible—versus the authorities who manipulate them into chaos, there’s a wider allegorical message of the power dynamic inherent in Western capitalism: Conform. Do exactly what we tell you to do, or there will be consequences. Like this high security Hell on Earth.
Michel Foucault would have most certainly approved of Ghosts…Of The Civil Dead, I should think.
Although contrary to the way Ghosts… was marketed, Nick Cave is onscreen for just a very short appearance about an hour into the film, but having said that, it is a cinematic moment of pure genius. Cave plays Maynard, a violent psychotic who paints with his own blood. Maynard is an absolute fucking lunatic, deliberately brought in by the prison authorities to make an already bad situation much, much worse. His psychotic ranting and raving riles up the situation into complete murderous chaos. Although he is seen just briefly in Ghosts…, it is Cave’s Maynard who lights the bomb’s ever present fuse.
Ghosts… Of The Civil Dead is extraordinary film, as as bleak and as uncompromising a work of art as I have ever experienced, it might be difficult for the squeamish to sit through. Once seen, it can never be forgotten.
Japanese poster for ‘The Song Remains the Same,’ 1976
True or false: The performances from The Song Remains the Same, the concert film that supposedly documents Led Zeppelin’s 1973 Madison Square Garden shows weren’t actually filmed at Madison Square Garden?
Mostly true!
It’s not exactly a secret but it’s neither something that seems to be widely known by the general public, or even most Led Zeppelin fans for that matter. Now I’m not trying to imply here that Led Zeppelin didn’t even play Madison Square Garden for three nights in late July of 1973, because of course they did and The Song Remains the Same‘s original director, Joe Massot (Wonderwall) was there with a camera crew trained on them when they did. This much is not being disputed.
The problem was, as the group and their manager Peter Grant found out only after they’d fired Massot from the project, is that he’d gotten inadequate—practically unusable—coverage that wouldn’t sync properly or cut. Some great shots but nothing that could be used to create an edited sequence.
Grant brought in Aussie director Peter Clifton, the guy they probably should have hired in the first place, to see what could made from this mess, but the initial prognosis looked pretty grim until Clifton suggested reshooting the entire running order of the Madison Square Garden show on Madison Square Garden’s stage… recreated at Shepperton Studios in England!
Everyone assumes they’re watching the group at MSG, but in reality what we are watching (for the most part) is Led Zeppelin rocking out on a soundstage in Surrey, southeast of London. Without an audience.
On a playback screen, the band could watch themselves in the earlier footage—keeping their movements and positions in roughly the same general areas—and play along to the MSG soundtrack. So what we mostly see in the finished film are Clifton’s close-ups and medium distance footage of the band members shot at Shepperton, but intercut with Massot’s footage of the trappings of MSG, wide shots, shots framed from behind the band towards the audience and so forth.
Once you know all this, it’s screamingly obvious what was shot where.
Complicating matters for Clifton, John Paul Jones had recently cut his hair short (he’s wearing a wig in the Shepperton footage) and Robert Plant’s teeth had been fixed since the New York City shows the year before.
Jimmy Page spilled the beans in the May 2008 issue of Uncut Magazine,
“I’m sort of miming at Shepperton to what I’d played at Madison Square Garden, but of course, although I’ve got a rough approximation of what I was playing from night to night, it’s not exact. So the film that came out in the ‘70s is a bit warts-and-all.”
This little known behind-the-scenes story of the making of The Song Remains the Same is barely touched upon in some of the major books about Led Zeppelin—but in Chris Welch’s 2001 biography Peter Grant: The Man who Led Zeppelin, the story is told in greater detail, finishing thusly:
As far as Grant and Zeppelin were concerned, the movie song had ended. But they left behind smouldering resentments among the filmmakers and a few puzzles for movie buffs. Says Peter Clifton: “If you look at the credits they wrote something very interesting. ‘Musical performances were presented live at Madison Square Garden.’ It was somewhat ambiguous because the film was obviously done somewhere else!”
