Only now does it occur to me... THE LORDS OF DISCIPLINE

Only now does it occur to me...  that Michael Biehn and Bill Paxton were good 'ole boy soldier cronies back in 1983, three years before ALIENS.

Based on a novel by Pat Conroy that I read for a high school English class, THE LORDS OF DISCIPLINE is set at a Citadel-esque military academy on the cusp of the Civil Rights era.
Biehn and Paxton play a couple of classic asshole hazer bullies who usually torment the weakest of the new guys

Paxton (far left) and Biehn (second from left) do their thing.

and enacting hardcore harassments, like turning the fat guy into Paxton's personal piggy bank.



Things take a turn for the worse when the school admits its first-ever black cadet, and Biehn and Paxton (along with a shadowy organization called "The Ten," that seems like a blend of the KKK and Yale's Skull and Bones) begin a torturous, drawn-out persecution of the black guy, who's only friend on campus is David Keith (unfortunately, not Keith David).

Biehn chomps the scenery, trying to outdo Paxton's crazy face.

The culmination of all this is probably the scene where Paxton and Biehn sing with the full company of cadets and proceed in a behavior I can only describe as trying to "Out-Dixie" one another.  Well done.


Also, Paxton is credited as "Wild" Bill Paxton.  It's too bad that didn't stick!

Anyway, it was the beginning of a beautiful friendship, and one which continued in THE TERMINATOR (1984), ALIENS (1986), NAVY SEALS (1990), and TOMBSTONE (1993).


P.S. There's also a meaty character role (Colonel "Bear" Berrineau) for crotchety old man and cigar-chomping virtuoso Robert Prosky (GREMLINS 2, CHRISTINE).  Always good to see ya, Mr. Prosky!

CHOMP

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Book Review: THREE BAD MEN: JOHN FORD, JOHN WAYNE, WARD BOND (2013, Scott Allen Nollen)

I'm a longtime fan of John Ford (who isn't, really?), the patron-saint of Monument Valley, born-again Irishman, and director of some of the best-constructed, most thoughtful films to come out of Hollywood, from THE INFORMER to THE MAN WHO SHOT LIBERTY VALANCE to THE QUIET MAN to THE GRAPES OF WRATH.
John Wayne is, so to speak, John Wayne, though his work frequently transcends the "movie star" mold with a dancer's grace and a touch of madness like in Ford's THE SEARCHERS, Hawks' RED RIVER, and Siegel's THE SHOOTIST.
Then, there's Ward Bond: a character actor extraordinaire who played brutes and cowpokes and priests and boxers across more than two hundred films.  Though his supporting work with Ford and Wayne is why he's included in this trio, my soft spot for him will always be his one and only shot at top-billing in 1942's HITLER: DEAD OR ALIVE, a film that clearly inspired INGLOURIOUS BASTERDS and contains the fabulous spectacle of Ward slapping the shit out of Hitler himself ...before proceeding to force-shave off his mustache! 

Anyway, I just finished reading Scott Allen Nollen's in-depth examination of the lives and work of these three cinematic giants, and I highly recommend it as a fascinating study for burgeoning old-Hollywood aficionados and serious fans of cinema alike.  Chronologically tracing the intertwining lives of these three "good-bad men" who were not unlike the characters in their films (Ford directed Bond and Wayne in nearly thirty pictures each), Nollen is at once objective and affectionate in his analysis, and there's a wealth of source material including documents, letters, telegrams, and plenty of rare photographs.  There are riveting anecdotes (I may now actually be inspired to read Harry Carey, Jr.'s autobiography), some great yarn-spinning (including tales of Ward Bond's brutish, high-flying, indecent-exposing, Wile E. Coyote-style antics and his ruining of a key scene in THE SEARCHERS when he unplugged the camera to plug in his electric razor!), and the work definitely touches on their peccadillos and absurdities, though never salaciously.

It's deftly written and never dry; while many books of this kind become bogged down by academic posturing, Nollen remains true to the spirit of his subjects and opts for a two-fisted, no bullshit approach.  I really appreciate how deeply he throws himself into the work, freely admitting "a meaningful (though a bit one-sided) conversation with a tombstone or two."  He's as a film writer should be– intense, obsessive, and highly-focused; reverent without succumbing to hollow adulation.

