Saturday, March 28, 2009

A BEAUTIFUL MIND

Above all there is the fierce presence of Mr. Crowe, who refuses every temptation to overact the role set before him. Too often the chance to depict genius or mental disorder is taken, even by gifted actors like Dustin Hoffman (''Rain Man'') and Geoffrey Rush (''Shine''), as a license to show off.




Asked why he believed the wild delusions that characterized his illness,
Mr. Nash replied that it was because they came to him ''the same way that my mathematical ideas did.''



Reviewed by A. O. Scott







Type:
Features

Distributor:
Universal


Starring Jennifer Connelly, Russell Crowe, Adam Goldberg, Ed Harris, Paul Bettany. Directed by Ron Howard. (PG13, 134 minutes). In transforming the life of the brilliant mathematician John Forbes Nash Jr. into a muzzy, triumph-of-the-human-spirit Hollywood movie, Ron Howard and his collaborators have stripped it of anything that might present the audience with the slightest discomfort or reason to think about the documented facts concerning Mr. Nash. On its own terms, though, the movie succeeds in dramatizing Mr. Nash's mental illness and, to a lesser extent, his mathematical insights. Russell Crowe's performance is honest and focused, but the movie's conceptions of intellectual life and human character are ultimately so simplistic, so deeply mistrustful of the audience's intelligence that any chance for genuine insight is squandered. – A. O. Scott, The New York Times

MPAA Rating: PG13 (Mild Violence/Adult Situations/Questionable for Children)




Mr. Crowe, with his superhuman powers of concentration, shows us a man who dwells
almost entirely in an inner world, and he dramatizes that inwardness as if nobody were
watching. A faint smile plays across Nash's mouth, and his speech is whispery and halting,
with a suggestion of the South in its cadences. (Mr. Nash grew up in West Virginia.)
As always with Mr. Crowe, you never feel that these are actorly mannerisms; they
seem instead to arise from a deep absorption in the logic of the character.

In tackling the problem of how to bring us at least partway into Nash's mind,
Mr. Howard has come up with a clever conceit, as simple as it is inspired.
Asked why he believed the wild delusions that characterized his illness,
Mr. Nash replied that it was because they came to him ''the same way that my mathematical ideas did.''

The hallucinations that increasingly plague Nash occupy the same reality as everything else.
Schizophrenia does not announce itself as such to those it afflicts. Mr. Howard leads us into its
infernal reality without posting a sign on the door, and the character's way out of it seems at
least metaphorically true to the real Mr. Nash's account of his remission. ''I began to intellectually
reject some of the delusionally influenced lines of thinking which had been characteristic of my
orientation,'' Mr. Nash wrote in a 1994 autobiographical essay.


Above all there is the fierce presence of Mr. Crowe, who refuses every temptation to overact
the role set before him. Too often the chance to depict genius or mental disorder is taken, even by gifted actors
like Dustin Hoffman (''Rain Man'') and Geoffrey Rush (''Shine''), as a license to show off.

TAXI DRIVER




TAXI DRIVER









REVIEWED BY VINCENT CANBY



You talkin' to me?'
Becoming increasingly neurotic, New York cab driver Travis Bickle is alone in his seedy apartment, having stocked up on arms to carry out a meaningless plan to assassinate governor Palantine (Leonard Harris). He's wearing a combat jacket and addressing the mirror, but his words are delivered straight to camera. 'You talkin' to me?' he snarls. 'You talkin' to me? You talkin' to me? Then who the hell else are you talkin' to? You talkin' to me? Well, I'm the only one here. Who the fuck do you think you're talkin' to? Oh yeah? Huh?' The gun shoots out of his sleeve. 'Try it, you fuck!'

According to screenwriter Paul Schrader, the bulk of De Niro's narration was scripted, although this particular scene was improvised. "In the script it just says, 'Travis speaks to himself in the mirror.' Bobby [De Niro] asked me what he would say, and I said, 'Well, he's a little kid playing with guns and acting tough.' So De Niro used this rap that an underground New York comedian had been using at the time as the basis for his lines. Because the scene was filmed in one of Manhattan's noisiest areas, Scorsese kept asking De Niro to repeat the line in case the microphone lost it. But it recorded perfectly, and Scorsese kept it all."





The steam billowing up around the manhole cover in the street is a dead giveaway. Manhattan is a thin cement lid over the entrance to hell, and the lid is full of cracks. Hookers, hustlers, pimps, pushers, frauds, and freaks—they're all at large. They form a busy, faceless, unrepentant society that knows a secret litany. On a hot summer night the cement lid becomes a nonstop harangue written in neon: walk, stop, go, come, drink, eat, try, enjoy. Enjoy? That's the biggest laugh. Only the faceless ones—the human garbage—could enjoy it.

This is the sort of thing that Travis Bickle (Robert De Niro) might make note of in his diary. Travis, a loner who comes from somewhere else, drives a Manhattan cab at night. In the day he sleeps in short naps, pops pills to calm down, swigs peach brandy, which he sometimes pours on his breakfast cereal, and goes to porn films to relax. At one point he is aware that his headaches are worse and he suspects that he may have stomach cancer.




Travis Bickle is the hero of Martin Scorsese's flamboyant new film, Taxi Driver, which opened yesterday at the Coronet. He's as nutty as they come, a psychotic, but as played by Mr. De Niro he's a riveting character inhabiting a landscape that's as much his creation as he is the creation of it.

Taxi Driver is in many ways a much more polished film than Mr. Scorsese's other major Manhattan movie, Mean Streets, but its polish is what ultimately makes it seem less than the sum of its parts. The original screenplay by Paul Schrader, one of Hollywood's new young hopes (writers' division) imposes an intellectual scheme upon Travis's story that finally makes it seem too simple. It robs the film of mystery. At the end you may feel a bit cheated, as you do when the solution of a whodunit fails to match the grandeur of the crime.












But until those final moments Taxi Driver is a vivid, galvanizing portrait of a character so particular that you may be astonished that he makes consistent dramatic sense. Psychotics are usually too different, too unreliable, to be dramatically useful except as exotic decor.





Travis Bickle—the collaboration of writer, director, and actor—remains fascinating throughout, probably because he is more than a character who is certifiably insane. He is a projection of all our nightmares of urban alienation, refined in a performance that is effective as much for what Mr. De Niro does as for how he does it. Acting of this sort is rare in films. It is a display of talent, which one gets in the theater, as well as a demonstration of behavior, which is what movies usually offer.

Were Mr. De Niro less an actor, the character would be a sideshow freak. The screenplay, of course, gives him plenty to work with. Until the final sequences, Taxi Driver has a kind of manic aimlessness that is a direct reflection of Travis's mind, capable of spurts of common sense and discipline that are isolated in his general confusion. Travis writes in his diary, "I don't believe that one should devote his life to morbid self-attention," and then sets about to make a name for himself by planning a political assassination.

Travis is an accumulation of self-destruct mechanisms. He makes friends with a pretty, intelligent campaign worker, played by Cybill Shepherd (who here recoups the reputation lost in At Long Last Love), but wonders why she is shocked when he takes her to the porn films he likes so much. His mind is full of crossed wires and short circuits.





The point of the film (which I can't talk about without giving away the plot), is, I feel, questionable, but the rest of it works. The supporting performances are fine, including those of Jodie Foster (whom I last saw as Becky Thatcher in Tom Sawyer) as a teenage hustler, Harvey Keitel as her pimp, and Peter Boyle as a muddle-headed Manhattan cab driver.






MYSTIC RIVER


MYSTIC RIVER
Clint Eastwood’s sombre masterpiece, from a novel by Dennis Lehane (Brian Helgeland (L.A. Confidential) did the adaptation),
is about a working-class Catholic community in Boston held in thrall by an old crime. Back in the seventies,
one of three eleven-year-old boys who were close friends was taken away by two men pretending to be cops
and sexually assaulted for days before he finally escaped. But it turns out that Dave (Tim Robbins) never escaped
at all. Twenty-five years later, he is still shrouded in dreams and terror, and his two friends, Sean (Kevin Bacon), a
homicide detective, and Jimmy (Sean Penn), an ex-con who runs a corner grocery, still feel the shame of not helping
him. When Jimmy’s nineteen-year-old daughter is murdered, the three are uneasily brought back together again.
The movie’s feeling for the neighborhood milieu is so convincing because there’s no distinction between background
and foreground—everything we see (faces, living rooms, back yards, weather, battered old cars) is dramatically
relevant. Eastwood directs in a gray, end-of-day light and with a minimum of camera rhetoric; he lets the script
and the actors do the work. Penn does a few semi-psychotic soliloquies in which he takes off into the stratosphere,
joining Marlon Brando as one of the great tragic actors of the screen.—D.D.
2 hrs. 17 min. When they were kids growing up together in a rough section of Boston, Jimmy Markum, Dave Boyle and Sean Devine spent their days playing stickball on the street, the way most boys did in their blue-collar neighborhood of East Buckingham. Nothing much out of the ordinary ever happened, until a moment's decision drastically altered the course of each of their lives forever. Twenty-five years later, the three find themselves thrust back together by another tragic event--the murder of Jimmy's 19-year-old daughter. Now a cop, Sean is assigned to the case and he and his partner are charged with unraveling the seemingly senseless crime. In the wake of the sudden and terrible loss of his child, Jimmy's mind becomes consumed with revenge--and his own plans to find the killer. Caught up in the maelstrom is Dave, now a lost and broken man fighting to keep his demons at bay. As the investigation creeps closer to home, his wife Celeste becomes consumed by suspicion and fear, while Jimmy's wife, Annabeth, draws her family tighter together in order to weather the storm.