When he was asked about the provenance of the ‘live’ shots of Led Zeppelin at Madison Square Garden, Peter Grant did admit that they had indeed shot some material at Shepperton studios, recreating the same stage set while the band donned the same clothes they wore at the actual gig. “Yes, we did,” he said. “But we didn’t shout about the fact.”
My old pal Tom Negovan is the proprietor of the Century Guild, a Los Angeles-based art gallery, publishing company, fine art print maker and private museum specializing in Art Nouveau & Symbolism. He has what I, and many other people, consider to be one of the most unusual art businesses anywhere in the world. His interests are esoteric to say the least, and his talents for finding rare gems makes him a sort of cultural cross-pollinator of the highest order. He’s also a musician and a filmmaker.
I saw Tom last fall at a wedding in Los Angeles and he told me about a new project he was engaged in, a recut of Penthouse publisher Bob Guccione’s lone foray into cinema, the ill-fated and critically savaged X-rated epic Caligula and suggested maybe there was something there for Dangerous Minds.
Last week he told me over email about an amazing discovery he’d made:
I’m sure you know the general story: Bob Guccione took control of the production of Caligula, fired the director, and edited something with no sense of plot whatsoever. We have all 96 hours of original camera negative and all the location audio, and we are editing these to conform to Gore Vidal’s original script. This new version that we are titling Caligula MMXX will bear no resemblance to the 1980 version. The footage is brilliant; Helen Mirren and Malcolm McDowell actually made a good movie but no one’s ever seen it! (Malcolm has been saying this for 40 years in interviews.)
We are finding tons of odd rarities in the vaults: promotional items, interviews, and over 11,000 set photographs, nearly all of which have never been seen before. Mario Tursi took most of them, and we are compiling the best of them into a book. (One of the other photographers was Eddie Adams who took that award-winning photo of the Vietnamese guy getting shot in the head.)
There was even a proposed Caligula toy line(!!) if you can believe that. A company named Cinco Toys pitched Guccione, who never met a deal he didn’t like, on them getting a license to do a line of action figures. Star Wars action figures were making millions and apparently they pitched him pretty hard for this. Caligula‘s budget was twice that of Star Wars. They made a handful of prototypes for action figures. They even went so far as to make a spec TV commercial to woo Guccione to let them do this, which is extra insane. They made it like he (Guccione) would be (star) in the commercial himself and had someone do a VO as if they were Bob. And there it was on the shelf with the various drafts of the script. There was a 3/4” tape and a VHS of the same commercial with Cinco labels. They also wanted to do Caligula jigsaw puzzles.”
Obviously I had to see that! I asked Tom if he’d post it on YouTube for Dangerous Minds readers to see it, too.
Actor Peter Cushing in a contemplative moment playing his war games with his minature models.
“Television is a rather frightening business. But I get all the relaxation I want from my collection of model soldiers.”
—veteran actor Peter Cushing explaining his love of model soldiers in 1958.
The 2004 biography about his life, In All Sincerity, Peter Cushing, is a revealing read about the actor who, by all accounts, was one of the most gracious and kind people to ever work in film. Regarded as one of the UK’s finest actors, Cushing cut his remarkable acting chops early in life and, at the same time, pursued his love of drawing and art. While Cushing was still trying to make his name in cinema, he sold scarfs he hand-painted himself. In addition to painting watercolors, Cushing held on to a part of his childhood, collecting and painting model soldiers and trains. His love of miniature models would last his entire life, during which the actor would amass over 5,000 individual models (not toys mind you) of soldiers, trains, trees and landscape, horses, castles, historically accurate battle gear and more. All of which he painted by hand.
