Horror/monster mags have seen better days, because the rises in postage and the high overheads for profitable distribution mean that so many niche publications have become untenable. Thankfully, the people who publish these are passionate and have stuck to their guns. My current favorite–one that all should support–is Shock Cinema Magazine, which along with the similarly excellent Video Watchdog, could be glimpsed briefly in a scene in Death Proof (2007). Taratino knows and loves these magazines, and much of his seemingly inexhaustible knowledge of brilliant old horror films comes from them. Watchdog just celebrated its milestone anniversary, while Shock Cinema just published its first issue in many months. Both are highly worth seeking out!

Two other favorites include the recently revitalized Scarlet: The Film Magazine (I wrote, once for its precursor Scarlet Street magazine). The magazine has always had a passionate staff, and the longer essays are great gateways into a specific subgenre or creative icon in the field. One of the most long-lived magazines is published by somebody who managed to trademark their alternative, movie-reviewing persona: The Phantom of the Movies’ Videoscope has been plugging away for years. I also highly recommend his book, which does thematic clusters and has a depth that similar genre guides seem to lack.

Though my taste tends to run counter, you’ve still got Famous Monsters of Filmland (albeit in a different form), Fangoria (I’ve always felt too well adjusted and pleasant to read this magazine…), and Asian Cult Cinema.

For the more scholarly minded, check out the journal Gothic Studies, the soon-to-be-launched (though this has been the case for several years, now) Horror Studies, or the always lively Irish Journal of Gothic and Horror Studies. The IJGHS is free and online. I’ve contributed to them and they turn out a really thoughtful product.

I can’t help with free consumables, but I can point you to some resources for enjoying foundational horror literature FOR FREE. Think of this as a mini-guide to your Halloween media.

Edgar Allan Poe: A man inseparable from the season. His melancholia was to be the shivery delight of millions. Check out a selection of his stories, care of the Poe Museum in Richmond, VA. Includes “The Murders in the Rue Morgue” and “The Fall of the House of Usher.”

Albrecht Durer, Melencolia I, 1514

Speaking of melancholia, why not read bits of Robert Burton’s brilliant assemblage of 1654, The Anatomy of Melancholy (includes thoughts dark and dreary) .

Three Giants of the Gothic: Horace Walpole’s The Castle of Otranto (1764) is a key work of unsettling Gothic spaces. Walpole was so committed to the idea that he built his own “Gothic Revival” house. Ann Radcliffe’s The Mysteries of Udolpho (1764) should be spoon-fed as a suitable substitute for those who are Twilight crazed. A foundational romance, it blends forbidden love and terror to strong effect. Matthew Gregory Lewis left us The Monk (1796), where the Gothic impulse met up with black magic, The Devil, and all that jazz.

Two Gods of the Gruesome: If you have not read Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (get the 1818 version) since school, you owe it to yourself to give it another shot. Worth every bit of adulation that it has garnered. Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1897) remains epistolary brilliance. Of course, Stoker’s The Lair of the White Worm (1911) is equally interesting, if un-PC and a bit strange. Ken Russell made an amazing film of it–better than the book!–and writer John Kenneth Muir recently wrote a piece about said film for my book.

Vampires!: While on the subject, Dr. John Polidori, friend to Lord Byron, wrote The Vampyre in 1819. Fans will want to check out Melinda K. Hayes and her excellent resource Vampiri Europeana, an extensive bibliography of representations of the bloodsuckers. Want films? Try watching Count Dracula and His Vampire Bride (1970), Vampire’s Night Orgy (1970), Vampire’s Kiss (1988, starring Nick Cage!!), and The Vampire Bat (1933) for free!!

Other Kings of the Scary Short: H.P. Lovecraft has legions of devoted fans–check out his approach to horror via Supernatural Horror in Literature (1927, though changed a bit in the 1930s). M.R. James, generally unsung in the United States, has some powerful supernatural tales, especially in Ghost Stories of an Antiquary (1904).

