In Memoriam :: Happy Trails, Herb.

When I was a kid growing up in the 1970s, my comic book buying was very sporadic. Purchases were usually made every six months or so, basically whenever the whole family was hauled to the barbershop for a mass haircut, which was located right next to the Central News Stand, which had a wall of comics to peruse through. (Also, a huge amount of porn, which brought tri-annual picket lines from the local demagogues. Lines I remember defying and breaking through. Even the Lord Almighty couldn't keep me from my funny books. Anyhoo... ) A virtual 4-color Nirvana it was, and if you behaved in the barber's chair, your reward was a comic book. And whenever, by some miracle, I behaved, I usually blew my reward on a copy of The Incredible Hulk -- because what child can resist the story of a gentle giant that no one understands but his woman with a penchant for city-leveling temper tantrums and the mass of army men charged with capturing him, amIright?

Thus and so, began a decades long love of old Jade Jaws. Sure, my version of the story was severely truncated but at least some effort was made back then to treat each issue as if it was the very first one you read, allowing new readers to get up to speed and others, like myself, to get caught up on what we'd missed. (As usual, my timing sucked enough to miss out on issues #180 and #181, which could've helped pay off my house, but, no. Of COURSE I got #182... ) And if you were really lucky, and good at the con game, you could get your hands on one of those Treasury Editions, which were super-sized reprints featuring whole story arcs of your favorite characters. Hell yeah!

Herb Trimpe was the artist on the Hulk when I got hooked. Trimpe is probably best known for his work on The Incredible Hulk, which, for my money, was the best rendition of the character ever put on paper -- especially if John or Marie Severin were doing the inks. The artist drew the mag for nearly seven years straight, where he famously rendered the first appearance of Wolverine (in those aforementioned missed issues. No. I AM NOT BITTER. AM NOT! AM NOT! AM NOT!)

And while the stories were cool, full of monsters, and kind of a head-trip, it was the art that kept bringing me back. Trimpe's drawings simply exploded off the page, with fists or feet or whole bodies breaking through the panel and plane. His art was fluid and you'd swear you could see it move from panel to panel and feel each landed punch. I loved his splash pages, and would spend hours perusing all the details in his massive double-spreads.  He was also amazing at depicting tech and military equipment. Trimpe was instrumental in the formation of the Hulkbusters, who constantly hounded our hero, even though he usually made short work of their tanks, aircraft and artillery.

After he left the Hulk, Trimpe sort of became Marvel's go-to artists for their licensed properties and toy-lines, including Godzilla and the Shogun Warriors (and he later helped launch G.I. Joe), where his layouts and forced perspective work to give the King of the Monsters and those giant battle-bots size and scale were pretty damned amazing in my book.

In fact, I think Trimpe runs second only to King Kirby, himself, when it came to these kind of nightmare creatures, kit-bashed doodads and cosmic whiz-bangery. And I kind of bristle when Trimpe is tagged as the Poor Man's Kirby or Kirby-Lite. It's funny, but I found out later that the artist actually favored the work of Jack Davis and the boys at EC Comics. So much so, that Stan Lee had some of his first work redone and told him to be more like Kirby in the future. And so, being a good employee, that's what Trimpe did, to great effect.

I could go on rambling, but I think I can bring this tribute down to a succinct point. I grew up with this artist. He was the first artist whose style I recognized. He was formative. He will always be one of my favorites. He was my Kirby. Rest in peace, sir. And thank you.

Herbert W. "Happy Herb" Trimpe

(1939-2015)

The Cult Movie Project #6 (of 200) :: No: A Girl is a Girl's Best Friend in Howard Hawks' Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953)

If I could sum up this raucous musical comedy in one word it would probably be "payload" -- of which our two headlining bombshells bump and wiggle and sing and quip to maximize the delivery for a resulting impact that is devastatingly awesome and then some. A Technicolor spin on the old Warner Gold Digger films of the 1930s, with Marilyn Monroe and Jane Russell taking over for Joan Blondell and Glenda Farrell, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953) showcases our two starlets as friends to the end trying to snag the right sugar-daddy and avoid some wagging tongues and the private dick hired to shadow them while blasting their way through a succession of ever-escalating musical interludes.