A proud member of the British Model Soldier Society, Cushing used his models for formal gameplay in accordance with H.G. Wells as outlined in his book Little Wars (1913), and its companion, Floor Games, published in 1911. Known as “hobby war games,” the games would take hours to complete, and (according to Cushing) if played to the letter, approximately nine hours would be consumed by one war game. The British Model Soldier society was formed in 1935 by a group of fifteen, all-male members (Wells denoted in his book that the games were to be played by boys between the ages of twelve to one hundred), who would meet up at a pub. Cushing was so serious about his therapeutic pastime he engaged the services of Frederick Ping—a pioneer of model soldier art. Considered a master of the medium, nearly all of Ping’s figures were forged from scratch, and in addition to Cushing, his figures were revered by aristocrats and the well-to-do. Cushing would commission Ping to create soldiers for him, which he would, in turn, paint meticulously by hand. The only thing more intriguing than the man who played Dr. Van Helsing, Victor Frankenstein, Sherlock Holmes, Doctor Who and Grand Moff Tarkin are the photos and television footage of Cushing with his massive model collection.
Footage of Peter Cushing showing off his miniature models and soldiers.
Hollywood is a weird town. I mean, where to begin with that statement? Perhaps we should just jump to the topic of this post, the 1973 film The Baby, a movie about a mentally incompetent man who lives his life as an adult baby along with his mother and two Stepford Wife-esque sisters. If you’ve never seen this film, just trying to wrap your mind around the idea of watching a movie about a grown man operating at the capacity of a breastfeeding infant (because, yeah, that happens in the film) is probably enough to make you consider your current life choices. However, I bring good news to all you subversive content-loving freaks, The Baby is a strangely well-acted mind-fuck of a film which somehow, despite its putrid pediatric subject matter, received a PG rating upon its release in 1973.
Ted Post’s many directorial credits include classic television series such as The Twilight Zone, Rawhide, and Gunsmoke, and films, including two Clint Eastwood gems, Magnum Force, and Hang ‘Em High. Post’s work earned the director two Emmys and the admiration of his peers. He took the job of directing The Baby after writer Abe Polsky spent a year trying to convince him to do it. The film—a peculiar psychological/horror/thriller, is quite a departure from Post’s tough-guy wheelhouse. What made Post so perfectly suited to direct The Baby was his reputation for not interfering with his actors so they could do what they did best, bringing the characters to life and making the audience believe they are the person they are seeing on screen. Even if that character is an infant trapped inside the body of an adult. So when actor David Mooney (billed as “David Manzy” in the film) got the role of “Baby” in The Baby, he shaved his entire body in order to look like a 21-year-old baby (He was then 32). You’d think someone might have told the poor guy about the smelly miracle that is Nair, but I digress. Here’s Mooney from a 2011 interview where he spoke briefly about his experience filming The Baby:
“One of my most challenging experiences was playing [an impaired] boy… in a movie called The Baby. And that’s now become a cult film. The acting part of that was so difficult because I had to totally de-man-ize myself and become a baby, act like a baby. And I just, I’d always loved babies, so I was around baby cousins and all this, and had held babies and babies sat on my lap and all that, so I was aware of how babies, the innocence they had and the dependability they have on you and how they’re so real because they react to the stimulus that’s given them at the time. So I had to learn all those things and make sure to incorporate that into that role.”
Actor David Mooney as “Baby.”
Shortly after the opening credits, which are shown over a scene with social worker Ann Gentry (played by the Lynda Carter-looking Anjanette Comer) looking over photos of Baby at various stages of his development, it’s clear something is amiss with Baby, and Gentry’s character is going to be the one to find out. This brings us to our dramatic introduction to Mrs. Wadsworth, Baby’s mother, who commands the screen, much like the unsettling forcefulness of a chain-smoking Joan Crawford (think 1964’s Strait-Jacket), or a fired-up Elizabeth Taylor. When Mrs. Wadsworth (played to the hilt by actor Ruth Roman), greets Gentry on the porch of their regal home, it seems abundantly clear the young social worker is in over her head. During her visit, she meets one of Baby’s sisters, the odd, big-haired Germaine, and finally, Baby, who is taking his afternoon nap. So begins Gentry’s role as the family’s new social worker, and things get very, very weird, and very, very sinister quickly. Specifically, there is a scene in The Baby depicting the most unsexy, unsettling catfight in cinematic history. This is a fact.