A Dark Parable of Violence Avenged.
'Mystic River'' is the rare American movie that aspires to -- and achieves --
the full weight and darkness of tragedy.


At the beginning of Clint Eastwood's mighty ''Mystic River,'' , the camera drifts down from its aerial survey of Boston and alights
in a nondescript blue-collar neighborhood of triple-decker wood-frame houses and scuffed-up sidewalks. A couple of dads sit on
a back porch drinking beer and talking about the Red Sox, who are in the midst of their ill-starred 1975 season, while three boys
-- Dave Boyle, Jimmy Markum and Sean Devine -- play hockey in the street below.

The somber music (composed by Mr. Eastwood) and the shadows that flicker in the hard, washed-out New England light create an
atmosphere of impending danger, which arrives soon enough as a dark sedan pulls up and then drives away with Dave in the back.

Dave's abduction is an act of inexplicable, almost metaphysical evil, and this story of guilt, grief and vengeance grows out of it like
a mass of dark weeds. At its starkest, the film, like the novel by Dennis Lehane on which it is based, is a parable of incurable trauma,
in which violence begets more violence and the primal violation of innocence can never be set right. '





Type:
Features
Distributor:
Warner Brothers
Release Date:
October 8, 2003
Starring Kevin Bacon, Laurence Fishburne, Marcia Gay Harden, Sean Penn, Tim Robbins. Directed by Clint Eastwood. (R, 137 minutes).
Clint Eastwood's film, scrupulously faithful to the letter and sprit of Dennis Lehane's novel, has the gritty efficiency of superior crime fiction
and the somber weight of tragedy. Set in working-class Irish Catholic Boston, this film revisits the themes of violence, honor and guilt that have
haunted many of Mr. Eastwood's movies; it is among the most humane of his films, but also the most rigorously pessimistic. Tim Robbins,
Kevin Bacon and Sean Penn play Dave, Sean and Jimmy, boyhood friends who must revisit the traumas of their youth when Jimmy's
daughter is murdered. Sean and his partner (Laurence Fishburne) must investigate the killing, which it appears Dave may have committed.
The performances are first rate. Marcia Gay Harden, as Dave's wife, Celeste, and Laura Linney, as her cousin Annabeth, who is married to Jimmy,
expand the film's emotional compass, allowing us to see how grief ripples through families and communities. Mr. Penn's volcanic, furiously
disciplined performance is surely one of the best pieces of screen acting you'll see this year; it may even be one of the finest ever.
— A. O. Scott, The New York Times


"...one of those rare films whose emotional power resonates long after you've left the theater." more...
21 Grams
Lost in Translation \

JIM GARRISON

Is Jim Garrison Out of His Mind?
By David Lifton

[Originally published in the May 31 and June 6, 1968 issues of Open City, a Los Angeles underground newspaper. This article is © 1968 by David Lifton, and is posted here with permission. A companion article by Kerry Thornley was published by Open City at the same time.]
Kerry Thornley is one of four defendants who have been charged in DA Jim Garrison's New Orleans assassination investigation. The other defendants are Clay Shaw (for conspiracy); Edgar Bradley (for conspiracy); and William Gurvich, a former investigator, (for theft).

When he defected from the Garrison probe in June 1967 and publicly denounced it, Gurvich allegedly took with him a copy of the master file valued at, according to Garrison, $10.

The crime of which Thornley is accused is perjury, based on his testimony before New Orleans Grand Jury on Feb. 8, 1968.

For those who have been following the controversy surrounding the Warren Report and who optimistically believe that Jim Garrison will bring the Kennedy assassins to the bar of justice, the Thornley case is crucial.

It has been instrumental in convincing me that Garrison is an investigative impresario who has enveloped himself in the rhetoric of the stylishly New Left politics pursued by most critics of the Warren Report, many of who he has seduced into thinking that he has "solved" the assassination; that he is a man subject to a considerable amount of self-induced paranoia (to such an extent that he is incapable of distinguishing plot from circumstance) and that he is now trying to weave meaningless threads of information -- threads which go off into the nowhere land of right wing militant subculture -- into a braid of assassination conspiracy.

Furthermore, I think that any credibility that he does have stems largely from the manner in which he has associated himself with the published critics of the Warren Report, some of whom worship him as some sort of Messiah who is their only hope for catching the assassins, and whose published critical literature has been responsible for creating much of the credibility gap that exists in this country with respect to the Warren Report.

Unlike other Warren Report critics who have had to budget their time and money to pursue a serious research interest, Garrison's thing is chasing assassins on company time. The company is the Office of the District Attorney, City of New Orleans, State of Louisiana. Its facilities include one Grand jury, the power of subpoena, a court system, and facilities for the issuance of arrest warrants which are teletyped anywhere in the country. Garrison is having a ball doing his thing.

I am afraid that before it is over, he will either have become a laughingstock (and in the process may bring to disrepute much valid research by serious critics of the Warren Report) or innocent men such as Kerry Thornley may be sent to prison.

If the above sounds harsh, it is perhaps best to postpone further opinions of Garrison and his investigation until the reader can be acquainted with the story of Kerry Thornley.

Like most other aspects of the assassination, it is still another detail-filled microcosm, loaded with names, dates, and events, with which the average reader is simply not familiar.

Kerry Thornley was a Marine who met Lee Harvey Oswald in the service in the spring of 1959. Their paths crossed briefly at that time when they were both stationed at El Toro Marine Base in Orange County.

Thornley was about to leave with his unit for a tour of Japan; Oswald had just returned from such an overseas tour. At El Toro, for about three months, Thornley became a close acquaintance of Oswald. Thornley found Oswald to be an interesting character who professed beliefs quite the opposite of his own.

Oswald read Russian newspapers, and professed a devotion to Marxist ideals. Thornley, a right winger, and Oswald, the professed Marxist, discussed philosophy, politics, and religion.

During these discussions, Oswald would tell Thornley about the insulting manner in which Marines stationed in Japan behaved towards the Japanese. "If you ever go overseas, Thornley, you'll see what I mean," said Oswald, according to Thornley, who added; "He said in effect . . . that my fellow Marines equaled any Nazi storm trooper for brutality, given the opportunity to get away with it. His face became chalky as he discussed this matter and he appeared to be genuinely sickened; so I did not press him for details." ("Oswald," by Thornley).

Since Thornley's ambition had been for many years to be a writer, and since going to Japan was the first thing that had ever happened to him which he could imagine as an interesting starting place for a book, he went there with "a definite desire and indefinite plan to write a book about some aspect of Japan."

After his arrival, Thornley became increasingly perturbed over the incidents he saw, and which he and Oswald had discussed: ". . . I came to feel that the book I was to write should deal with this problem as well as other things centering around the existence of peace time Marines in Japan." Thornley decided title his book "The Idle Warriors."

"Yet I still lacked an essential ingredient for a good novel," he said. "I needed a central theme that would tie in all the many minor themes I wanted to handle."

Three months passed. It was now September 1959.

"One afternoon, in the barracks, after work, a friend of mine who had also been in MACS-9 (Thornley's unit) and who had known Oswald handed me a copy of "The Stars and Stripes." There, on page three, was an article about a United States Marine who, after getting out of the service, had gone to Russia and requested Soviet citizenship. Of course it was Oswald."

"It was not until then that I really believe his commitment to communism was serious. I was surprised. I wondered how he had come to his decision. I began to ponder the problem, And then I sat down and began work on 'The Idle Warriors.' I had my theme."

Convinced that the "Idle Warrior" experience played a key role in Lee's disillusionment with the United States . . ." Oswald become one of the key characters in Thornley's original manuscript. There he appears, under the fictional name of Johnny Shellburn.

And so, in the fall of 1959, five months before John F. Kennedy would announce (in Jan. 1960) his intention to seek the Democratic nomination at the convention the following summer, 17 months before Kennedy's inauguration, and at a time when Dwight D. Eisenhower was still President, a Marine named Kerry Thornley had started work on a manuscript built around a character who would become the accused assassin of the next President of the United States four years later.

Shortly after his release from the Marines, Thornley studied at USC for a while, then decided to leave school and finish the book he had started. He left home and, with a friend, went to New Orleans, where he completed "The Idle Warriors" in February of 1962. He submitted it for publication and it was rejected twice. He put it aside for an eventual rewrite. In June of 1962, Oswald returned to the United States. Kerry's parents clipped the news story about that event, and Kerry seriously considered going to Dallas/Ft. Worth to meet Oswald again, and to find out if his reasons for defecting agreed with Thornley's reasons for the defection of Johnny Shelllburn, his hero in his unpublished manuscript.

At the end of the book Johnny Shellburn defects to Russia.

Thornley never did go, but he crossed Oswald's path again in September of 1963.

Kerry, who in the meanwhile had returned to California, went back to New Orleans. Because he had taken Spanish in high school, he went there by bus via Mexico City. He arrived in New Orleans the first week in September, 1963. Oswald was spending the last two weeks of an intriguing summer there, participating in various provocative left-wing activities.

Just two weeks before Kerry's arrival, Oswald has been in a radio debate with Carlos Bringuier, on the merits of US foreign policy.

The first two weeks of Kerry's stay marked the last two weeks of Oswald's summer stay there.