The main drive of the work is the examination of the complex personal and working relationship between the three (though large swaths of the book are dedicated to advancing the underrated Ward Bond to his rightful place in the pantheon).  None of these men could really be pinned down or branded with a particular stereotype– each had a volatile mix of id and ego (often sprinkled heavily with alcohol) that fused together to create a kind of perfect storm of filmic art. 
The complex psychology of Ford's relationships with the two men is indeed worthy of an entire volume– you see a strange kind of ownership emerge, resulting from Ford's "discovering" of the two actors.  This ownership was generally expressed in verbal (and often physical) sadism as Ford became master of his "whipping boys," something which may have even tied into his potential bisexuality:

"Ford loved John Wayne and Ward Bond, but his true sexual orientation wasn't something he would have discussed with them, or anyone else.  When it came to his own life and psyche, Pappy [Ford] avoided the truth, exaggerated, lied, or just didn't 'have any goddamn idea.'  The positive emotions he felt for his two favorite actors and whipping boys may have been the underlying cause of his negative, sadistic treatment of them (and himself); but even a lifetime of psychoanalysis may not have 'proved' anything."

Vindictive and controlling, Ford "froze out" Wayne for eight years when he appeared in a rival director's Western (Raoul Walsh's THE BIG TRAIL) and later, when Bond made serious forays into television (WAGON TRAIN) and Wayne tried to direct a picture of his own (THE ALAMO), Ford would sometimes install himself as a presence on set and attempt to undermine/co-opt the work therein.  These behaviors even extended beyond the trio– he punched out Henry Fonda (!) on MISTER ROBERTS and made cruel, deliberate use of alcohol to wring earth-shattering, hungover performances out of the likes of Victor McLaglen in THE INFORMER and Woody Strode in SERGEANT RUTLEDGE.

Though he reveals these men "warts and all," Nollen also paints a portrait of devoted friends and masterful artists whose lives and creative outlets meshed almost completely.  (For instance, despite the abuse, Ford chose Bond to play his own alter-ego in the deeply personal THE WINGS OF EAGLES.) 

Nollen takes on the accusations of racism in Ford's films, and reveals his struggle to show all sides despite the constraints of the system– especially evident in films like THE SEARCHERS, SERGEANT RUTLEDGE, and CHEYENNE AUTUMN.  He tackles the strange political spectrum of the men, too, with John Ford's patriotic progressivism, Wayne's conservatism, and Ward Bond's ultraconservatism (and yet it was Ford who took his camera overseas into the crucible of World War II while Wayne and Bond remained in Hollywood).  He doesn't shy away from Ward Bond's shameful behavior in the McCarthy era as a supporter of the blacklist:

"The social climbing Bond's ultimate political affront to Ford involved an invitation to a party he was throwing for Senator Joseph McCarthy.  His great mentor [Ford] simply answered, 'You can take your party and shove it.  I wouldn't meet that guy in a whorehouse.  He's a disgrace and a danger to our country.'"

Bond's involvement with the blacklist feels like a moral counterpoint to Ford's extensive work with the U.S. armed forces in World War II and beyond, and much attention here is paid to his military career (I learned that in North Africa a Nazi actually surrendered himself to John Ford!) 

Along the way, Nollen delves into a vast spectrum of material including Ford's relationship with his older brother Francis (mentor, actor, and silent film director), Ford's gleeful propensity for Chaucer/Shakespearean-style low comedy and his hilariously bizarre obsession with highlighting Ward Bond's "horse's ass" in shot compositions ("Although FORT APACHE is a serious examination of the mythology of the American West, it humorously can be branded Ford's 'ass-travaganza'").  Of particular interest to me were Ford's work with Victor McLaglen (whose performance in THE INFORMER is one of the greatest in filmdom), his direction of genius child actor and later genre-movie legend Roddy McDowall in HOW GREEN WAS MY VALLEY,  Bond's artistic process as unofficial show-runner on WAGON TRAIN, and the compelling, touching latter-day friendship between Ford and Woody Strode– and the book certainly has some genuinely emotional, poignant moments as the three "good-bad" men's lives dwindle to a close.