Another bizarre aspect of the film is the use of real baby sounds instead of baby soundsas mimicked by actor David Mooney. Allegedly, the original audio for the film was of Mooney making adorable baby noises. The Baby‘s soundtrack, scored by Gerald Fried, does its best to invoke, at times, the masterful vibe of Bernard Herrmann (Psycho, Taxi Driver, Citizen Kane) along with some foreboding beatnik-bongo jazz flute jams. Of all the stand-out performances Post got from his actors, it is Mooney’s deep dive into becoming Baby that you will never forget. Since we’ve all got so much time on our collective wash-your-fucking-hands right now, I’m happy to report that it is streaming for free in all its beautifully paced, deranged entirety on Tubi. It was also released on Blu-ray in 2014 by Severin and is well worth owning if you are a collector of physical media, especially oddball films that defy explanation. The trailer, some stills, and movie posters for The Baby follow.
The scene where social worker Ann Gentry first sees Baby asleep in his adult-sized crib.
I guess there’s not much more to be said about The Texas Chain Massacre that hasn’t already been given. One of the most influential seventies American films after Star Wars and perhaps The Godfather and Jaws. What I remember of it at the time of its release has little to do with the film but everything to do with expectation and rumor.
I first heard of the movie in the schoolyard. I was too young to go see it and living in Scotland meant if you didn’t see a movie on release then you had to make do with the semaphore of rumor, exaggeration and bullshit. Which is the part that kinda interests me because why would a junior high school kid in Scotland hear about The Texas Chain Massacre unless it was something important? There was no Internet, no Google, no streaming services, no mobile, none of that stuff. Information was read in comics, newspapers and magazines or recieved second, third or fourth hand from friends who had a relative in Canada or went for a holiday to Florida where there was a bad frost and all the oranges on the trees turned into fruit sorbet. That kind of thing.
The first story I heard about this particular movie came (I think) from a guy called John Scott, who claimed some of the actors genuinely died during the making of the movie and there was this guy called Leatherface who was a butcher and he was still out there dancing with his chainsaw in the sunlight.
I had no idea what this meant, but the name “Leatherface” implied something utterly perverse and deranged. Was it a gimp mask? Or, maybe an Ed Gein flesh mask? We all knew about Ed Gein as he was our parents’ bogeyman because of Psycho, a film one relative described to me as “the wickedest movie ever made.” Gein was a real life monster like Ian Brady and Myra Hindley were real monsters. We all knew something about the horrific things they had done. But then again, what we knew of Gein was mainly through exaggeration and myth. In fact, half the stories I heard about the old cross-dressing cannibal had nothing to do with him and more to do with the speaker’s imagination, which in comparison to the actual crimes—or even those of Hindley and Brady—were utterly anemic.
The second tale I heard about The Texas Chainsaw Massacre was a reiteration of the first, that the film was based on a true story. As it turned out this was what the film actually claimed, true events which took place on August 18th, 1973. But as filming on this movie finished four days before the date given in the opening titles this was unlikely, if not impossible. That was director Tobe Hooper’s intention. He considered America during the Nixon years to be riddled with fake news and propaganda pumped out by the government.
The third tale was something to do with a guy who used two teen girls to source young boys to rape, kill and torture. This made the film seem far more debauched and unsavory. We were skeptical about this, which shows you how our pre-pubescent minds had some kind of warped standard where torturing, killing and eating people was okay, but raping, torturing and killing people—especially boys—was a step too far. Go figure. But as it later turned out, this was a tad closer to the truth as co-writer Kim Henkel had:
...noticed a murder case in Houston at the time, a serial murderer you probably remember named Elmer Wayne Henley. He was a young man who recruited victims for an older homosexual man. I saw some news report where Elmer Wayne ... said, “I did these crimes, and I’m gonna stand up and take it like a man.” Well, that struck me as interesting, that he had this conventional morality at that point. He wanted it known that, now that he was caught, he would do the right thing. So this kind of moral schizophrenia is something I tried to build into the characters.