If you can spare a dime…: On the cheap and in your mailbox in a matter of days are Stephen King’s Danse Macabre (1987), a wonderful, personalized guide to his horror views and influences. Jenny Uglow’s The Vintage Book of Ghosts (1997) is one of the best anthologies on apparitions that I know. For the little ones, try the works of John Bellairs–an absolutely formative author of my youth–now mostly available for the cost of postage.

Read (and watch) yourself silly before the big day.

Since I recently published a book, I’ve become quite interested in ways that authors/editors get the word out on their latest work. The traditional avenues still remain: print ads in venues where the subject will play well, reviews in publications (even lukewarm ones–at one level, there is no such thing as bad publicity!), and personal appearances for talks, signings, and panels. The author’s presence and interest in the “afterlife” of a book often make it work.

Anyway, this is mostly in recognition of a book and short film by Kevin Jackson. A few months ago, I somehow noticed that the author of several books I had on many disparate topics–let’s say a biography of British filmmaker Humphrey Jennings, a book of interviews with Iain Sinclair, The Oxford Book of Money, and a book on the moose, to scratch the surface–was, in fact, one and the same person.

A simple Google search turned up his latest project, Bite: A Vampire Handbook (published earlier this month by Portabello Books). I haven’t had a chance to get/look at the book yet, but it seems a timely Halloween read. While they’ve arguably been all the rage for the last 100 or so years, vampires really have been all the rage as of late. With Twilight (2008) and Let the Right One In (2008) pock-marking people’s taste before they’ve had a chance to even explain, vampires are in vogue above and beyond their 1990s heyday during the age of Buffy. My personal preference skews toward the goofy vampire movies of the 1970s–Blacula (1972), The Vampire Lovers (1970), Count Yorga, Vampire (1970), Vampyres (1974)–and the foundational vampire lit. But I’m sure the book will contain something, if even in passing, for everyone.

But back to marketing. Jackson made a short film–which works on its own as a terror scenario, but just happens to rightfully promote the book–and is using that, in addition to the obvious promotional channels listed above.

But wait! Horror author Sarah Langan’s recently released Audrey’s Door has an attached short film by friend of VF J.T. Petty.  Again, we’ve got the just promotion of a book mixed with concrete, creepy images!

But have you noticed the way that the film is being advertised? I’ve seen banner sites all over which say: “Hit 1,000,000 demands and we will open nationwide”. The implication here is that the film, which initially seems to be something with a limited appeal, would not be worth opening across the country because of its cheapness, its lack of polish. So back in 1999, faced with a similar dilemma, The Blair Witch Project launched into a seemingly brilliant ad-campaign. It was the earlier, more innocent days of the internet: the film was given a cryptic web presence, was tied into a cable TV pseudo-documentary (later packed as an extra with the DVD), and never quite betrayed its veneer of “realistic” horror, even when most people learned of its falseness. The ruse worked well–I recall a good friend getting really into the mythology of the whole thing. Since we lived in Virginia, he was even considering a drive up to Maryland to investigate for himself!!

But the Paranormal Activity campaign is a bit different. They aren’t really trying to trick anybody into buying into the supposed reality of the situation. Hopefully, once in the theater, that old willing suspension of disbelief will kick in and the film will do that for us. Rather, this marketing campaign is less than a nation-wide gamble and more of a genius in region-specific selling. If you click the banner, you’re brought to a page where you can “demand” that the film be released nationwide (they claim that at 1,000,00 demands, it will). When I got that far, it told me that ~7,000 in the Pittsburgh area had already done so. Gotta love how they can trace my ISP! Anyway, rather than necessarily play the old game of guessing which markets to open into–what films used to have to do before the era of the blockbuster film like Jaws and Star Wars, where a gradual, regional release over time is what would make a successful film opening–the distributor can now simply see where the film has the most demands, focus further advertising in those already interested markets, and maybe bank secondarily on those areas who did not raise enough of a clamor!

The reason that I am thinking of this in terms of “recession era” horror is that finally we have a film that wears, as a badge, all of the virtues of thrift and cheapness. Made for around $15,000, it gets those great recession phrases like “no-frills” and “cheap.” Since it has the endorsements of mainstream Hollywood behind it–it was initially purchased with a remake in mind, but filmmakers saw the movie as it was and “endorsed” it (whatever that means)–it could usher in a brief cycle of recession era horror films, that are cheap in a good sense. Even with the dirt-low overheads, what remains to be seen is whether or not the trend will be profitable enough to justify its existence.