In the end, it definitely gets you amped up to watch some John Ford films– I've probably seen at least two dozen or so at this point, but there's still scores more I need to get my hands on, and there's obviously some big gaps in my knowledge.  For instance, since I've read THREE BAD MEN, MISTER ROBERTS, THEY WERE EXPENDABLE, 3 GODFATHERS, and WAGON MASTER have now leapt to the forefront of my queue.

THREE BAD MEN is published by McFarland (Order line: 800-253-2187), ISBN 978-0-7864-5854-7

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Only now does it occur to me... EVA

Only now does it occur to me... that there are monsters out there, human monsters, and they're actively wasting the talents of Michael Ironside.

EVA is a laughably bad World War II movie with Merchant/Ivory pretensions that only succeeds in achieving the dramatic heights of a made-for-TV movie on the Hallmark Channel, replete with bad CGI.


WAR IS HELL

It's sights are set at an epic war-torn romance á la CASABLANCA or GONE WITH THE WIND or THE ENGLISH PATIENT and it's trudging along pretty hideously and then– thank God! – Ironside.

 
IRONSIDE MAKE BELIEVES HE'S IN A BETTER MOVIE


 PARDON MICHAEL IRONSIDE, BUT COULD HE BOTHER YOU FOR SOME GREY POUPON?  HE'S OUT AT THE MOMENT

He plays the titular character's disapproving uncle who has clearly only been given the direction to "be harsh aristocratic and mean and uncle-ly."  And by the way, that suit and tie does not appear to be period appropriate.

Then, out of the blue, they tell him to be rapey and incesty and uncle-ly:

And you know what– Ironside's trying, somewhat.  You can tell what he thinks of the movie, but he's runnin' it up that flagpole anyway.

Then, he's suddenly and ignominiously defeated via a candlestick and some meticulously choreographed community theater stage combat:


Whereupon he pops back up with panache and a Michael Myers-style re-entrance (with shades of VISITING HOURS):

Before being promptly shot down by the eponymous niece

a mere thirty-six minutes into the movie, thereby rendering the remainder of the film wholly unnecessary.  Oh, well!  Nice to see you anyway, Mr. Ironside.

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Only now does it occur to me... FROM HERE TO ETERNITY!

Only now does it occur to me... that pretty much the last thing you want to hear after being court-martialed– but before you're about to be severely clobbered with a billyclub by Ernest Borgnine– has got to be "Hello, tough monkey."

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Film Review: DARK OF THE SUN (1968, Jack Cardiff)

Stars: 4.3 of 5.
Running Time: 100 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Rod Taylor (THE BIRDS, ZABRISKIE POINT), Jim Brown (THE DIRTY DOZEN, THE RUNNING MAN), Yvette Mimieux (THE TIME MACHINE, THE BLACK HOLE), Kenneth More (THE LONGEST DAY, SINK THE BISMARCK!), Peter Carsten (THE QUILLER MEMORANDUM, TACTICAL GUERILLA), Calvin Lockhart (WILD AT HEART, PREDATOR 2). Music by Jacques Loussier (THE KILLING GAME, MONIQUE). Based on the novel by Wilbur Smith (THE LAST LION, SHOUT AT THE DEVIL). Screenplay by Adrian Spies (episodes of STAR TREK, THE UNTOUCHABLES, HAWAII 5-0) and Ranald MacDougall (MILDRED PIERCE, WE'RE NO ANGELS). Cinematography by Edward Scaife (SITTING TARGET, THE DIRTY DOZEN, NIGHT OF THE DEMON) - with help from Jack Cardiff.
Tag-lines: "Brutes! Savages! Heroes! ...Paid to fight in the fury of the Congo!"
Best one-liner: "The gun's Chinese, Ruffo, paid for by Russian rubles. The steel probably came from a West German factory built by French francs. Then it was flown out here on a South African airline probably subsidized by The United States. I don't think he got very far."
AKA: THE MERCENARIES.