The final story of note was the one where someone said The Texas Chainsaw Massacre was so horrific that it had been banned. This happened to be true, well at least in certain countries, but we didn’t know where and why or how the film had been banned. It was just left to our imaginations to ferment the worst possible scenarios as to what the film was actually about.
It was more than a decade before I got to see the film and thought it well-made, clever, and entertaining. Though I guess I would have paid top dollar to have seen the movie my fevered imagination had concocted all those years ago.
More snaps of the infamous cinematic cannibal family, after the jump…
Sunday morning, flicking through news channels I chanced on a Nigerian breakfast show that held my attention between mouthfuls of cereal. Four women around a table were discussing a new movie called The Milkmaid. Clips were played as one woman said she hoped the movie would get the chance to be screened at Cannes, and have the chance of being seen at the Toronto Film Festival. This was not just an ordinary movie—The Milkmaid was one of the best movies to ever come out of Nigeria.
Every so often there comes along a movie that will change everything. Parasite did it at this year Academy Awards and I’m laying money that The Milkmaid will win awards and do the same at next year’s Oscars. This movie is a game changer—a work of brilliance, a compelling harrowing tale that does what all great works of art should do: make the viewer question what is going on in the world.
It’s inspiration comes from real events. In April 2014, 276 female students were kidnapped from a school in Chibok, Borno State, Nigeria. The girls had been kidnapped by Boko Haram, an Islamist extremist terrorist organization operating out of the north-east of the country. The kidnapping brought condemnation from across the world. After some of the girls were released, the story and interest in the lives of these girls and the people tragically caught in the crossfire between terror and extremism were soon forgotten. Filmmaker Desmond Ovbiagele thought something ought to be done to highlight the psychological trauma, displacement and economic impoverishment extremism inflicts on society. He started writing a screenplay about Aisha, a Fulani milkmaid, searching for her younger sister, who approaches the religious militants responsible for their separation. Ovbiagele has crafted a powerful piece of cinema which he hopes will bring “attention to the present plight of real-life victims of militant insurgency in Nigeria (internally displaced persons, IDPs), to generate support for their economic and psychological rehabilitation and social re-integration.” His film offers a discourse on the very real threats posed by extremism.
Shot over three months in Nigeria, The Milkmaid stars Anthonieta Kalunta in her film debut as Aisha, with Maryam Booth as her sister Zainab, and Gambo Usman Kona as Dangana. Unlike most movies pumped out by Hollywood or Marvel or Disney or whoever, The Milkmaid is an important, complex film, a substantial work of art that addresses issues pertinent to all of our lives. What it needs now is to be seen by as many people as possible.
I contacted writer and director Desmond Ovbiagele to find out more about him and the making of his movie.
How did you start making The Milkmaid?
Desmond Ovbiagele: I completed and released my first feature film in 2014, a locally set (in Nigeria) crime drama. Spent the next three years recovering from that interesting experience. Then early 2017, felt I was ready to get back into the fray, and commenced writing the script for what turned out to be my next feature, The Milkmaid.
What was your inspiration for the film?
DO: Creatively, I find myself drawn to themes that are of contemporary social relevance. Perhaps it’s because I believe that the medium of film is imbued with such amazing power, and the process of realizing a story can be so incredibly daunting and challenging; therefore one needs to tackle issues that justify all the palaver. And clearly the prevailing insurgency and general insecurity in my immediate environment was a natural candidate for attention. Following the much-publicized outcry and placard-carrying by presumably well-meaning international celebrities over the abduction of the Chibok girls in 2014, it was rather disheartening to watch the widespread moral indignation steadily (and surprisingly quickly) vaporize to near-total silence (both locally and internationally), even when the atrocities were clearly still being committed, albeit largely to victims from a different demographic, perhaps. And given that literally millions of survivors are currently wasting away in the makeshift camps for internally displaced people (IDPs) that dot the country, their lives at a total dead-end, I guess I felt a burden to use the craft and my privileged position to speak on behalf of those who lack the facility to make themselves heard.