]]> http://www.virtualfools.com/film/spooktober-paranormal-activity-and-recession-horror/feed/ 0 http://www.virtualfools.com/film/now-available-ken-russell-re-viewing-englands-last-mannerist/ http://www.virtualfools.com/film/now-available-ken-russell-re-viewing-englands-last-mannerist/#comments Mon, 31 Aug 2009 22:05:25 +0000 Kevin http://www.virtualfools.com/?p=408

My edited collection, Ken Russell: Re-Viewing England’s Last Mannerist (Scarecrow Press), is now available in the United States.  The book should be available via European venues soon.  I was a bit dealyed in announcing this, since its release was pushed forward by a month, and I’ve been quite busy getting settled in Pittsburgh.  Still, I’m thrilled to be able to share some information about it, in hopes that you’ll pick up a copy.

The book showcases some hefty collaboration amongst the world’s foremost authorities on Russell.  Though it contains two previously available essays (to be fair, two essays that people interested in Russell might have otherwise missed), the rest of the book consists of brand-new material.  Many of the essays use exclusive interviews with Russell and his collaborators; newly uncovered archival material; discuss films that have otherwise been under- or un-available; and are accompanied by rare photographs, some of which have never appeared in print!  Though the book’s contents can be casually browsed at Amazon, I’m posting a list of the essays in order to tantalize:

Foreword – Joseph A. Gomez

Introduction – Kevin M. Flanagan

Ken Russell at the BBC, 1959-1970 – Paul Sutton

The Body Politic:  Ken Russell in the 1980s – Barry Keith Grant

In Defense of the Amateur – Brian Hoyle

Television, Contested Culture, and Social Control:  Cultural Studies and Pop Goes the Easel – Kevin M. Flanagan

Smashing Our Guitars, Deconstructing Our Idols: The Pop Art Aesthetic in Tommy – Tom Wallis

“Il parait que c’etait une musicien”: Ken Russell’s The Debussy Film – John C. Tibbetts

Fact, Fiction, Fever, Fantasy: Ken Russell’s Mahler and the Bio-Film – William Verrone

Defending Rudy: Alternative Masculinities in Ken Russell’s Valentino – Brian Faucette

As the (White) Worm Turns: Ken Russell as God and Devil of Rubber-Reality Horror Cinema – John Kenneth Muir

Behind the Last Veil: Forms of Transgression in Salome’s Last Dance – Thomas Prasch

Complicating the Costume Drama: Lady Chatterley, Ken Russell, and the Conceits of Heritage – Kevin M. Flanagan

Ken Russell at Work, 2006 – Paul Sutton

“Le Phoenix Terrible”: A Ken Russell Season at the BFI, July 2007 – John C. Tibbetts

I encourage you to purchase a copy and see for yourself.  The book is available at Scarecrow Press, Amazon and Barnes and Noble (each, as of this posting, at a competitive discount), Amazon.ca, Amazon.co.jp, and as a special order at bookstores everywhere.

Even if you’re not familiar with Russell and his work, this book can act as a catalyst to fill Netflix queues and DVD wish-lists!

To preface: this is neither an ad hominem critique of the sprawling San Diego Comic-Con, nor a definitive history. Rather, what I am interested in with “The Roots of Comic-Con” are the antecedent events, types of gatherings, and commercial showcases that gave rise to America’s biggest yearly showcase for all things fantastic, glittery, and full of explosions.

From roughly July 22-26, the city of San Diego—already a pretty large place by any standards—swells with a specific sort of person, the type more at home in the air-conditioned space of the dark room than the sunny vistas of SoCal. It would be easy say that nerds, geeks, obsessives, and the like all flock to events like Comic-Con, but this is not true. All sorts of people find solace in the vast San Diego Convention Center, whether as casual/curious fans, exhibitors, or press agents.