This whole notion began as a novel penned by Anita Loos, who later adapted it into a play with Joseph Fields in 1928, and then a Broadway musical in 1948 with a score by Jule Styne and Leo Robin. With Carol Channing as the preferred Blonde, the show was a smashing success and opened a bidding war in Hollywood between Columbia's Harry Cohn, who wanted it for Judy Holiday, and 20th Century Fox's Daryl Zanuck, who hoped it would reignite the career of Betty Grable. Grable had campaigned hard for the role of Lorelei Lee, but Zanuck soon pushed her to the side, opening up the role for his latest blond bombshell, whose popularity was currently going through the roof.

Also of note (and one cannot discount the fact that) Monroe's salary would be a fraction of what Grable would cost. Top-billed Russell's paycheck was four times the amount of Monroe's, which officially opened a rift between the star and the mogul over contracts and assignments that would only get wider and worse until the whole thing blew up in 1955 and Monroe walked out on Zanuck and Fox altogether.

Despite the gap in pay, and the gossip columns beating the war drums for the expected battle between "The Bossum" and "The Behind", the claws never came out. In fact, according to nearly everyone involved, the pair got a long great, which bleeds over onto the screen to the film's betterment. Director Howard Hawks and screenwriter Charles Lederer made the right decision to make the film not about the relationships our heroines brazenly pursue but about the rock-solid friendship Lorelei (Monroe) and Dorothy Shaw (Russell) share. They are just a couple of gals from Little Rock after all.

Renown for the sense of camaraderie he brought out with the male characters in his previous films, Hawks proved just as adept at doing the same with women, allowing them into the inner-circle of his he-man protagonists. Here, is a rare opportunity where the women allow men into theirs. Sadly, the only other example I can think of that comes close to this are the Blondell and Farrell vehicles Havana Widows (1933), Miss Pacific Fleet (1935) and Kansas City Princess (1935) and William Wellman's Lady of Burlesque (1943).

Hawks later admitted the film would not have worked if Russell hadn't befriended Monroe. Already forged over the fires of sexpotism by Howard Hughes, Russell took an advisory big sister approach with Monroe, whose neurotic behind the scenes behavior, here, already showed the faults in the filament that would eventually burn the light out prematurely after reaching such incandescent heights so rapidly. Between her fits of temper, demands for retakes, and retreating into her dressing room and holing up, a protective Russell was always there to coax her back, explain what Hawks wanted, reassure her, and escort her to and from the set. As the production dragged on, Hawks infamously quipped the film would be better if they replaced Marilyn, rewrote the script and made it shorter, and got a new director. Luckily for us, they did none of the above.

Now, I for one despise the Cult of Marilyn and don't give two-sh*ts for all the myths and scandals off-screen because it detracts way too much from what we got onscreen. Here, she shows great comedic timing, self-depreciation on her looks and perceived lack of intelligence, and passable music skills. (According to legend, Monroe ad-libbed the line "I can be smart when it's important, but most men don't like it." I hope it's true.) And while Monroe's "Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend" is a bona-fide showstopper, my favorite scene in the whole movie is when she gets stuck in the porthole on the boat and gets rescued by little Georgie Winslow. I love that kid here, and in Monkey Business (1952), and in Room for One More (1952) and in Artists and Models (1955). 

And it's funny, now that I think about it, aside from Winslow and Charles Coburn bringing the irascible-fudd something fierce as Piggy Beekman, is how utterly forgettable the suitors are -- even the ones our gals wind up marrying! 

Sometimes lost due to the fervor of that Cult of Marilyn, one tends to overlook how good Russell is in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, too. I just love her "Ain't there Anyone Here for Love" number on the boat with the Olympians (-- apparently, Russell getting knocked into the pool was an accident that Hawks loved and left in the picture. Watch as Russell just rolls with it and finishes the scene.) And at the end, when Russell impersonates Monroe at the courthouse during the climax always leaves me giggling. One could even argue that Russell almost steals the movie from Monroe, but graciously took a step back and let her co-star take the spotlight.