One of the greatest cinematographers who ever lived, Jack Cardiff is known for lensing everything from THE AFRICAN QUEEN to THE DOGS OF WAR to RAMBO: FIRST BLOOD PART II to CAT'S EYE. For me, his greatest work was with Powell and Pressburger, for whom he shot A MATTER OF LIFE AND DEATH, THE RED SHOES, BLACK NARCISSUS, and portions of THE LIFE AND DEATH OF COLONEL BLIMP. From the 50's to the 70's, Cardiff turned his eye to directing (while still acting as a cinematographer on the side), and he churned out two-fisted actioners (like the vicious Richard Widmark/Sidney Poiter viking flick, THE LONG SHIPS), moody mysteries (like WEB OF EVIDENCE), and psychedelic freestyle insanities (like GIRL ON A MOTORCYCLE). DARK OF THE SUN certainly falls into the 'two-fisted actioner' category, but I'd go as far as to say that, in hearkening back to his P&P days, it's Cardiff's version of 'THE LIFE AND DEATH OF COLONEL BLIMP': a meditation on the exponential surge of brutality and complexity in modern warfare- and how it may be preferable to simply embrace extinction rather than adapt for survival in a nasty little world like ours.

Set in some approximation of the Congo in the tumultuous 60's, bloodthirsty pseudo-revolutionary 'Simbas' rape and pillage and butcher the populace as rich whites scramble to save their hides- but more importantly- their reserves of diamonds. An worn-down international strike force of mercenaries, led by the resilient Rod Taylor (who's kind of the 60's Bill Pullman) as 'Curry' and the affably severe Jim Brown as 'Ruffo', are brought in to rescue a group of refugees– er, I mean, rescue some rich douches' diamonds and maybe a few refugees if they can fit it into the schedule.

A few of the rich douches in question are stared down by Rod Taylor.

Taylor's in for the money, Brown's in it for love of country, and the motley team they assemble includes a raging ex-Nazi played by Peter Carsten and a dipsomaniacal doctor played by Kenneth More. Later, they're joined by shell-shocked survivor Yvette Mimieux, who acts as a pseudo-love interest and a voice of moral outrage in the midst of so many deadened mercenary hearts.

The film itself shifts between a white-knuckle train ride through hostile territory and a few fleeting moments of respite (which are generally spoiled by the trauma of an impending annihilation). It's sort of THE DIRTY DOZEN meets THE WAGES OF FEAR with enough sprinklings of Powell & Pressburger-style pathos to give the picture depth.

It's a difficult film to get one's hands on, but hopefully we can look forward to a DVD release thanks to increased attention from the likes of Martin Scorsese (who calls it a "guilty pleasure), Quentin Tarantino (who certainly drew more than a little inspiration from it for INGLOURIOUS BASTERDS), and William Lustig (who recently featured it in his 'William Lustig Presents' series at the Anthology Film Archives). It's truly one of the best films of its kind, and without telling you too much, here are six reasons why:

#1. Jacques Loussier's tremendous soundtrack. One could call it 'rip-off Morricone,' but I would only mean such a statement as the highest of praise. It's dissonant, razor-sharp piano; soaring, tragic strings; and explosive cymbals all wrapped up in a Euro-package that's as quietly mournful as it is cataclysmic. If you don't believe me, check it out for yourself.

#2. A young Calvin Lockhart in an early role as 'Ubi,' one of the politicos who hires our soldiers of fortune.

Lynch fans will recall his role as 'Reggie' in WILD AT HEART, one of the trio of killers which included David Patrick Kelly and Grace Zabriskie, or his role as 'The Electrician' in TWIN PEAKS: FIRE WALK WITH ME. Others, who will likely remain anonymous, will recall his absurdly brilliant turn as 'King Willie' in PREDATOR 2. Others still may remember his 'ecclesiastical' performance in the Ossie Davis-helmed blaxploitation film, COTTON COMES TO HARLEM. Regardless, Lockhart's role here is not a flashy one, but, as always, he does what needs to be done with genuine intensity.