Even in a world with such entertainment showcases as E3 and CES, Comic-Con looks like the lumbering behemoth of the group, quickly swelling in size and hoovering up any and all showcase-able media. In some senses, what began as an actual comic book convention would be the ideal repository for all sorts of new and exciting entertainment experiences. After all, people who read comic books tend to have an uncanny, almost instinctual literacy for mixed media. Since comics and graphic narratives are primarily an intersection of the image (and its framing, spatial orientation, variable sizes, etc..) and the word (though a “visual” word, as important for WHERE and HOW it is used as for WHY it is used at all), it follows that Comic-Con would be the perfect place to showcase the fluidity of media, the triumphs of popular creativity, and the masters of marketing. For all of their supposed vices—and there are some, even for a popularizer and egalitarian like myself—comics are a compact form of cultural literacy, 32 solid pages (or more) to aid in the decoding of Western civilization.

That said, while Comic-Con is certainly unique in its vast promotion of both small/independent efforts and the corporate juggernauts, it is not wholly without precedent as a cultural showcase, as an event that teaches a people about itself. What I’d like to do is briefly sketch the sources of this event, which is as much comic book convention as it is flea market, technological exhibition, job fair, audience focus group (writ large), Utopian (in all senses of the world) vacation spot, subcultural rite of passage, and industry trade show.

The Crystal Palace, via WikiMedia

The two precedents that immediately come to mind are the nationalistic technological exhibition and its near ally (or evolved self), the World’s Fair. In the 19^th century, industrialized advances in production, consumption, and distribution meant that a large part of American and European nationalistic pride was tied up in the technologies pioneered by the great minds and hard-working people of a given place. In Britain, where industrialized practices dated to the 18^th century, these showcases for technology (such as the Great Exhibition of 1851, known for its building of the still-amazing but long-ago-destroyed Crystal Palace) tempted ambling audiences with the wonders of progress, of the new, of imaginative science and its realities. In America, a similar impulse paints the Colombian Exposition of 1893, where the glory of the American 19^th century—its railroads, imperialism, miracle cures, celebrities, etc—were placed next to the riches of the rest of the world. Bear in mind that a key factor in the history of these events is the sense of cultural imperialism, the notion that what the Nation produces is of visible interest to the wide world. Comic-Con suddenly does not feel so far-off.

Some of the nationalistic zeal of these Exhibitions is alive and well at Comic-Con. An obviously huge component of the convention is the superhero, a peculiar figure that has survived and flourished across media from nearly 100 years. Since the central prerogative of most superheros is the maintenance of law & order (or the restitution of a kind of static past, untroubled by the various ills of the contemporary world), they are often aligned with nationalistic sentiments. On this national level, Superman is evidently a standard-bearer for truth, justice, and the American way, while the obvious Captain America was an emblem of WWII-era fortitude, depicted as an ideal soldier who could fight the nation’s enemies wherever he found them. The formula holds even for superheroes more concerned with local, personal vendettas. Despite his supposedly international education, and his outward life as a Europeanized playboy, Bruce Wayne/Batman is all about restoring glory to Gotham city. In fact, his reliance on intelligence, education, and technology is the kind of end-result of the liberal-progressive attitude of 19^th century industrialization. These scientists, inventors, and industrialists (Wayne is all three) are the nation’s super-men, the secular saints who will deliver the people from evil and want.

But beyond this building of national identity—where else in the world (aside from, well, Japan) could something like Comic-Con happen with such girth, such zeal?—this yearly event also promotes the commercial spectacle of the American free market. While an exhibition or World’s Fair or Expo is more concerned with showcasing things that only large corporations or millionaires can actually own, such as experimental apartment buildings (see Montreal’s Expo ‘67 and its famous Habitat) or Westinghouse dynamos (the above 1893 Colombian Exposition), the flea market promotes the proper ethos of personal ownership. It’s no good tracing the history of the marketplace, as a full account would cover Billingsgate, the medieval covered markets, the Paris arcades, the American shopping mall, and the church swap-meet. Instead, take my word for it: yard sales, flea markets, swap-meets, and concentrated places of shopping continue to thrive. State and church fairs have always been places for hucksters to promote new wares—miracle tonics, shirts that need never be ironed, shoe soles that never wear down, etc—and mutual ingenuity tends to form a nice circuit. As such, new consumer goods do well when showcased together. Comic-Con totally understands this. Even when crap rubs shoulders with what appears to be genuine innovation, the lure of the new benefits from a general atmosphere of commerce and (apparent) invention. Twilight may be awful, but its co-presence with James Cameron’s Avatar promotes a general sense of American hegemony on the world’s entertainment.

