Early this morning, I trundled out a pair of DVDs recently purchased from DVDSoon—from MGM/UA’s Soul Cinema collection, which consists of several films from the 1970’s “blaxploitation” era. One of the titles I had seen previously (albeit in a truncated, badly-edited TV version) and the other was a new and enjoyable viewing experience.

The first offering, 1970’s Cotton Comes to Harlem, was adapted from Chester Himes’ 1965 novel, introducing Harlem cops Gravedigger Jones (played by one of my favorite actor-comedians, Godfrey Cambridge) and Coffin Ed Johnson (Raymond St. Jacques). Gravedigger and Coffin Ed are out to expose a shady preacher named Deke O’Malley (Calvin Lockhart), who’s been fleecing Harlem residents with a “Back to Africa” scheme—his take of $87,000 gets stolen from one of his rallies and ends up in a bale of raw cotton, prompting a mad dash by nearly all of the film’s characters to locate it. Film buffs consider Cotton to be the grandfather of “blaxploitation” movies, and as a fan, I’d definitely argue that it’s one of the best; a top-notch blend of action and comedy that features Redd Foxx in a scene-stealing role that purportedly inspired the veteran comedian to be cast in TV’s hit sitcom Sanford and Son. Directed and co-written by actor Ossie Davis, the movie also features Judy Pace, Emily Yancy, John Anderson, Lou Jacobi, Eugene Roche, J.D. Cannon, Cleavon Little and Teddy Wilson. Gravedigger and Coffin Ed returned to the silver screen in a 1972 sequel entitled Come Back, Charleston Blue (also based on a Himes novel) that isn’t as funny as the original, but that’s mainly due to the subject matter (it concerns Vietnam vets involved in dealing drugs).

I encored this film with Across 110th Street (1972), a real cinematic sleeper that most certainly deserves a wider audience. Three black men (Paul Benjamin, Ed Bernard and Antonio “Huggy Bear” Fargas) hit a Mafia cash drop in Harlem for $300,000 and soon find themselves pursued not only by the cops but the mob and their Harlem business partners to boot. The cops are represented by old-guard veteran Captain Mattelli (Anthony Quinn) and college-educated Lieutenant Pope (Yaphet Kotto) who, in the tradition of most “buddy” films mix like oil and water. (Their performances, however, are both powerful—particularly Kotto, who’s a bit more recognizable in this film than he was when I watched Blue Collar.) The movie takes a harsh, uncompromising look at racism (represented by Quinn and Kotto) and its pull-no-punches approach to the violent subject matter only adds to its gritty realism. Directed by Barry Shear (who co-executive produced with Anthony Quinn), this neglected film showcases a great Bobby Womack soundtrack and superb performances from Anthony Franciosa, Richard Ward (memorable as the gravel-voiced Doc Johnson), Norma Donaldson, Tim O’Connor and Gilbert Lewis. Try to catch this one if you can.
11:44:19 PM    comment []  trackback []  

“Scarecrows are beautiful.”

I must offer profuse apologies for not posting yesterday, but I was sidelined by an integral piece on my cable modem snapping off, necessitating a trip to Comcast (a.k.a. “The Confederacy of Weasels”) to get a replacement. Actually, I shouldn’t diss Comcast’s internet service; it’s actually pretty good—it’s the cable side of their business with which I have problems.

The wee a.m. hours of Tuesday morning found me ensconced in the hotel lobby, desperately looking for something to watch on TV. At that time in the morning, there’s not much to choose from—informercials and Joe Scarborough’s mouth frothings are pretty much the only options. Fortunately, we get a handful of HBO channels and occasionally—particularly on HBO Signature—they’ll run a classic movie worth looking at. I came in too late to see The Verdict (1982)—my favorite Paul Newman film—but I lucked out and caught Scarecrow (1973), a “road” picture starring Gene Hackman and Al Pacino as a pair of down-and-out drifters. Pacino’s an ex-sailor (the “Lion”) who’s en route to Detroit to see his wife and son (he walked out on her five years ago and has never seen the kid), while Hackman plays an ex-con (desperately in need of anger management) with a grandiose scheme to start his own car wash (he’s hitching to Pittsburgh to get his money out of the bank).

My interest in seeing Scarecrow was prompted by an appearance by Pacino on David Letterman’s show some time back; Dave singled out the movie as one of his favorite Pacino flicks. I’m glad I took a look at it, because it’s a great character piece, with some interesting vignettes (the duo find themselves spending a month on the “honor farm,” for example) and a very evocative feel for life “on the road.” Pacino’s character is a bit hard to take at first (the actor demonstrates early on his predilection for scenery chewing), but you gradually warm to him as he becomes likably sympathetic, and as for Hackman—well, I’ll watch anything he’s in. Directed by Jerry Schatzberg (who directed Al in The Panic in Needle Park [1971]) and written by Garry Michael White, the film also features good performances from Dorothy Tristan, Ann Wedgeworth (in her usual tramp-with-a-heart-of-gold role), Richard Lynch, Eileen Brennan and Penelope Allen.

When I got home from work, I put in the DVD player my newly-purchased copy of the 1962 espionage thriller The Counterfeit Traitor. I thought that it would play well with my father, who’s a sucker for anything dealing with World War II, as his repeated viewings of the History Channel’s “Office Supplies of the Third Reich” will readily affirm.

Traitor tells the story of Eric Erickson, a Swedish oil trader who’s blackmailed into spying for the Allied cause by British Intelligence (represented by Hugh Griffith in a sly performance). William Holden plays Erickson, and he uses his trademark cynicism (showcased in films like Sunset Boulevard [1950] and Stalag 17 [1953]) to good advantage here as he slowly finds himself participating not because he’s forced to but because he has a moral imperative to do so. Lilli Palmer co-stars as Holden’s contact in Berlin, and matches him every step of the way in an exceptionally fine performance.

The Counterfeit Traitor is one of a handful of films (others include The Glass Key [1942] and Winchester ’73 [1950]) that I feel compelled to watch until the very end if I happen across it while channel surfing. I’ve never been able to explain why this is so, but I do think that it’s a doggone shame the film isn’t better known; it’s a refreshing change-of-pace from the usual handsome-James-Bond-type spy flick. A taut suspenser that moves along at a steady clip, it was written and directed by George Seaton (who, as George Stenius, voiced “the daring and resourceful Masked Rider of the Plains”—a.k.a. The Lone Ranger—in his early career), adapted from Alexander Klein’s novel. Cult actor Klaus Kinski has a brief bit towards the end; I once read that Kinski acted in so many movies and plays that no one has ever been able to accurately catalog his appearances.
11:33:25 PM    comment []  trackback []