Upon its release in 1953, 20th Century Fox had a huge hit on its hands and Hollywood's hottest star. And so thrilled were they by these results the studio immediately wanted to pair Monroe and Russell together again in How to Be Very Popular (1955). But the growing feud between Zanuck and Monroe derailed any notion of this and the film eventually was assigned to, ironically enough, Betty Grable and Sheree North. Russell would, however, team up with Jeanne Crain in the similarly themed Gentlemen Marry Brunettes (1955). Both follow-up films have their moments but definitely lack the spark that Russell and Monroe managed to ignite, flamed by Hawks, and the resulting comedic conflagration that all could and should enjoy. My only complaint is that Gentlemen Preferred Blondes just missed out on CinemaScope. I know the "Diamonds" number was re-shot in the widescreen process, but can you imagine the whole film broadened out? I sure can.

Other Points of Interest:

Newspaper ads for Gentlemen Prefer Blondes at the Morgue. 

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"The film is properly about the relationship between Lorelei and Dorothy. They are among the most loyal, protective, supportive female friends in movie history. They each regard their friendship as more important than their love lives. It may seem ridiculous to praise a film just because it presents women as friends, but think how few American films have two good female roles, much less two pretty women of the same age as friends. So female friendship in films is not to be taken for granted."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXxxxxxxxxxXXXXXXX-- Danny Peary
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The Fine Print: Gentlemen Prefer Blondes was watched via Netflix Instant's streaming package. Watched as a Howard Hawks double-feature with His Girl Friday (1940). What's the Cult Movie Project? That's six down, with 194 to go.

Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953)20th Century Fox Film Corporation / P: Sol C. Siegel / D: Howard Hawks / W: Charles Lederer, Anita Loos (play), Joseph Fields (play) / C: Harry J. Wild / E: Hugh S. Fowler / M: Leigh Harline, Lionel Newman, Hal Schaefer, Herbert W. Spencer / S: Jane Russell, Marilyn Monroe, Charles Coburn, Elliott Reid, Tommy Noonan, George Winslow

Naked Under Metal :: A Beer-Gut Reaction to David Ayers' Fury (2014)

As an amateur history buff, one of the most depressing and infuriating reads I've ever encountered was Death Traps (1998) by Belton Cooper, which was a first-hand auto-biographical take on the massive short-comings of the M4 Sherman when stacked up against the superior German panzers during World War II, where the only advantage the American tank had was speed and mass-production, with the disadvantages being little to no armor and not-near-effective-enough firepower, as fired shells impotently bounced off opponents, while the German 88mm guns usually made short-order of there American counterparts, making them, indeed, death-traps, with an appalling casualty rate.

Seems as America entered it's third year of the war, a critical, and some would argue criminal, decision was made to forgo retooling for the production of the newly minted M26 Pershing tank and stick with the Sherman. This decision was backed by General Patton, the leading authority on tank warfare, who favored the lighter and more mobile Sherman, feeling tanks were not supposed to fight tanks but bypass them and attack the enemy from the rear. Eisenhower agreed and, judging by the evidence provided by Cooper, who had served in the 3rd Armored Division under Patton, this decision was a disaster that "lengthened the war and became a literal death sentence for thousands of tank-crew members."

All of this came to the forefront when I finally sat down and watched David Ayer's Fury (2014), which focuses on one such tank crew who, after surviving North Africa, D-Day, and the Bulge, miraculously intact, suffer their first casualty. Of course the replacement is both green and shunned, which rings somewhat true as, by this time, whatever warm bodies that could be mustered were assigned as replacements -- though the misplaced file clerk (Lerman) going through a trial by blood and fire, here, where subtlety and nuance are ground up under the tank treads, rings a little too close to the been there, done that, misplaced translator from Saving Private Ryan (1998). But in his defense, from the deified commander (Pitt), a bible-thumper (LeBeouf), a token minority (Peña), and the hick (Bernthal), the rest of the cast is an even bigger cache of cliches. However, the acting of all involved is really quite good and do the best they can to elevate what they're given, cancelling out some of these concerns.