#3. Rod Taylor and Jim Brown doing most of their own stunts. Brown, as an ex-NFLer, makes sense. But possibly in an attempt to out-macho Brown, Taylor was leaping and pratfalling and tumbling all over the place as well (and spraining his knee four times). According to co-star Kenneth More's memoirs: "Rod Taylor had been an amateur boxing champion before he became an actor, and he and Jim Brown threatened to settle disputes with their fists. Taylor fancied his chance of knocking out Brown...[who was] 6'4'' and built like a solid brick privy. They appeared to hate each other. Maybe they were only acting..."

Brown and Taylor tolerate one another.

Well...I gotta say that I don't think they were 'acting,' because the main thrust of the film is about the strength of their friendship.

#4. Rod Taylor schooling the Nazi, Part 1. As it happens, a Nazi joins the squad- a real nasty piece of work named Henlein. Being mercenaries, they're forced to suffer his presence, but Taylor lets him know up front what he thinks about his swastika:

"Get rid of that. It makes me nervous... I forget who I'm supposed to be mad at."

Later, when Henlein executes some children whom he suspects are ferrying information to the enemy,

Taylor can hardly his disgust, and wrathfully growls:

"Put the swastika back on... You've earned it."

#5. Rod Taylor schooling the Nazi, Part 2. Increasing tensions lead to a knock-down, drag-out brawl between the two, which involves the ferocious chainsaw vs. bare-knuckle match-up which graces the poster,

and a sweaty, vein-bulging, eye-popping throttling which pits 'skull' against 'train.'

I won't tell you how it ends, but there's definitely a 'Rod Taylor vs. Nazi, Part 3'- and suffice it to say that it is as brutal as all of the the previous skirmishes, combined.

#6. Kenneth More as Doctor Wreid. Sure, he's signs on to the mission for 12 bottles of scotch, but it's still sort of amazing to see him mourn a lost case of booze like it was a living being.

Later, in a rare moment of leisure, Henlein turns him on to an old (German?) drinking game which involves getting trashed, spinning 'round and 'round, and then attempting to shoot at targets with a degree of accuracy that is, well, questionable at best.

But this is just a lead-up to a drunken C-section, which still doesn't even quite make the short list of 'most jaw-dropping moments in DARK OF THE SUN.' (Despite the parade of lunacies, however, Wreid remains a solid character with a well-developed arc and a satisfying payoff.)

In the end, it's as gripping as a dive-bombing, as merciless as a bayonet to the guts, and as kinetic as a war movie can be. No winks, no nods- just the action and the waiting. The bloodshed and the friendship. The monsters inside the humans, and the humans inside the monsters. Over four stars.

-Sean Gill

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Film Review: FAREWELL TO THE KING (1989, John Milius)

Stars: 3.7 of 5.
Running Time: 117 minutes.
Tag-line: "In the midst of war, one man vanished into the jungle, and emerged as king."
Notable Cast or Crew: Nick Nolte, Frank McRae (RED DAWN, 48 HRS.), James Fox (PERFORMANCE, PATRIOT GAMES), Nigel Havers (EMPIRE OF THE SUN, A PASSAGE TO INDIA), Gerry Lopez (CONAN THE BARBARIAN), Aki Aleong (KUFFS, THE HOUSE OF SAND AND FOG), Marilyn Tokuda (ALL OF ME, XANADU). Based on the novel by Pierre Schoendoerffer (THE ANDERSON PLATOON). Music by Basil Poledouris (ROBOCOP, CONAN THE BARBARIAN).
Best one-liner: "No one moves very far out of line. When you're young you think you're blazing a trail. When you grow older, you realize you're beating a path."

Men carried by the waves. Breakers dwarf their vessel, toss them to and fro like a child's toy. One could say that the winds of war have delivered them to this point, but their final destination depends on the whimsies of that fickle, briny deity known as The Sea.