Kerry had not the slightest idea that Oswald was in town at that time. He later wrote:

"He (Oswald) was even repeatedly stopping in now and then at the bar where I hung out. We may have passed on the streets but, if so, we didn't recognize each other. Only after the assassination did I learn that Oswald had been right under my nose for over two weeks!" (Source: "Oswald," by Thornley.)

On the day Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas and Oswald was arrested as the accused assassin, Thornley, still in New Orleans, learned for the first time that Oswald had been there and found himself the possessor of an unpublished manuscript which contained a study of the accused assassin of the President of the United States, written almost two years before the fact!

He testified about his before the Warren Commission.

He told the Commission: "I was entirely caught unaware when it turned out that Oswald was involved in the assassination, to such an extent that for some time afterwards, I though he was innocent. But at the facts came in, as the evidence piled up, I decided there must have been more violence in him than I thought."

Thornley retitled his book, "Oswald," and completely rewrote it. It was now the strange story of the crossed paths of two men, the evolution of his old manuscript, and an attempt on Thornley's part to explain to the reader how the Oswald he knew might have evolved into an assassin. The new book contained certain key material from the old manuscript, without any changes, so that the reader might see for himself the Johnny Shellburn Thornley knew from 1959. Thornley testified before the Warren Commission attorney Albert Jenner, on May 19, 1964. The published 33 page transcript starts on page 82 of Volume II, of the Commission's 26 volumes.

The portion of Thornley's book, and his testimony, in which he speculates as to how the left winger he knew could have evolved into an assassin has deeply offended certain critics of the Warren Report.

To them, Thornley was a callous right wing Marine, capitalizing on a relationship with a left wing patsy. It was easy to conceive of Thornley's book as part of some type of plot to help create a left wing image for Oswald. These same critics do not seem to be disturbed by the fact that if Oswald was indeed a CIA agent, he created his own left wing cover, and Thornley's book is as much a part of the objective reportage of how that cover looked at that time, as were the news reports that resulted when Oswald "defected" to Russia, or handed out Fair Play for Cuba literature, or debated on the radio with anti-Castro Cubans.

But the offense was felt. For at the time Thornley's book appeared, the anti-Commission literature which would appear on the national scene one year later was then in the stage of evolution. And if this literature is correct, then Oswald was innocent, was elaborately framed, and was probably some type of agent.

Thornley's book did very poorly. So poorly that he received no royalties whatsoever, and the publisher wrote him a letter apologizing for the low sales figures and saying that he could not afford the advertising Kerry wanted.

Yet in history, it is a most valuable document. For if Oswald was establishing himself as a left winger at that time, Thornley's reportage represents an invaluable account of how he appeared in the spring of 1959. And, as has been stressed, some of this was written before the assassination.

I first read Kerry's book in June of 1965. I, too was offended by it. I had just been put in touch with California critics of the Warren Commission who had convinced me that the official assassination story was false. And, just then, I read Kerry's book,, or rather, a series of articles run in "The National Insider" with very grotesque headlines implying Oswald was some type of psychotic idiot who had lurked in the woodwork, to come out on November 22 and assassinate the President. To read a book at the time which accepted Oswald's guilt aroused me enough to attempt to find the author and discuss the matter. It turned out that Kerry lived nearby, and I visited him.

We spent several hours going over the evidence. He had never seen any of this material before. It blew his mind and deeply disturbed his girl friend (now his wife) who was crying when I left.

During the next two years, I spoke to Kerry regularly and got to know him quite well. Thornley's position changed on the Warren report. He expressed some of those changed opinions in a KPFK radio interview on the Harry Pollard show, on the Joe Dolan show (summer of 1966), in a Fact Magazine interview of Dec. 1966, and in an article he himself wrote for "Innovator," and a newsletter he edited. The article was entitled: "'Oswald' Revisited."

In my discussions with Thornley, back in 1965 when I first met him, he told me about his experiences in testifying before the Warren Commission. Oswald, he said, used to speak Russian in the ranks at El Toro with some Marine whose name he thought was John Renee Heindel.

This was quite surprising to me. First of all as will be presently explained, the name Heindel figures in the Kennedy case in an important way. Secondly, Kerry's Warren Commission testimony showed no such thing, although there is a portion where he is trying to recollect the name of the man who speaks Russian with Oswald, but cannot do so. Kerry then remembered what had happened: he had recollected the name afterwards; he and attorney Jenner went out to lunch together after his deposition and, at lunch, Jenner provided Thornley with the name. Thornley was positive Jenner had given him the name he had been trying to recollect.

John Renee Heindel is a former Marine who lives in New Orleans. In an affidavit filed with the Commission, he reveals that his nickname in the Marines was "Hidell."

"Hidell" was the name used which appears on the order for the "assassination rifle" which was shipped to Oswald's post office box, and allegedly found in the Book Depository. The commission said that "Hidell" was merely an alias used by Oswald, ignoring the fact that a real person exists who once knew Oswald who used Hidell as a nickname.

Since John Heindel lived in New Orleans, when the Garrison probe hit the newspapers in February 1967, I had the idea of going to Garrison with the information. Heindel lived right in Garrison's jurisdiction, and I felt he might call in Heindel for questioning.

After all, Russian speaking Marines are pretty rare. Perhaps he had been another "agent in training" stationed, like Oswald, at El Toro.

I called Garrison's office several times in mid-September, 1967 about this matter, as Kerry was about to move from LA to Tampa, Fla.

On the strength of the information I had transmitted in the phone call, Garrison called in Heindel and questioned him. On September 20, I spoke to the man who was performing liaison work for Garrison's office.

He told me that Garrison had just questioned Heindel; that Garrison thought Heindel was "lying through his teeth," that he had something to hide, and that the office already had evidence of meetings between Heindel and Oswald at several New Orleans bars during that summer of 1963.

Garrison wanted Kerry to come to New Orleans and "confront" Heindel and "identify" him. But short of that, he wanted Thornley to fill out some statements summarizing the entire incident, and send them to Garrison.

The statements took several days to prepare. They were mailed to Garrison's office on September 28, 1967. Three weeks later, Garrison was here in Los Angeles, staying at the Century Plaza Hotel under the alias of Frank Marshall. I spent over 15 hours in private meetings with Garrison. What he said and how he acted are a small story in themselves.

In his memoir, On the Trail of the Assassins, Garrison claims that his own staff discovered and located Thornley, and completely conceals the fact that Lifton brought Thornley to Garrison's attention, and put Thornley in touch with him.


Suffice it to say, that I have never seen a man so utterly frightened, and so convinced that he was constantly followed, bugged, etc. If a man walked by with a briefcase, Garrison would point to him and whisper, "That's an FBI agent." Any skeptical looks on my part were greeted with: "I know. I once worked for the bureau."

During one of our conversations, Garrison told me that his office had established an ironclad link between Ruby and Oswald. As evidence, he cited the fact that a Ft. Worth telephone number PE 8-1951, was listed in Oswald's address book and also was found on Ruby's phone bill. Astonished, I went home and checked it out. That telephone number, as clearly indicated in Oswald's address book, is television station KTVT, Channel 11, Fort Worth Texas.

If there's any doubt in your mind that KTVT has this telephone, instantly erase it by calling Ft. Worth information (area code 817-555-1212, it's a toll free call) and ask for Channel 11's number. But don't tell Jim Garrison you did it. He may charge you with being an accessory after the fact.

I confronted Garrison with this the next day. He became very truculent and annoyed.

"David, stop arguing the defense," he would say.

"But what does it mean, Jim?" I demanded. "Is there someone at the TV station whom you can prove knew both men?" "It means whatever the jury decides it means," he said, adding that "Law is not a science."

Finally, I asked: "But what do YOU think, Jim? What is the TRUTH of the matter."

His answer is one I will never forget. He said, with considerable annoyance and contempt, "After the fact, there IS NO truth. There is ONLY what the jury decides."

From what I have seen in the Thornley case, this statement explains much of what has happened. It is a convenient and accurate synopsis of Jim Garrison's approach to fact-finding, truth-finding, and justice.

Meanwhile, Garrison spent much time explaining to me that he wanted to get Kerry to come to New Orleans and "identify" Heindel. He then wanted to call Heindel before the Grand Jury, have him swear under oath what he had told him in his office (that he did not know Kerry) and then prosecute Heindel for perjury. Thus, Garrison had a theory, provided by me, about Heindel's involvement in the assassination. He wanted Thornley to repeat the statement he had given Garrison regarding Heindel and then get Heindel to read HIS written statement to the jury. The two statements contradicted each other and Garrison then planned to charge Heindel with perjury.

There was only one thing wrong. Kerry never did like Garrison; it was only with the reluctance that he had agreed to go ahead with the notarized statements about Heindel. I knew that he would have objections to going to New Orleans. Kerry knew Garrison from New Orleans. He had once been his waiter when he was there. Kerry had done me a favor, but I knew he just didn't want to go any further.

But Garrison insisted. "You tell Thornley," he said, "that if he cooperates with me, we can throw a couple of bricks through the window of the establishment."

Garrison was insistent. "Tell Thornley," he said, "that I am a libertarian. Tell him that I read Evergreen Review." It was such an odd boast.

I finally got Kerry to agree to respond to a telegram that Garrison would send him in Tampa, Fla.

Garrison left town, and I expected to hear about the arrest of John Heindel in hours. Garrison had bragged to me that he could charge a man right there from that hotel room, by phone. He mused aloud that the New York Times would handle the story of "John Renee Heindel, alias Hidell, being arrested by DA Garrison in the continuing investigation of Kennedy's assassination (I confess to a considerable amount of after-the-facts shame, for not having recognized this for what it was at the time, and for continuing to have anything to do with this man.)