But fans, consumers, and vacationers don’t just go to Comic-Con to stir their inner-nationalist or to assure themselves that an American stranglehold on the technological arts remains in plain view. Hell, people go because it’s fun! Thus, Comic-Con takes as much from the flea market as it does from the amusement park, from the Coney Island ethos of enjoyment, relaxation, and the consumer dream-world set to bright lights and HD TVs. The Coney Island of the early 1900s was truly amazing, a constant media spectacle that perhaps has still yet to be surpassed. Where else could an average Joe from New York go on rides, see pseudo-anthropological exhibits, play carnival games, and witness the liveness of death? That’s right: one famous Coney Island spectacle of yore was the live electrocution of elephants, who would be zapped to death before the eyes of a paying public. Comic-Con does not kill people, but the enculturated sense of violence remains. As much as the event gives life—new things to see, do, read, and love—it gives death. Violent entertainment, showcased in public, lives on.

The relationship of corporations and consumers is in a delicate balance at Comic-Con. Some attendees want to see the big stars, hear the big announcements from the studios, in short participate in the mainstream thrill as much as possible. Others go for the independent showcases, the self-published and/or smaller tables that hope to find a kindly audience amidst the thousands of men dressed as Stormtroopers. On a personal level, I wish the best to the smaller outfits at Comic-Con, as it is the biggest live audience they’ll ever potentially encounter. Given the size of the event, it is likely that all tastes can be accommodated. But the flip-side is true. One of the other functions of Comic-Con is as an extremely volatile product-focus-group. The super fans are in attendance, and Warner Bros. can show its latest properties, fully aware that part of the process is the airing of grievances demanded by the die-hards. As such, Comic-Con gives the mainstream outfits a sense of the fringe. While they still want the mainstream audiences, the mainstream money, they can also engage with the vocal minority in hopes of taming the beast of internet complaints. But, as previously mentioned, as Comic-Con grows, so to do the mainstream audiences. While the event’s audiences of 30+ years ago were built more specifically around a common subculture, the scene today is much more fractured. With 125,000 hearts and minds, the corporations and fans begin a mutually beneficial—though sometimes lopsided—battle for favor.

Comic-Con has likewise up’ed the ante for seemingly egalitarian, yet still divided public events. As countless online galleries attest, Comic-Con is a platform for celebrities, actors, writers, and directors to stand behind their latest creations. As scenes from Comic Book: The Movie (2004) and countless YouTube clips suggest, the fantasy of brushing against your personal pantheon of geniuses is fairly high. You will see people you recognize. But, there remain differences. Some of the promotional sessions are uni-vocal. The corporation showcases it’s film, the stars speak canned questions and answers, the audience remains an audience. This is not always the case. Some events are better at including other voices and concerns. But is is worth restating that, as with many things at Comic-Con, appearances can deceive. Some laugh all the way to the bank. Others cry as the ATM receipt shows them to be in the red.

In short, I will readily admit that my demystification of Comic-Con does take a bit of the fun out of it. While the whole media event can still be enjoyed on that very obvious promotional level—where new products make the heart race, where G.I. Joe begins looking even more atrocious than before—it should also be understood as an event that is an exception in some ways, and wholly historical in others. It is a refined showcase for fantastic narratives across media. Its success is a testament to its selective cannibalization of past events, carefully tailored to the current world of entertainment media. It is a fan-friendly convention, but it is also a con.

Clipping from the 2009 Scarecrow Press Film Catalog

As I cryptically mentioned in a recent post, my first book–an edited collection on film director Ken Russell–is in press right now.  The project has been in the works for a long time.  Friends will probably remember me mentioning it as early as summer 2005.  I had been actively working on the book in its finished form (which is to say, an anthology of essays as opposed to the tri-authored book originally conceived) since Fall 2007.