How did you come into filmmaking? What is your background?
DO: Came from a career in financial services that was materially rewarding but clearly left a gap in the personal fulfilment department. Took me several years to identify how to fill that gap; turned out to be writing and directing. A bit surprising, as I had done practically nothing in either area all my life, although a rapacious reader of novels in my childhood, to be fair.
How did you become involved in filmmaking?
DO: Basically started out as a screenwriter; wrote and submitted several scripts (frequently with international settings) that went absolutely nowhere. Felt I needed to pursue more control of my destiny in order to break through, so accordingly refocused my attention on issues closer to home (literally), whilst simultaneously foraying into producing and directing.
Can you tell me about the casting for The Milkmaid?
DO: The plan from the outset was always to render the dialogue in the prevailing language of the theater of conflict (for authenticity) which is Hausa, and to a lesser extent, Fulfulde (the principal characters are of Fulani extraction). This naturally ruled out a large swathe of the most popular actors in the local film industry (a.k.a. Nollywood) who are predominantly English-speaking, and following a couple of auditions, the cast was largely drawn from the tiny film community in Taraba State in northeast Nigeria where we shot the film. In fact, for one of the lead actresses, this was her first performance in film, short or feature.
What was it like filming? Were there any difficulties?
DO: Difficulties aplenty on multiple fronts. I actually don’t speak Hausa myself, so directing the actors (several of whose English was severely limited) under the typical time pressures was an exercise in patience and endurance notwithstanding the presence of translators. And for aesthetic reasons, we shot a number of scenes on the Mambilla Plateau which features some of the most beautiful scenery in the country, but as the highest point geographically in Nigeria, is also considerably difficult to access, particularly with heavy equipment trucks. To put it in context, a trip just from the Taraba State capital in Jalingo to Mambilla (also in Taraba) takes seven hours, much of that time negotiating up the mountain. And the trucks were coming all the way from Lagos in the southwest, on the opposite side of the country. So additional challenges were encountered when transporting our production materials through southeast Nigeria enroute to location; essentially our crew were literally almost lynched by locals there who were erroneously informed that the our costumes and props were evidence that they were the terrorists who had coincidentally attacked that same community just a few days prior. We lost an entire week of shooting whilst battling to resolve that particular imbroglio. So, yes, a few difficulties.
Director and writer Desmond Ovbiagele.
What has been the response to your film?
DO: We’ve held just a couple of private screenings thus far but are very gratified at the feedback; people definitely seem to connect with the story, cinematography and performances, and it certainly helps that it is obviously a very topical issue (insecurity)
How can we get your film to Cannes and Toronto and onto the American market?
DO: Clearly very lofty platforms with a formidable number of films all aspiring to get in, so we would really appreciate as much buzz as can be generated anywhere possible to improve our prospects for
consideration.
Check here to find out how you can help get The Milkmaid to a cinema near you.
It’s too bad words like ‘masterpiece’ and ‘epic’ have been so overused by excitable film critics, because Sion Sono’s Love Exposure is an actual epic masterpiece that is going to dominate the filmscape for decades.” - New York Asian Film Festival
“Japan’s eroto-theosophical answer to the allegorical journeys of Alejandro Jodorowsky”—Film Four
Japanese auteur Sion Sono’s extraordinary 2008 film Love Exposure (“Ai no mukidashi”) is the epic—yet still whimsical—story of Yu Honda (Takahiro Nishijima), the “king of the perverts.” Yu is the ninja master of the “up skirt” photograph. After his mother dies, Yu’s father becomes a Catholic priest. He insists that his son confess his sins to him. Yu, a good boy, has nothing really to confess so he just makes stuff up that his father doesn’t even believe. Eventually he falls in with a new crowd and soon his transgressions are a bit more… sinful. Still, Yu himself is not aroused by his own panty shots and lives an otherwise chaste life as he patiently awaits the arrival of his one true love. He’s only “sinning” for the sake of his relationship with his father.