That night, I succeeded in locating another Marine who had witnessed the incidents in which Oswald spoke Russian with Heindel. His description of the other person involved cast doubt on the validity of Thornley's identification of Heindel. I immediately sent a telegram to Garrison explaining the matter, as I had no intention of being responsible for false arrest. I followed that up with a phone call the next day.

Meanwhile, Garrison and Thornley had a failure of communication. Thornley had, in effect, told Garrison to shove off.

Garrison was furious, and by November 6, Kerry had been taken from the Garrison's star-witness-to-be list and transformed into a culpable defendant, the object of investigation.

Unknown to me, Garrison had formulated an entirely new theory about Thornley, since Thornley's "insult." When he came back to Los Angeles a few weeks later, I met with him at his room at the Century Plaza Hotel.

Whereas the man who was staying there as Frank Marshall in October wanted Thornley as a prosecution witness, it was apparent that Claude Culpepper (the Nov. 19 alias) was an entirely different individual: truculent, suspicious, and annoyed. I didn't believe that Claude Culpepper and Frank Marshall were the same Garrison.

"Thornley lied," he said. He stretched out the word lied, by pausing on the "i" sound for about a second or two.

"Why?" I asked.

Pause.

"Thornley lied," he repeated as if to gain validity. "Thornley lied when he said he didn't know Oswald in September 1963." Again, I was dumbfounded. I felt that I had been "used" to mislead or trick Garrison by giving him false information about Heindel. I politely offered the thought that I would go wherever the evidence led; what evidence did he have that this was the case?

"We have so many witnesses who was them together at that time we have stopped looking for more," said Garrison.

Then, another pontifical pronouncement:

"Thornley's with the CIA."

"But why do you say that, Jim?" I asked.

"Thornley worked at a hotel in Arlington, Virginia."

"So what?" I asked.

He said nothing but seemed to be thinking: "Fool, don't you realize what this means?"

When I left the hotel room, I drew up a set of notes on what had just transpired. (A third party who accompanied me was a witness to this scene.)

In January, Kerry was subpoenaed to appear before the New Orleans Grand Jury. Before he went, I made out a complete statement on the ideas Garrison had expressed to me on November 19 and had it notarized. The statement shows that Garrison's theory about Thornley preceded his grand jury appearance by several months.

Garrison now did to Kerry Thornley what he had intended to do to John Heindel.

Garrison had a theory about Heindel, a theory which presupposed Heindel's involvement in the assassination, at least after the fact. Garrison thought Heindel "knew something" and was "hiding" it.

The method for "breaking" Heindel was to get Heindel to testify and then to get Thornley to testify, establishing a conflict of testimony. Then Heindel was to be charged with perjury, with Kerry (and presumably others) being the witnesses against Heindel.

Now, Garrison called Kerry to New Orleans to do the same thing to him. Kerry, in order to prove he had nothing to hide, went voluntarily and testified. The trap was triggered.

When Kerry said he had not had anything to do with Oswald in their two week overlap period in New Orleans in September, 1963 -- which, as far as Kerry is concerned is the truth, with absolutely no qualification -- there was then established a conflict in testimony with another witness who said otherwise. Kerry committed the crime of giving testimony that is in stark contrast to Garrison's theory concerning the assassination which "proves" his involvement.
Garrison's office issued a press release explaining why Thornley was accused of perjury. It's another of those documents that would be amusing were it not for the fact that Thornley was thrown in jail (although only briefly) on this basis of this sort of "logic."



In New Orleans, that crime is known as perjury. On Feb 22, two weeks after he testified, and without the Grand Jury having reviewed the testimony, voting on the matter, and returning an INDICTMENT for perjury signed by its foreman, Garrison personally filed a "CHARGE" of perjury against Thornley. He then issued a warrant for his arrest on a felony charge, which was teletyped to Tampa, causing Kerry to be slapped in jail the next morning until he could scrape together $3,000 bond.

The "other witness" whose testimony Thornley's contradicts, (if not the key witness) is Barbara Reid, an alleged practitioner of witchcraft in the French Quarter. And the sad thing about it is that Garrison will probably have "evidence" against Thornley, just as he would have had "evidence" against Heindel, had he chosen to prosecute in that direction.

For to understand where Garrison's witnesses come from is to understand that his "investigation" should be more accurately termed a "Witness Recruitment Program" in which his investigators, many of whom have now become low grade Warren Report critics, armed with assassination theories to which they are deeply committed, go out and roam the French Quarter and other areas of New Orleans and try to convince people, 4 years after the assassination, that way back in September 1963 they just may have witnessed part of the crime of the century being plotted before their eyes in a restaurant, bar, or some other place.

The witness recruitment program for Kerry Thornley is now on in full force. Barbara Reid and Harold Weisberg are now turning up "witnesses."

Fringe benefits for such testimony include the dropping of charges, plus one fantastic ego trip on the witness stand, as you chip in your portion of Garrison's solution to the assassination.

Having dredged the depths of New Orleans for his witnesses, Garrison then modestly points out that it is not his fault if the plot he has uncovered wasn't witnessed by bank presidents.

The question, unfortunately, is not why bank presidents didn't witness these incidents, but whether these incidents exist at all!

Garrison has become the victim and the creature of his own techniques and associations.
Lifton has continued to speak out against Garrison's abuses, as shown in this widely-circulated e-mail exchange between Lifton and Garrison supporters Lisa Pease and Gary Aguilar..



It would be unduly malevolent to describe the Thornley affair as a dirty and calculated frameup. That would be to ignore the tragi-comical aspects of a phenomenon that is at work here that is probably inconceivable in most situations:

1) An unsolved murder of President Kennedy with vast political implications.

2) The presence of the accused assassin of Kennedy, viewed by the critics of the Warren Report as some type of CIA agent, in New Orleans for several months before the assassination.

3) A Cuban exile colony in New Orleans complete with its own cast of characters and its non-assassination related connections to the U.S. government.

4) District Attorney Jim Garrison, the Warren Report critic in action.

If Garrison does not bring high enough standards of analysis to this situation, it is extremely easy to forgive him because he is in hot pursuit of a "solution" to the "crime of the century." The basis for the solution eventually may turn out to be nothing more than a mass of totally irrelevant and peripheral threads, left behind from an inadequate and incomplete investigation done by the Warren Commission of Oswald's activities in New Orleans, threads which lead into nowhere-land of militant right-wing activities.

Garrison has taken the time not only to acquaint himself with the published literature critical of the Warren Report, but also with the authors of the various books and articles involved.

He is capable of making a fairly good presentation of it before the press, or in debate, or on TV.

As he himself admits, he is a frustrated playwright and actor. Flamboyance is his forte. Unfortunately, it is no substitute for evidence, rationality, and justice. Garrison's public performances have little to do with any evidence he may or may not have in his capacity as DA of New Orleans, a law enforcer who claims to have solved the assassination of President Kennedy by discovering a conspiracy.

Garrison's political credentials as DA do not imply the existence of correspondingly valid intellectual credentials. And it is by the standard of the intellect that his case must be judged, not by the applause level of a sympathetic crowd, screaming for the scalp of anyone Garrison's office calls "assassin."

Nor should Garrison's theories be prejudged as valid, simply because he precipitates such a violent reaction on the part of the establishment. That entity, because of the way it is structured, would react the same way no matter who claimed to have found a right wing plot, whether or not the man's case was a valid one.

The DA of New Orleans, unfortunately, now wears a three sided hat. He is a Warren Report critic, an actor who is filling a role in a script he is constantly rewriting, and DA with the power of subpoena. This is dangerous, no matter how psychologically satisfying it may be to those who want to see the establishment's foggy-minded equanimity given a thorough jolt.

From what I have seen in the case of Kerry Thornley, when a gap exists between what Garrison wants to prove and what the evidence justifies that gap is petulantly bridged with the flamboyant use of unjustified charges, grandiose statements preceded by the phrase "our office has shown that . . ." and recruited witnesses who appear out of the woodwork.

Meanwhile, an important segment of the community of Warren Report critics have suspended judgement of Mr. Garrison, as they anxiously await his day in court. A mystique has been created. Garrison can do no wrong.

There is nothing but one exception allowed after another, where Garrison is concerned to the very high methods and standards brought by this same group of people to the just criticism of the Warren Commission and its Report.

The motto seems to be: "Rally round the plot, boys. It's not much of a plot, but it's the only plot we've got."

Garrison may seriously hurt innocent people before he reaches the end of his own rope, and becomes a laughing stock. Does it really matter if he "means well" if, in his own bumbling way, he inflicts severe damage on a single innocent individual?

It is not possible for the DA to be "just mistaken" on Thornley. A fork in the road has been reached, for those who want to judge Mr. Garrison. Either Garrison now convicts Thornley (and he just might) or he backs off.

If he convicts him, I think that enough information will come out to show any objective observer that Garrison's Thornley theory makes no sense and is a creature of his mind, his ego, and the false Oswald theories of Harold Weisberg.

On the other hand, if Garrison drops charges, or a jury frees Thornley, Garrison will go down with a thud. The statements he has already made about Thornley, the charge for perjury, the arraignment -- these are events that have already passed. They cannot be undone. To reject the Thornley affair is valid as to indict Garrison as a reckless, irrational, even paranoid demagogue.

Garrison's foot is too far into his mouth on this one. Someone recently expressed the opinion that the only thing that will save him is either a false conviction, or a can of raspberry flavored Desenex.