In the middle of the busiest few months of my life–PhD visits, finishing my M.A., teaching duties, all that jazz–I managed to put the thing together.  I was very lucky to have worked with such great contributors, from seasoned academics and historians to relative youngsters closer to my generation.  The book represents the considered judgements and continued hard work of a number of people.  I will highlight individual contributions and will provide information about the essays closer to the books’ launch.

There remains a bit more work to be done–proofs, layout work, indexing–and release is at least four months away (current date appears to be September 28th), but I wanted to highlght its immanent completion.

You can view Scarecrow’s page or take a gander at the Amazon page, where the pre-order link just went live.  This is a specialty research title aimed at historian, academics, scholars, and fans of the director, but don’t let the (relative) specificity scare you off.  In fact, there is no better way to spend your free time this summer than to watch (or re-view) Ken Russell’s films!

When art collector and forger Charles Bonnet (Hugh Griffith) lets his ego get the best of his senses and loans his prized Cellini “Venus”—the forged version, that is—to a museum, trouble ensues. It doesn’t take Bonnet and his granddaughter (Audrey Hepburn) long to realize the museum won’t be duped. Desperate, they hire a suave cat burglar (Peter O’Toole) to steal the statue back in this gem from William Wyler.
Netflix description

So why How to Steal a Million? It represents the essence of the heist film. Heist films, along with pirate and gangster movies, represent a genre of movie where we want the bad guys to win. Of course, they’re not really “bad guys,” but rather people breaking the written rules of society in order to pursue a different order of laws. Not only must the target of illegal activity pose a threat, but we have to care about the threatened parties. In order for the audience to believe this, writers, directors, and actors have to create sympathetic characters. We might sympathize with them because of the position they’ve been forced into, or we might fall for their personality. How to Steal a Million works because of the relationship between Nicole Bonnet (Audrey Hepburn) and Simon Dermott (Peter O’Toole).

Dermott represents the prototypical suave protagonist, with the resources of charm and wit (and blue eyes). Nicole makes a great leading lady because she is strong, independent, and doing it for the right reasons. Nowadays love stories are too contrived. The relationship of Dermott and Nicole develops slowly and naturally. This is in part a result of the repression of the sexual nature of their relationship, which allows for the evolution of the relationship to evolve through the metaphor of the heist.

Our modern heist films rely heavily on either action or intricate plans. I love the Ocean series, because by the third movie they poke fun at the ridiculous nature of their methods. How to Steal a Million revolves around the cultivation of one plan, whose exact details are only hinted to throughout the film. Stealing the statue back does not take a long time because the plan is intricate—it takes a long time because difficult tasks require patience. I also particularly liked the way it cleverly uses simple tools to circumvent the barriers of modern technology–represented in the film by the new laser beam alarm system surrounding the statue.

Besides a good story, great chemistry between the leading characters, and well-paced action, there are a handful of other reason you should check out this movie. In one of his earliest films, composer John Williams (credited as Johnny Williams) sets the mood of both the caper and the swinging setting of 1960s Paris. French character actor Moustache silently amuses as one of the museum guards with his exaggerated mannerisms and eponymous facial hair. Audrey Hepburn looks beautiful as usual and even a man like myself is taken in by the bright blue eyes of Peter O’Toole. Overall an awesome watch.

I definitely recommend you Watch It Now.

Beat Street (1984)

Film Editor: Dov Hoenig, Kevin Lee.  Cinematography: Tom Priestly Jr.  Produced by: Harry Belafonte, David V. Picker.  Directed by: Stan Lathan.