The sole survivor of a Pacific shipwreck and subsequent massacre by the Japanese, Nick Nolte's 'Learoyd' wanders the dark and hostile rainforest. He is a man, disintegrated. On the outside, raging in the ocean and surrounding lands, is manmade chaos- The Second World War. On the inside is anxiety and despair, further aroused by natural chaos- the untamed jungle. He renounces his connection to his so-called civilization and throws away his pistol. Soon thereafter, he is captured by the indigenous people, 'reified,' and reborn.

On the verge of execution, Nolte's intricate tattoos prove serendipitous, and not long afterward, he is crowned their king. He builds a life for himself, and for his people. It is a genuine way of life, something Hemingway might refer to as "afición."

The jungle no longer teaches Herzogian lessons of darkness, but rather poses Hemingway-esque opportunities for redemption and transcendence- a way to recapture an authentic existence. Before long, the British and the Japanese rudely trespass upon Nolte's idyll, and each actively desires something from him: The British- cooperation and corruption; The Japanese- death.

"I quit your world," says Nolte- but the High Command, the politicians, and the bean-counters haven't quit Nolte, and so long as he draws breath and can hold a weapon, he's useful to the war effort. There's wheeling and dealing; Nolte wants guarantees, and he doesn't want his people bulldozed and redacted from the impending final reports and postscripts of the Second World War. James Fox is Colonel Ferguson, a man flummoxed by and dismissive of Nolte's 'peculiar' requests.

Nigel Havers is Captain Fairbourne, a man who begins to see Nolte's point-of-view, though he never truly graps the idea of an authentic existence- it's already been tainted by the war before he arrives (or, more accurately, just as he arrives).

John Bennett Perry plays Douglas MacArthur, another of Milius' "great men of history" who waft through his films, often portrayed as idealized, patriotic spirits, more abstractions than men. "History is written by unusual men, some who become kings, and some who make no more mark than a stone thrown into the ocean"- MacArthur, as channeled by Milius, is initially sympathetic to Nolte's cause.

But he still doesn't understand. The very way that these men exist brands them as incapable of understanding, because it is inauthentic.

War's about as discerning as the swells of the ocean, and, naturally, Nolte is sucked into the breathless void of bayonet-chopping, machete-stabbing, shotgun-blasting combat.

It is here, and not in the initial world-quitting, that Nolte embraces the hideous animal within. That pure black chaos from the deep which is as alien to the transformed Nolte as the "prim and proper" bureaucracy of destruction. To watch him do it is remarkable and terrifying.




In a way, FAREWELL TO THE KING might be John Milius' most John Hustonian flick, combining the culture shocks and "adventure" of THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING with the 'aw shucks' benevolence with which Walter Huston's character becomes a full-time medicine man in THE TREASURE OF THE SIERRA MADRE. Milius was a longtime admirer of Huston, and even had the opportunity to write for him (THE LIFE AND TIMES OF JUDGE ROY BEAN) and direct him (THE WIND AND THE LION).

Despite all of this, I cannot label FAREWELL TO THE KING as a masterpiece. Milius is an excellent writer and director, but he cannot wring the realness from his situations that someone like Huston (or Herzog) can. Another problem is the score by Basil Poledouris. I very much appreciate his work in films like CONAN THE BARBARIAN and ROBOCOP, but here, when the narrative stakes are a little higher, it comes across as oddball Oscar bait. Sometimes the music made me feel like I was watching DANCES WITH WOLVES when I should have felt like I was watching AGUIRRE, THE WRATH OF GOD. This was also a problem for me in RED DAWN. Something like Arnold swinging a battle-axe in CONAN THE BARBARIAN is not a sacred image, it's a pedestrian one. And it's one which benefits from sweeping music. I'm not reachin' for the hanky when I see Arnold swinging the axe to Basil's majestic strains, but I'm grinning and sippin' my Schlitz and having a heckuva time. In FAREWELL TO THE KING, I see Nolte replaced by the primeval beast which resides in the pit of mankind's deepest fears. This is a powerful image. This image speaks for itself. When sumptuous strings interrupt this image, they are as profane as the British army which so brutally barges in on Nolte's Shangri-La.

Nearly four stars, but not the quite the tour de force it could have been.

-Sean Gill

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