My apologies to Max Shulman. My regrets to Mr. Garrison. My sympathies to Kerry Thornley.

(Open City plans to carry future developments in the Thornley case.)

THE 1960'S

THE 1960'S

New British stars emerged - Julie Christie in Darling (1965), Michael Caine in Alfie (1966), Rita Tushingham (who reigned supreme as the archetypal Sixties 'bird') and Sean Connery as the immortal James Bond.

A new wave of British film-making had begun with Look Back In Anger (1959), followed by Saturday Night and Sunday Morning (1960), A Taste of Honey (1961) and This Sporting Life (1963). These raw working class drama's transformed British cinema.

The first Bond film was Dr No (1962) and as the sixties progressed, our appetite for all things James Bond-related continued to flourish - As From Russia With Love (1963) and Goldfinger (1964) were released, the Colgate Palmolive company made plenty of cash marketing 007 grooming products for men.

while the two most popular musicals starred Julie Andrews - the supercalifragilisticexpialidocious Mary Poppins (1964) and The Sound of Music (1965).

Out of Hollywood came Peter O' Toole as Lawrence of Arabia (1962), Elizabeth Taylor as Cleopatra (1963), Peter Sellers as Dr Strangelove (1964), Dr Zhivago (1965), The Graduate, Bonnie and Clyde (both 1967), Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid (1969) and A Fistful of Dollars introduced us to the 'spaghetti western', courtesy of one Clint Eastwood.

Fahrenheit 451The Good, The Bad And The Ugly

Easy RiderThe GraduateThe Great Escape

The Assassination BureauBarbarella A Taste Of Honey

ArabesqueThe Agony and the Ecstasy2001 : A Space Odyssey

King of New York (1990, Christopher Walken

King of New York (1990, Abel Ferrara)
David Caruso, Laurence Fishburne,
Wesley Snipes, Christopher Walken.
The gritty underbelly of New York's complex, ethnically divided criminal world is exposed in this dark drama.
It unapologetically in B-movie territory, but does it with A-movie style.
Without Caruso and Fishburne as larger than life wildmen, and Walkin, who inhabits another space and time, the film would fail.
Casting is the key here.

As good as Year of the Dragon, and Godfather, Just disregard the bullshit. Too much Hong Kong choreography. That's the only
thing wrong with this film. But no real damage done.

Not for everybody. Gangsters are really twisted, horrible , fascinating. Irrestible. This is what a guilty- pleasure movie is supposed to be. .
Donnie Brasco, Carlito's way, L.A. Confidential. Laughing Policeman, Your list of the 25 best movies of its kind..
'
Vivid production design by Alex Tavoularis..

MISCELLANEOUS OLDER FILMS

Lolita The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner Long Day's Journey into Night The Longest Day
David Lean, Lawrence of Arabia
The Manchurian Candidate The Miracle Worker Ride the High Country Sanjuro To Kill a Mockingbird
What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?
Academy Award Winners r
Best Actor
Gregory Peck, To Kill a Mockingbir

Best Actress
Anne Bancroft, The Miracle Worked



1961 The Hustler Judgment at Nuremberg The Misfits
One Hundred and One Dalmatians
One, Two, Three Saturday Night and Sunday Morning Splendor in the Grass A Taste of Honey

Viridiana West Side Story Yojimbo

1960 L'avventura Breathless El Cochecito La Dolce Vita L'Eau A La Bouche Elmer Gantry The Entertainer
Inherit the Wind Never on Sunday Psycho La Ragazza Con La Valigia Rocco and His Brothers Shoot the Piano Player
\Spartacus Tunes of Glory Two Women Les Yeux Sans Visage


In the film's final scene, soft-spoken extra-terrestrial Klaatu's (Michael Rennie) pro-disarmament address to scientists and other top leaders: ""But if you threaten to extend your violence, this Earth of yours will be reduced to a burnt out cinder. Your choice is simple. Join us and live in peace or pursue your present course and face obliteration. We shall be waiting for your answer. The decision rests with you," and his command - "Klaatu barada nikto," in The Day The Earth Stood Still (1951)

..

Escape from New York Death in Venice Clockwork Orange King of Comedy, Full Metal Jacket Elephant Man, TheAmadeus Wall StreetThe Shining Deliverance Paper Moon Taxi Driver Deer Hunter, TheFrench Connection Manhunter

Lawrence of Arabia

....





Lawrence of Arabia
David Lean's directorial masterpiece

Feisal: No Arab loves the desert. We love water and green trees, there is nothing in the desert. No man needs nothing.
Or is it that you think we are something you can play with because we are a little people? A silly people, greedy,
barbarous, and cruel? What do you know, Lieutenant. In the Arab city of Cordova, there were two miles
of public lighting in the streets when London was a village...

Lawrence: Yes, you were great. Time to be great again



'The desert is an ocean in which no oar is dipped' and on this ocean the Bedu go where
they please and strike where they please.
MOVIE REVIEW
Sherif: Have you no fear, English?
Lawrence: My fear is my concern.

LAWRENCE OF ARABIA
Ali: El Aurens. Truly for some men, nothing is written unless they write it.



The scene begins with an endless horizon above which the golden desert sun slowly rises, first seen as a growing sliver of bright light. On camelback for many days, Lawrence is led across sweeping desert sand dunes by a nomadic Bedouin guide Tafas (Zia Mohyeddin). He slowly learns Bedouin ways and how to swiftly ride on his camel, his golden hair and tan clothing blending into the natural sand-colored surroundings. At night under a sparkling, star-studded sky, he assures Tafas that although he is from England, he is unique and not fat like most English-speaking people: "I am different."


Lawrence: Sherif Ali, so long as the Arabs fight tribe against tribe, so long will they
be a little people, a silly people, greedy, barbarous, and cruel, as you are.
Sherif: Come, I will take you to Feisal.
Lawrence: I do not want your company, Sherif.
Sherif: Wadi Safra is another day from here. You will not find it. And not finding it, you will die.
Lawrence: I will find it, with this. (He holds up his compass which Sherif snags with his camel stick.)
Sherif: Good Army compass. How if I take it?
Lawrence: Then you would be a thief.
Sherif: Have you no fear, English?
Lawrence: My fear is my concern.

This sweeping, highly literate historical epic covers the Allies' mideastern campaign during World War I as seen through the eyes of the enigmatic T. E. Lawrence (Peter O'Toole, in the role that made him a star). After a prologue showing us Lawrence's ultimate fate, we flash back to Cairo in 1917. Lawrence talks his way into a transfer to Arabia. Once in the desert, he befriends Sherif Ali Ben El Kharish (Omar Sharif, making one of the most spectacular entrances in movie history) and draws up plans to aid the Arabs in their rebellion against the Turks.


Arthur Kennedy - Jackson Bentley
Claude Rains - Mr. Dryde
Jack Hawkins - Gen.Allenby
Anthony Quayle - Col. Harry Brighton
José Ferrer - Turkish Bey
Anthony Quinn



At age 29, young Lawrence began his career in the British headquarters in Cairo during World War I (January 1917), working at a lowly desk job. He is disgruntled and uninterested in his work as a military cartographer coloring maps, wanting only to get involved in adventures out in the desert - where "Bedouin Tribes Attack Turkish Stronghold." An exhibitionist, Lawrence shows how he can snuff out a burning hot match with his fingers. He also advises Corporal William Potter (Harry Fowler), who tries to repeat the performance:


THE BURNING MATCH TRICK

Potter: Oh, it hurts.
Lawrence: Certainly it hurts.
Potter: Well, what's the trick, then?
Lawrence: The trick, William Potter, is not minding that it hurts.




The awesome Arabian desert crossing is treacherous - searing heat in the "Sun's Anvil," dust storms and swirling
cyclones - an endless trek that exhausts and kills some of the men. As they begin to reach the end of the desert,
it is noticed that Gasim's camel is riderless, and Lawrence unhesitatingly insists and proposes going back for him:


Ali: In God's name understand, we cannot go back.
Lawrence: I can...
Ali: If you go back, you'll kill us all. Gasim you have killed already.
Lawrence: Get out of my way.
Another Arab: Gasim's time is come, Lawrence. It is written!
Lawrence: Nothing is written.
Ali (riding back with Lawrence): Go back, then. What did you bring us here for with your blasphemous conceit? Eh, English blasphemer? Aqaba? What is Aqaba? You will not be at Aqaba, English. Go back, blasphemer! But you will not be at Aqaba!
Lawrence (riding ahead and turning): I shall be at Aqaba. That is written...(He points at his head.)..in here!
Ali (shouting after him): English! English!

Alec Guinness - Prince Feisal





Like the desert itself, in which most of the action in Lawrence of Arabia takes place, this much-heralded film about the famous British soldier-adventurer, which opened last night at the Criterion, is vast, awe-inspiring, beautiful with ever-changing hues.


It is an eye-filling spectacle— a brilliant display of endless desert and camels and Arabs and sheiks and skirmishes with Turks and explosions — enhanced by the thrilling Maurice Jarre score. Possibly the best movie ever made.