A mosaic of mid-Eighties urban life with plenty of boldness, Beat Street is a big screen attempt at showcasing emerging forms of expression by way of some fairly banal narrative choices. Kenny (Guy Davis) is a talented DJ whose love for music mixology gives him lots of subcultural street cred, but few big breaks. His brother Lee (Robert Taylor) is a member of the New York Breakers, and after a triumphant dance battle with the rival Rock Steady Crew, is approached by the artfully-minded Tracy (Rae Dawn Chong). Tracy wants to showcase Lee’s skills to her dance ensemble, but an encounter with Kenny leads first to disagreement and then quickly to love. Friend Ramon (Jon Chardiet) nearly achieves his graffiti-art dreams by tagging a white train, but dies while struggling with rival spray-painter Spit. In grief, Kenny uses his recently secured show at the Roxy to stage a vibrant tribute to his fallen friend.

Beat Street is a compendium of contemporary artforms. Rappers (The Treacherous Three, Grand Master Melle Mel, and Afrika Bambaataaa, amongst others), dancers, and graffiti artists bring a positive flavor to a tainted public perception of the American urban poor. In order to counteract the Reaganite conception of urban minorities as corrupt and corrupting, Beat Street showcases a ready belief in community power, the legitimacy of youthful expression, and the importance of popular arts. Even though it relies on a classic love story and other traditional techniques, Beat Street still gives a well-founded voice to under-represented people. Harry Belafonte co-produces. The film compares favorably with other 80s films such as Wild Style (1982), Breakin’ (1984) and Krush Groove (1985), and trumps You Got Served (2004) with its adept choreography.

Note: Some of the films’ extensive and diverse score was composed by Webster Lewis.  Astute readers will note that his album The Club 7 Live Tapes was my favorite (archival) release of 2007.  The music here, sadly, isn’t quite as good.

The London Rock & Roll Show (1973)

Film Editor: Thomas Schwalm.  Cinematography: Peter Whitehead et. al.  Produced by: Peter Clifton.  Exec. Produced by: Ron Faulk and Ray Faulk. Directed by: Peter Clifton.  Running Time: 84 min (some prints as short as 24 min)

Peter Clifton’s film of the historic pioneers of rock and roll, shot at Wembley Stadium on August 5th, 1972 and produced for theatrical release the following year.  Both nostalgia and energy hover over the sets by Bo Diddley, Jerry Lee Lewis, Bill Haley and the Comets, Little Richard, and headliner Chuck Berry.  The mixture of performance and interview gives a good sense of the paradox confronting most of the musicians: despite a decline in popularity, the demands of the show are to bring a slate of greatest hits to a new generation of rock fans more familiar with The Who and The Rolling Stones (Mick Jagger makes an appearance and puts the age question into perspective).  This mini-festival drew the gamut of British youth sub-cultures, and part of the pleasure in watching the film now is in witnessing the Teddy Boys, Bikers, Rockers, and proto-punks strut their stuff.

Diddley’s bluesy set sports solid renditions of “Road Runner” and “Mona.”  Lewis brings his rollicking showmanship and outspoken personality to the fray, indirectly clashing with Little Richard for the title of the King of Rock (a title later given to Bill Haley by an announcer).  Compared the stage presence of Lewis, Haley’s run-through of “Rock Around the Clock,” though a crowd-pleaser, is trite and hopelessly dated.  Little Richard, in extensive interview sequences, points out the greatest irony of all—for all of his showmanship and passion, his music (and rock music in general) has always been consumed by a mainly White audience.  Richard’s extended set brings bravura to “Tutti Frutti” and “Good Golly, Miss Molly,” amongst others, but his pessimism dampers the celebratory veneer of most of the concert.  Berry closes, combining the performative sense of Little Richard with the mastery of Diddley.

As a movie, The London Rock and Roll Show feels haphazard, though the inclusion of candid interviews makes it a curiosity piece worth searching for.  The mixture of “the old” with the burgeoning possibilities of “the new” attests to the longevity of rock, but in the process gives a truncated shelf-life to some of the tamer aspects of the Golden Age sensibility. Available on DVD.

~~~~

Note: One of the lead cameramen on this film was Peter Whitehead, whose film TONITE LET’S ALL MAKE LOVE IN LONDON is one of the best on the British scene of the 1960s.  Whitehead had a knack for capturing the energy of rock.  He was responsible for chronicles of The Beach Boys, The Rolling Stones, and Pink Floyd.

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