Where the film positively excels is when Ayers brings out the constant anxiety of the crews and the fear and the effectiveness of these tankers each time they go into battle. The combat scenes are incredibly staged, brutal and harrowing. The sequence where a dreaded King Tiger tank wipes out a whole column, and the ensuing game of cat and mouse that follows, epitomizes everything Cooper was lamenting about. And in the quieter moments, I haven't seen a film de-romanticize service and un-glamourize combat this much since Carl Foreman's equally depressing, The Victors (1963). And though I did appreciate what Ayers was shooting for, something a little deeper, he kinda played out his "war is hell" cards with too heavy a hand.

And strangest of all, as we head into SPOILER TERRITORY, everything he and his veteran characters were preaching against, and the philosophy of caution that kept them alive thus far, is summarily ignored for a climax that is fairly ridiculous in its last stand John Wayne-ishness as the lone tank and her crew suicidally defends a crossroads against an over-whelming battalion of SS troops. Again, it's executed quite brilliantly, but ends just like you know it will. And here, Ayers blew a golden opportunity to add a poignant coda to his film, adding a bittersweet punch to the stomach on the sacrifice of the Fury's crew, which brings us full-circle back to Cooper's book.

See, Cooper served in a unit that was in charge of recovering damaged and knocked-out tanks and making them serviceable again; another direly grim advantage the Americans had over the Germans, leaving no doubt that Fury, the tank, would've been patched up, hosed out, repainted, refitted, and back on the line with a brand new crew in less than two days after the climactic battle.

Despite all of the gripes and missed opportunities, I'm happy to say the good outweighs the bad and I enjoyed this movie a whole lot. It was just frustrating, and a little counter-intuitive, and that keeps Fury from being as great as it could and should've been.

Fury (2014) QED International :: LStar Capital :: Le Grisbi Productions :: Crave Films :: Huayi Brothers Media :: Columbia Pictures / EP: Anton Lessine, Alex Ott, Brad Pitt, Sasha Shapiro, Ben Waisbren / P: David Ayer, Bill Block, Jeremy Johns, John Lesher, Ethan Smith / AP: Owen Thornton / D: David Ayer / W: David Ayer / C: Roman Vasyanov / E: Jay Cassidy, Dody Dorn / M: Steven Price / S: Brad Pitt, Shia LaBeouf, Logan Lerman, Michael Peña, Jon Bernthal

The Cult Movie Project #5 (of 200) :: As Long as They Can Think, We'll Have Our Problems: Edward D. Wood Jr.'s Plan 9 from Outer Space (1958)

Criswell! Bela! Not Bela! Flying Saucers! Over Hollywood! Tor! Idiot! I mean, Kelton! Vampira! Day! Night! Murdered! Dead! Somebody's Responsible! Up There! Out There! In There! Bela! Again! Not Bela! Again! Bunny! Your lights! Spook detail! Solarmanite! Earth! Idiots! You see! Stupid! Stupid! You Jerk! All must be destroyed! Prove that it didn't happen! Can you?! Beware of future events in your future!

Lets get something straight right off the bat. Plan 9 from Outer Space (1959) is definitely not the worst movie ever made. Hell -- it isn't even the worst movie Edward D. Wood Jr. made. What it is, is an anti-nuke, peacenik-fueled think-piece disguised as an alien invasion flick. True, it's pretty terrible. And most of the film's message is lost in the micro-budget compromises, the jack-knifed execution, and the rabid zeal of its creator not sweating the small stuff like sets, the cast, props, the script, continuity, the F/X, and a star who was dead and buried before filming commenced.

Like Wood's previous sci-fi film, Bride of the Monster (1955), Plan 9 is a bit of anachronism; an Atomic Age creature feature with its feet still firmly planted in the Gothic horrors of the 1930s and 40s. (The interior of Eros and Tanna's ship is less of a cockpit and more of a mad scientist's lab. And the line between radio-controlled zombie and vampire is definitely blurred.) The tale of it's production is the stuff of myth, but the actual truth of Wood and his merry band of wonderful weirdos is even more amazing than the legend:

The conned and fleeced Baptists; the required baptism; the cars, props and costumes loaned out by Karl Johnson, Tor's son, who worked for the San Bernadino police; the recycled footage of the late Bela Lugosi emerging from the woods; or doddering around outside of Johnson's house, meant for another picture; Lugosi's hilariously mismatched stunt-double (his wife's chiropractor AND her licensed hypnotherapist), and never, ever, being sure if we were the ball or the gas-can in the whole Solarmanite scenario -- perhaps the apex example of Wood's constant and persistent tell don't show methodology.