In 1962 when the film first opened, it was 222 minutes long, but it was subsequently cut down by 35 minutes to 187 minutes, and not restored to 217 minutes until 1989. [This was to satisfy profit-seeking theater-owners who wanted additional showings of the over-long film.] The film was budgeted at $12 million, and had a box-office of over $20 million. The nearly four-hour long film (without any female speaking roles) featured a star-studded cast, with a virtually unknown, blue-eyed Irish Shakespearean stage actor Peter O'Toole in his first starring role. [Both Marlon Brando and Albert Finney were also considered for the role.] The lead character is the heroic, contradictory, uncrowned King of Arabia - T.E. Lawrence - a solitary, masochistic adventurer (with confused sexuality) who paradoxically wanted to be both extraordinary and ordinary. In the end, his excessive arrogance and pushing of limits led to his own downfall, and to his belief that he had failed in his mission and duty.




Lolita The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner Long Day's Journey into Night The Longest Day
David Lean, Lawrence of Arabia
The Manchurian Candidate The Miracle Worker Ride the High Country Sanjuro To Kill a Mockingbird
What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?
Academy Award Winners r
Best Actor
Gregory Peck, To Kill a Mockingbird

Best Actress
Anne Bancroft, The Miracle Worked

In Cold Blood





1967 - USA - Docudrama/Crime Drama
Best 1,000 Reviewed by Bosley Crowther


Starring John Forsythe, Gerald O'Loughlin, Scott Wilson, Robert Blake, Paul Stewart. Directed by Richard Brooks. (NR, 133 minutes).

Richard Brooks wrote and directed this stark black-and-white (with brilliantly evocative cinematography by Conrad Hall) study of two drifters who murder a family, based on Truman Capote's non-fiction novel In Cold Blood. The film takes place in Holcomb, Kansas, where four members of the Herbert Clutter family are roused from their sleep and brutally murdered. The killers, Perry Smith (Robert Blake) and Dick Hickock (Scott Wilson), are two ex-cons who plan to rob the Clutters of $10,000 kept in a safe in their home. But Dick and Perry find no safe and no $10,000 and end up leaving the murder scene with only $43. The police, led by Alvin Dewey (John Forsythe) of the Kansas Bureau of Investigation, try to track down the killers. Meanwhile, Dick and Perry take off to Mexico, where Perry has fantasies of prospecting for gold. But when his dreams of prospecting come to naught, Dick insists that they return to the United States. Confident that they have left no clues, they cash bad checks, and the police track them down in Las Vegas. During questioning, their alibis are broken when they are separated and tell conflicting stories. ~ Paul Brenner, All Movie Guide

They Shoot Horses, Don't They?


1969 - USA - Period Film/Melodrama
Best 1,000 Reviewed by Vincent Canby





Starring Red Buttons, Jane Fonda, Michael Sarrazin, Susannah York, Gig Young. Directed by Sydney Pollack. (PG, 121 minutes).

A total of nine Academy Award nominations went to this wildly acclaimed, allegorical drama set amongst the contestants in a marathon dance contest during the Great Depression. Gig Young stars as Rocky, the obnoxious emcee for a dance marathon that offers prize money of $1,500, a small fortune during hard economic times that brings out the worst in several participants. Among them are Gloria Beatty (Jane Fonda), a malcontent who's partnered with a drifter, Robert Syverton (Michael Sarrazin); a pregnant farm girl (Bonnie Bedelia) and her husband (Bruce Dern); a sailor (Red Buttons); and an aspiring actress (Susannah York). As the marathon winds into a staggering second month, suspicion, doubt and insecurity rages among the competitors and even the decaying and increasingly manipulative Rocky, leading to a shocking crime. ~ Karl Williams, All Movie Guide

Billy Jack (1971)

Memorable Quotes from
Billy Jack (1971)

Page 13 of 29
Billy Jack: You know what I think I'm gonna do then?
Just for the hell of it? I'm gonna take this right foot, and
I'm gonna whop you on that side of your face
[pointing to Posner's left cheek] and you wanna know something?
There's not a damn thing you're gonna be able to do about it.

PATTON



All Americans love the sting of battle, That's why we've never lost a war....





Starring Karl Malden (General Omar N. Bradley)

Malden), that Bradley seems to have gone through World War II looking always as if he were about to weep over the sheer, lovable
cussedness of the man.

The most refreshing thing about Patton is that here—I think for the first time—the subject matter and the style of the epic war movie are
perfectly matched. War was, for Patton, his destiny and sometimes great fun. Thus the big, magnificently staged battle scenes (photographed
in marvelous, clear, deep focus), are not giving the
lie to a film that, like The Longest Day, would have us believe piously that war is hell.

Under Franklin J. Schaffner's superior direction (as well as under the supervision of what I assume to have been a number of assistant
directors, second unit men, and technical advisers), the key incidents in Patton's campaigns from North Africa and Sicily to his extraordinary
post D-Day dash across France are
reproduced as giant, largely impersonal panoramas. The destruction of life is viewed from observation posts and mulled over later in
bivouacs that, more often than not, are splendid,
confiscated palaces.

For Patton, with his sense of déjà vu—his conviction that in earlier lives he had fought in ancient Greece, at Carthage, at Moscow—
war was a kind of timeless abstraction, unconnected to specific causes and effects.

The movie takes much the same point of view of Patton, seeing him as a man of the ages whose genius as a tactician excused his vanities,
his ignorances, and his seeming mental instability (as when, in Sicily, he began slapping shell-shocked soldiers for their cowardice).
Directed by Franklin J. Schaffner. (PG, 171 minutes).

As General George Patton, George C. Scott may have been decked out with a phony nose,
but this is the only false element in his flawless performance.


By VINCENT CANBY



"My favorite general," Dwight Macdonald wrote during World War II, "is George S. Patton Jr. Some of our generals, like Stilwell, have developed a sly ability to simulate human beings. But Patton always behaves as a general should.... He wears special uniforms, which, like Goering, he designs himself and which are calculated, like the ox horns worn by ancient Gothic chieftains, to strike terror into the enemy (and into any rational person, for that matter)."

In much the same way, Patton: A Salute to a Rebel is likely to strike terror into any rational person who refuses—perhaps absurdly—to believe that war is man's most noble endeavor. The movie, which opened last night at the Criterion Theater, is a huge, initially ambivalent but finally adoring, Pop portrait of one of the most brilliant and outrageous American military figures of the last one hundred years.

It's both fascinating and appalling, the sort of extravagant, technically superior spectacle that only a big Hollywood movie company could afford to make, and the story of a man about whom only the Establishment could become genuinely sentimental.

Patton, the movie keeps telling us, is "a magnificent anachronism," "a sixteenth-century man lost in the twentieth century," a man who damn well loved war, was surprised and somewhat taken aback when men near to him were killed, who wrote poetry, quoted the Bible, had the political instincts of a California grape, and was, according to those who knew him best, basically decent.

George S. Patton, Jr. (George C. Scott) is featured in the opening scene before the backdrop of a huge American flag. The film begins with his classic, six-minute monologue about Americans and their fighting spirit. [The screenwriters took excerpts from many of Patton's actual speeches, edited them, and created this enduring scene.


PATTON'S SPEECH










You know, by god, I actually pity those poor bastards we're goin' up against.
...Now I want you to remember that no bastard ever won a war by dying for his country. He won it by making the other poor dumb bastard die for his country. Men, all this stuff you've heard about America not wanting to fight - wanting to stay out of the war, is a lot of horse dung. Americans traditionally love to fight. All real Americans love the sting of battle. When you were kids, you all admired the champion marble shooter, the fastest runner, big league ball players, the toughest boxers. Americans love a winner and will not tolerate a loser. Americans play to win all the time. I wouldn't give a hoot in hell for a man who lost and laughed. That's why Americans have never lost and never will lose a war, because the very thought of losing is hateful to Americans. Now, an army is a team - it lives, eats, sleeps, fights as a team. This individuality stuff is a bunch of crap... Now, we have the finest food and equipment, the best spirit, and the best men in the world. You know, by god, I actually pity those poor bastards we're goin' up against. By god, I do. We're not just gonna shoot the bastard, we're going to cut out their living guts and use them to grease the treads of our tanks. We're going to murder those lousy Hun bastards by the bushel. Now, some of you boys, I know, are wondering whether or not you'll chicken out under fire. Don't worry about it. I can assure you that you will all do your duty. The Nazis are the enemy. Wade into them, spill their blood, shoot them in the belly. When you put your hand into a bunch of goo that a moment before was your best friend's face, you'll know what to do. Now there's another thing I want you to remember. I don't want to get any messages saying that we are holding our position. We're not holding anything. Let the Hun do that. We are advancing constantly and we're not interested in holding onto anything except the enemy. We're going to hold onto him by the nose and we're gonna kick him in the ass. We're going to kick the hell out of him all the time and we're gonna go through him like crap through a goose. Now, there's one thing that you men will be able to say when you get back home, and you may thank god for it. Thirty years from now when you're sitting around your fireside with your grandson on your knee, and he asks you: 'What did you do in the Great World War II?', you won't have to say: 'Well, I shoveled s--t in Louisiana.' All right, now you sons-of-bitches, you know how I feel and I will be proud to lead you wonderful guys into battle anytime, anywhere. That's all.

Memorable Quotes from Bananas (1971)

Memorable Quotes from
Bananas (1971)

Page 14 of 28
Fielding Mellish: I object, your honor! This trial is a travesty.
It's a travesty of a mockery of a sham of a mockery of a travesty of two mockeries of a sham.
Fielding Mellish: You're busy tonight?
Norma: Some old friends are coming over. We're gonna show some pornographic movies.
Fielding Mellish: You need an usher?
Nancy: Would you like to volunteer for the Volunteers for San Marcos?
Nancy: Have you ever been to Denmark?
Fielding Mellish: I've been, yes... to the Vatican.
Nancy: The Vatican? The Vatican is in Rome.
Fielding Mellish: Well, they were doing so well in Rome that they opened one in Denmark.
[Fielding is talking to a psychiatrist.]
Fielding Mellish: I was a nervous child - I was a bed wetter. When I was younger,
I, uh, I used to sleep with an electric blanket and I was constantly electrocuting myself...