Yu loses a bet and he is obliged to dress as a woman and kiss a girl he likes. As the boys are goofing off, they come across a young girl, Yoko (Hikari Mitsushima), who is about to be attacked by a gang. Yu is instantly smitten with the beautiful Yoko and—still dressed as a woman—he jumps into the fight and together they kick the gang’s collective ass. To fulfill the conditions of the bet, Yu kisses Yoko who begins to think she is a lesbian and crushes hard on Yu’s disguise of “Miss Scorpion” (an obvious nod to the 70s Japanese women in prison Female Convict Scorpion film series) Yu believes he has finally met his one true love… and she thinks he’s a woman!
Yu then finds out that his father the priest has a new girlfriend and will be leaving the priesthood to marry her. Guess who his new step sister is going to be?
The entire first hour of the film—the title card appears 58 minutes in—is but a prologue, setting up what’s to come. The Aum Shinrikyo-like cult religion, the gory violence and the explosions all happen later…It’s a pretty epic love story as far as they go. Trust me, you have never seen THIS film before (or anything else even remotely like it). But you really need to.
I’d recommend Sono’s loopy masterpiece (and it is a masterpiece) to anyone with a taste for unusual world cinema, which is not to say it’s esoteric in any way, because it’s not. Love Exposure is a real crowd pleaser. It’s an event! It may run for four hours, true, but it felt like two, trust me, don’t be intimidated by the length. Even if someone doesn’t love it as much as I do, surely they would appreciate it. It’s such an unusual cinematic experience. And it’s great fun. When it was over, I was sad there wasn’t more. When’s the last time you felt that way about a four hour film? Feel that way about Ben Hur or The Irishman?
A trailer for Sino Sono’s ‘Love Exposure’ with English subtitles. I can’t say that it’s successful at getting the film’s point across, but that would just be impossible.
It didn’t take but a minute after the film had ended for me to jump online and try to buy the film’s soundtrack. It doesn’t exist as such, but aside from a bit of Beethoven’s “Symphony No.7 in A Major” and Ravel’s “Bolero” the entire four hour film’s soundtrack consists of three amazing songs by the long running Japanese psych rock band Yura Yura Teikoku (“The Wobbling Empire”). These same three songs are played over and over and over again. After four hours, they are drilled into your DNA for life.
Although I personally had never heard of them before, Yura Yura Teikoku were around from 1989 to 2010. They are one of the very few “underground” groups in Japan ever to become a major commercial act. They almost never played outside of Japan, and were, and still are, criminally obscure outside of their homeland. I’ll try to describe their sound, but it’s sort of pointless as Yura Yura Teikoku cover so much territory from song to song. They’re intense, but they’re melodic. At times the trio—who describe their own music simply as “psychedelic rock”—sound like Can crossed with Phish. Or early Flaming Lips doing a spaghetti western theme. Other times they remind me of a 60s garage rock band like The Sonics, but the next song will sound like Lloyd Cole. The one after that sounds like the lovechild of Neu! and the Grateful Dead. Or even the Ventures channeled through Ennio Morricone or a combination of Pink Floyd with The Blow Monkeys! Suffice to say, they are all over the map musically, from heavier riff-based guitar rock to prettier tunes that would make a great soundtrack for a picnic on a sunny day. From hard-rock workouts that will crush your head to things that you would whistle along with. Black Sabbath to Burt Bacharach on the same album, if not the same song.
The one area of commonality that nearly ALL of Yura Yura Teikoku’s music has—trust me, because I’ve been positively gorging myself on it lately—is that their songs posses a quality that make them sound uncannily familiar. The three songs featured so prominently in Love Exposure are especially adept earworms. Have a listen to my new favorite band, Yura Yura Teikoku. Chances are that they might become your new favorite new band, too.