Esposito: From this day on, the official language of San Marcos will be Swedish. Silence!
In addition to that, all citizens will be required to change their underwear every half-hour.
Underwear will be worn on the outside so we can check. Furthermore, all children under
16 years old are now... 16 years old!
Fielding Mellish: What's the Spanish word for straitjacket?

A Clockwork Orange from a novel by Anthony Burgess




Directed by Stanley Kubrick.
A Clockwork Orange
from a novel by Anthony Burgess,

with choice classical music re animated for synthisizer by Walter Carlos, including the work of Purcell, Rossini, and Ludwig Van Beethoven.

Kubrick continued to showcase great classical music throughout his career, bringing Bela Bartok, Richard Strauss (Thus Spoke Zarathustra) and Johann Strauss Jr.(The Beautiful Blue Danube) into the limelight. Music lovers might well wonder and dispair just how much better Sparticus might have been with Pines of Rome by Ottorini Respighi, had Kubrick come up with this winning formula sooner. In this regard, too many first rate filmmakers opposed Kubrick, continuing the 40's tradition of second rate fomula music.

Kubrick and Beethoven, a Marriage Made in Hell

Brilliant, a tour de force of extraordinary images, music, words, and feelings.


1971 - UK - Satire/Black Comedy/Psychological Sci - Fi
Best 1,000 Reviewed by Vincent Canby





Type:
Features
Starring Patrick Magee, Malcolm McDowell, Aubrey Morris.Michael Bates, Warren Clarke, Adrienne Corri, Directed by Stanley Kubrick. (R, 137 minutes).

Stanley Kubrick dissects the nature of violence in this darkly ironic, near-future satire, adapted from Anthony Burgess' novel, complete with "Nadsat" slang. Classical music-loving proto-punk Alex (Malcolm McDowell) and his "Droogs" spend their nights getting high at the Korova Milkbar before embarking on "a little of the old ultraviolence," such as terrorizing a writer, Mr. Alexander (Patrick Magee), and raping his wife while jauntily warbling "Singin' in the Rain." After Alex is jailed for bludgeoning the Cat Lady (Miriam Karlin) to death with one of her phallic sculptures, Alex submits to the Ludovico behavior modification technique to earn his freedom; he's conditioned to abhor violence through watching gory movies, and even his adored Beethoven is turned against him. Returned to the world defenseless, Alex becomes the victim of his prior victims, with Mr. Alexander using Beethoven's Ninth to inflict the greatest pain of all. When society sees what the state has done to Alex, however, the politically expedient move is made. Casting a coldly pessimistic view on the then-future of the late '70s-early '80s, Kubrick and production designer John Barry created a world of high-tech cultural decay, mixing old details like bowler hats with bizarrely alienating "new" environments like the Milkbar. Alex's violence is horrific, yet it is an aesthetically calculated fact of his existence; his charisma makes the icily clinical Ludovico treatment seem more negatively abusive than positively therapeutic. Alex may be a sadist, but the state's autocratic control is another violent act, rather than a solution. Released in late 1971 (within weeks of Sam Peckinpah's brutally violent Straw Dogs), the film sparked considerable controversy in the U.S. with its X-rated violence; after copycat crimes in England, Kubrick withdrew the film from British distribution until after his death. Opinion was divided on the meaning of Kubrick's detached view of this shocking future, but, whether the discord drew the curious or Kubrick's scathing diagnosis spoke to the chaotic cultural moment, A Clockwork Orange became a hit. On the heels of New York Film Critics Circle awards as Best Film, Best Director, and Best Screenplay, Kubrick received Oscar nominations in all three categories. ~ Lucia Bozzola, All Movie Guide


MPAA Rating: R (Graphic Violence/Rape & Sexual Abuse/Not For Children)
Review | TrailerThe opening close-up of slyly grinning Alex (Malcolm McDowell) with one eye decorated with a false eyelash staring directly at the camera, followed by the pull-back view of him lounging with his droogie friends in a milk bar with white furniture of nude women - accompanied by the voice-over beginning with: "There was me, that is Alex, and my three droogs...," the delinquent gang's stylized "ultra-violence" rampages including the fight scene in an old theatre with a rival gang synchronized with music from Rossini's "The Thieving Magpie", the scene at novelist Mr. Alexander's (Patrick Magee) futuristic home when the droogs wear masks and deliver brutal kicks to the old man's body during the rape of his wife - rhythmically punctuated with the lyrics of "Singin' In The Rain", the persistent use of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony and Alex's ecstasy: "Oh bliss, bliss and heaven...", the sped-up, slapstick orgy scene accompanied by the William Tell Overture in Alex's bedroom with two teenage girls that he met at a record store, the scene of Alex's brutalization of the 'Catlady' (Miriam Karlin) with an enormous penis sculpture/weapon, Alex's "aversion therapy" brainwashing against sex and violence with his eyes painfully held open, and the scene with an almost-nude woman to demonstrate its effectiveness, the use of unique doublespeak slang-dialogue from Anthony Burgess' novel, and Alex's final closeup and
line "I was cured all right"


Average Reader Rating: 4.61 Stars Rate This Movie
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Read all readers' reviews. Alex: Let's get things nice and sparkling clear. This sarcasm, if I may call it such, does not become you, O my little brothers. As I am your droog and leader, I am entitled to know what goes on, eh? Now then, Dim, what does that great big horsy gape of a grin portend?





Alex (voice-over): As we walked along the flatblock marina, I was calm on the outside but thinking all the time. So now it was to be Georgie the General, saying what we should do, and what not to do, and Dim as his mindless, grinning bulldog. But, suddenly, I viddied that thinking was for the gloopy ones, and that the oomny ones used like inspiration and what Bog sends. For now it was lovely music that came to my aid. There was a window open, with a stereo on, and I viddied right at once what to do.


Alex (voice-over): It had not been edifying, indeed not, being in this hellhole and human zoo for two years now, being kicked and tolchocked by brutal warders, and meeting leering criminals and perverts, ready to dribble all over a luscious young malchick like your storyteller.

NOTE on language
Oomny (OOMNEE) is ex exactly the word in russian for smart.
Bog (Rhymes with vogue) is the word for God. Viddiet means look. Malchick exactly translates boy. The sound
mal in malchick is in no way to be taken as bad or evil. And horra-show has nothing to do with horror, but precisely translates as good.







News

($) Denotes articles which can be purchased from the Premium Archive.

The Arts/Cultural Desk | March 15, 1999, Monday $
CONNECTIONS; Kubrick and Beethoven, a Marriage Made in Hell
By Edward Rothstein

The Arts/Cultural Desk | March 8, 1999, Monday $
Stanley Kubrick, Film Director With a Bleak Vision, Dies at 70
By STEPHEN HOLDEN

The Arts/Cultural Desk | June 17, 1998, Wednesday $
Voters Pick the 100 Best American Movies





Production Credits

Stanley Kubrick - Screenwriter, Producer, Director..


Awards

Best Film (win) - Stanley Kubrick - 1972 British Academy Awards
Best Actor (nom) - Malcolm McDowell - 1971 New York Film Critics Circle
Best Direction (win) - Stanley Kubrick - 1971 New York Film Critics Circle
Best Film (win) - Stanley Kubrick - 1971 New York Film Critics Circle
Best Screenwriting (nom) - Stanley Kubrick - 1971 New York Film Critics Circle
100 Greatest American Movies (win) 1998 American Film Institute
Best Director (nom) - Stanley Kubrick - 1971 Directors Guild of America
Best Picture - Drama (nom) 1971 Golden Globe
Best Actor - Drama (nom) - Malcolm McDowell - 1971 Golden Globe
Best Director (nom) - Stanley Kubrick - 1971 Golden Globe
Best Adapted Screenplay (nom) - Stanley Kubrick - 1971 Academy
Best Director (nom) - Stanley Kubrick - 1971 Academy
Best Editing (nom) - Bill Butler - 1971 Academy
Best Picture (nom) 1971 Academy



(R, 137 mThe movie shows a lot of aimless violence—the exercise of aimless choice—but it is as formally structured as the music of Alex's "lovely lovely Ludwig Van," which inspires in Alex sadomasochistic dreams of hangings, volcanic eruptions, and other disasters.

In both English and Nadsat, the combination of Anglicized Russian, Gypsy, rhyming slang, and associative words spoken by Alex and his teenage friends in what seems to be 1983, A Clockwork Orange is a great deal more than merely
horrorshow—that is, Nadsat for good. It is brilliant, a tour de force of extraordinary images, music, words, and feelings, a much more original achievement for commercial films than the Burgess novel is for literature, for Burgess, after all, has some impossibly imposing literary antecedents, including the work of Joyce.

DEATH IN VENICE Luchino Visconti


The French Connection The Go-Between King Lear
Klute The Last Picture Show McCabe and Mrs. Miller Murmur of the Heart Play Misty for Me The Sorrow and the Pity Straw Dogs Sunday, Bloody Sunday Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss Song Szerelem Trafic Two English Girls Who Is Harry Kellerman and Why Is He Saying Those Terrible Things About Me?



the Thomas Mann room at the Hotel des Bains on the Lido. ...


"A stunning, richly romantic evocation of time and place! Visconti's Venice is a cinematic dream. Bogarde gives a superior performance!"

— PLAYBOY MAGAZINE

"A masterpiece! A film of rare beauty! A work of pure enchantment! Dirk Bogarde is brilliant!"

— NEW YORK DAILY NEWS

"DEATH IN VENICE is Visconti's masterpiece! A perfect pearl, incredibly lustrous. So beautiful is this gem that we must joy in it for the splendor it gives!"

— MADEMOISELLE MAGAZINE



Death in Venice .....

The first few minutes of Death in Venice, Luchino Visconti's heavily ornamented film adaptation of the Thomas Mann short story, are an almost perfect evocation of the scene Mann sets as the prelude to Gustav Aschenbach's marvelous doom.

On the soundtrack we hear what seem, at first, to be the echoes of one of Mahler's most lonely melodies—the adagietto of the Fifth Symphony, which is a kind of requiem for the living. A small, fat steamer moves across a windless sea, trailing coal smoke that hangs in the air like a long, thin shred of dirty cotton. The time could be either dawn or dusk. The light is bluish pink and very dim, and there is no clearly defined horizon.

The movie has not been written and directed as much as it has been decorated by Visconti. by the extensive use of Mahler's music on the soundtrack, by the magnificent care that has been taken to re-create the look of the 1911 period, in costumes, in the Venice locale, in the color, and even in the sounds.



Luchino Visconti's adaptation of the Thomas Mann novel is the very definition of sumptuous: the costumes and sets, the special geography of Venice, and the breathtaking cinematography combine to form a heady experience. At the center of this gorgeousness is Aschenbach (Dirk Bogarde in a meticulous performance), a controlled intellectual who unexpectedly finds himself obsessed by the vision of a 14-year-old boy while on a convalescent vacation in 1911. Visconti has turned Aschenbach into a composer, which accounts for the lush excerpts from Mahler on the soundtrack (Bogarde is meant to look like Mahler, too). Even if it tends to hit the nail on the head a little too forcefully, and even if Visconti can test one's patience with lingering looks at crowds at the beach and hotel dining rooms, Death in Venice creates a lushness rare in movies. For some viewers, that will be enough. --Robert Horton

s I was reviewing my piece on The Go-Between last week, I was reminded how many of my favorite films were released in 1971. It came as something of a shock to realize this would be their 30th anniversary. Can they—and I—really be that old? This was an impressionable time in my life: my college years, I reluctantly admit. But I don’t believe I’m alone in feeling 1971 was a vintage movie year. With the Hollywood studios in decline and ambitious young talent on the rise (Altman, Bogdanovich, Coppola, Lucas, Rafelson, Roeg, Russell, Schlesinger, Scorsese, Spielberg), the early ’70s are often said to have been the movies’ second Golden Age. So in the last few weeks of 2001, I’d like to give a nod of appreciation to a few old friends now turning 30.
Luchino Visconti’s adaptation of the Thomas Mann novella, Death in Venice, remains a flawed but haunting work. The film inevitably literalizes a highly philosophical and allegorical book that deals with an older man’s contemplation of youth, beauty, love, and the value of his life’s ideals in the face of his unexpected infatuation with a young boy. The movie is at its clumsiest trying to incorporate Mann’s intellectual ideas in discursive flashbacks which hope to convince us the attraction is more than sexual. Fortunately these are relatively brief, with the bulk of Visconti’s film devoted to Aschenbach’s rambling tours of a seductive, sordid Venice in pursuit of the elusive Tadzio. Death in Venice is surely one of the cinema’s most languorous and luxurious visual achievements. The sun-struck close-ups of the boy, which are obviously intended to recall Mann’s evocations of Apollo, are especially breathtaking.
The film has been derided as being too “gay.” Ken Russell included a fairly wicked parody of it in his Mahler, with a little boy swinging temptingly around train-station columns before the aged composer. But what finally makes Visconti’s film so moving is that it clearly is personal. I don’t think there’s any question that this gay director was fighting many of the same demons that torment his hero, Aschenbach, who is facing artistic and physical decline. Born to an aristocratic family, the Italian Visconti had had a dazzling career in film, with many directorial successes that included La Terra Trema (1948), Senso (1954), Rocco and His Brothers (1960), The Leopard (1963), The Stranger (1967), and The Damned (1969). But Death in Venice would be his last major picture, and five years later he would be dead. The film also proved to be a climax of sorts to the career of star Dirk Bogarde. Is it any wonder Aschenbach’s hopeless love for the just-out-of-reach boy conveys real sadness—his fears of ugliness and death real sting? One of the film’s most poignant sequences is that in which the desperate composer is dyed and rouged by a barber into a pathetic parody of youth. “There is no impurity so impure as old age.” For anyone who was gay or coming out in 1971, when it was still so rare for a film to even touch upon the subject of homosexuality, Death in Venice invariably made an indelible impression.
Above, 15-year-old Bjorn Andresen as pretty boy Tadzio. Andresen made no other major motion pictures and quickly slipped into obscurity, allowing him to remain ageless in memory, the embodiment of eternal youth and perfect beauty.

“Luchino Visconti occupies a unique place in history of world cinema; he is the most Italian of internationalists, the most operatic of realists, and the most aristocratic of Marxists. Although one of the progenitors of the Italian neorealist movement, Visconti, with his love of spectacle and historical panorama, would seem to have more in common with Orson Welles or even Erich von Stroheim than with Rossellini or DeSica. Directors as diverse as Bertolucci, Scorsese, Coppola and Fassbinder have named him as a major influence.”
—Ruth McCormick, The Encyclopedia of Film

“One of the themes of Mann’s brilliant novella has to do with the artist’s recognition of the power and validity of physical beauty, and Visconti’s cinematic approach conveys his understanding of this theme in every frame. The splendor of Venice, the elegance of Aschenbach’s seaside hotel, the androgynous perfection of the boy Tadzio—all are photographed in a lush, unhurried manner that allows the viewer to linger on a detail or to simply absorb the richness of the scene as a whole. This is a story—and a film—of contemplation, and Visconti permits his audience to share in the overwhelming sensuality that will penetrate Aschenbach’s emotional reserve and shatter his lifelong convictions about philosophy and art.”
—Janet E, Lorenz, The International Dictionary of Films
and Filmmakers

Death in Venice (Morte a Venezia)

A stunningly beautiful hotel of incomparable magnitude - a veritable cornucopia of antiques and art, Murano crystal and a myriad of fine and sumptuous décor and furniture statements.This is more a revelation of miraculous palatial splendour, rather than just a luxury hotel. But hey they have everything you need here too. Good service, cleanliness, and efficient and friendly staff. And the most sensational and mind-blowing views that would move even the most miserable guest. Even the food is sky-high quality-wise.If you want a life changing experience and a memory to savour forever, then the Danieli comes up trumps. More than that, it transcends the ordinary and reaches the realms of the stratospheric extraordinary.A national monument, the trick of the 14th century Danieli, is that it is every inch a luxury hotel and more.One of the top most beautiful hotels, the Danieli vies with equally luminous works of hotel art, such as the superb Dorchester in London and the magnificent Crillon in Paris.I cannot imagine anyone not being totally smitten by this incredible hotel.


Come and discover the Hotel Des Bains, Venice Lido Resort, a charming resort situated on Venice Lido. Surrounded by a lovely, large private park and opposite the legendary beach, we're just a 15-minute boat ride from St. Mark's Square. Built in pure Palladian style with Art Nouveau decorations, the Hotel Des Bains has welcomed international guests since 1900 and has been the preferred holiday destination of many.

by Thomas Mann, selected and translated by Richard Winston, by Clara Winston

Knopf, 690 pp., $17.50

Thomas Mann's persona fits bulkily into much of his fiction, like an outsize old-fashioned oblong brass-tacked trunk—the sort that Gustave Aschenbach might well have had carried into his suite at the Hotel des Bains on the Lido, in Death in Venice. Mann was almost insistently conscious of this autobiographical presence. He writes to Felix Bertaux in 1923 explaining that Death in Venice is the autobiographical Tonio Kröger "retold at a later stage of life," while Tonio Kröger itself is the autobiographical continuation of Buddenbrooks.


The Hotel des Bains on the Lido, the grand Art Nouveau hotel that serves as the backdrop for Thomas Mann's Death in Venice and also for the Visconti movie based on the book.





REVIEWS


"A stunning, richly romantic evocation of time and place! Visconti's Venice is a cinematic dream. Bogarde gives a superior performance!"

— PLAYBOY MAGAZINE

"A masterpiece! A film of rare beauty! A work of pure enchantment! Dirk Bogarde is brilliant!"

— NEW YORK DAILY NEWS

"DEATH IN VENICE is Visconti's masterpiece! A perfect pearl, incredibly lustrous. So beautiful is this gem that we must joy in it for the splendor it gives!"

— MADEMOISELLE MAGAZINE

Italy 1971 /Dir Luchino Visconti / 128 mins / colour / cert 12A / subtitles
With Dirk Bogarde, Bjorn Andresen, Silvana Mangano, Marisa Berenson
Released 14 February 2003

Death in Venice, a masterful, symphonic study of sensuality and decay returns to cinema screens on 14 February. Dirk Bogarde stars as Gustav von Aschenbach, a celebrated, aging composer facing a creative crisis. Entranced by the ethereal beauty of a Polish youth who seems to embody his ideals of physical perfection and spiritual purity, he succumbs to a fateful obsession.