Shot in 1956 under the title Grave Robbers from Outer Space, after an uncredited editing assist from Phil Tucker (Robot Monster, Cape Caneveral Monsters), another overly maligned gonzo filmmaker, the film premiered in March, 1957, but it was over a year before it was picked up for distribution by DCA, which immediately went bankrupt (not this film's fault, mind you), leaving it to Valiant Pictures, who finally released it in 1959 under the Plan 9 from Outer Space banner, bringing into doubt some of the oft told tales on the title change.

By 1961, the film was already showing up in syndication packages, where, like the resurrected ghouls it purports, it kept resurfacing enough times on the Late Late Show to garner Michael and Harry Medved's attention, who put it and Wood at the top of the worst of the worst list in their book, The Golden Turkey Awards, first published in 1980. And whether you agree or disagree with their assessment, which I do not, I will be eternally grateful to the (misguided) Medveds for shining a spotlight on these fractured flicks, officially launching the birth of a B-Picture renaissance via home video; a golden age of prosperity in spite of the hipster element that has glommed onto it this past decade or so.

Plan 9 also holds the ignominious distinction of being the film I've seen the most times in a theater; fifteen (and counting), finally nudging ahead of Ghostbusters (1984) and The Avengers (2012) thanks to its annual midnight screening at B-Fest. So I know this film, inside and out, backwards and forwards, like my doctor's index finger. And every time, as my eyes glazed over while the film once more tried to explain the Horrors of Solarmanite, I swore I was going to abandon the theater and never look back. And yet there I sat, enthralled -- at first by the idiocy, but later for what Wood was trying but ultimately failed to convey.

However, noodle this for a bit the next time you watch this thing: While everyone else in the 1950s went all paranoid, screaming about the Reds under your beds, Wood was a rare voice pleading for tolerance. And no matter how incompetently this was executed, the message still comes through loud and clear -- if you'd stop laughing hard enough to listen.

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"Plan 9 is a delirious movie, but perhaps we are missing the point. Could it be that putting up a crazy facade is the only way that Wood can get away with making a subversive movie? The really peculiar thing, which film historians have overlooked completely is that, when Eros confronts the earthlings only the fact that he has a diabolical laugh and a lot of conceit covers up that what he says to them makes sense ... Eros is Wood's spokesman -- the film's one voice of reason / logic -- and Jeff and Edwards, whom we mistakenly accept as heroes, turn out to be the brutish jerks who rely on the fist and the gun. Don't let the fact that Eros is a maniac throw you off -- at rare moments, he's as sound a visionary as Preacher Casey in The Grapes of Wrath (1940). Wood just had to make Eros crazy to camourlage his political message so that he wouldn't have trouble with censors. I believe that in this one scene (in the spaceship), in this one godawful, terribly made, poor excuse for a picture, Edward D. Wood is more critical of America's goverment and military strategy than any other director dared to be. Plan 9, as it is, is something far more significant, and therefore better than the "worst film of all time" could possibly be." 
 
 XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXxxxxxxxxxXXXXXXX-- Danny Peary x

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The Fine Print: Plan 9 from Outer Space was watched via the Image Entertainment DVD. Sources: Rudolp Grey's Nightmare of Ecstacy (1991). What's the Cult Movie Project? That's five down, with 195 to go.

Plan 9 from Outer Space (1958) Reynolds Pictures :: Distributors Corporation of America (DCA) / EP: J. Edward Reynolds / P: Edward D. Wood Jr. / AP: Charles Burg, Hugh Thomas Jr. / D: Edward D. Wood Jr. / W: Edward D. Wood Jr. / C: William C. Thompson / E: Edward D. Wood Jr., Phil Tucker / M: Gordon Zahler / S: Gregory Walcott, Mona McKinnon, Tom Keene, Duke Moore, Paul Marco, Joanna Lee, Dudley Manlove, Vampira, Tor Johnson, Bela Lugosi

Movie Poster Spotlight :: Foreign Jobs :: A Set of Italian Photobustas for Stanley Kubrick's Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (1964)

Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (1964) A Stanley Kubrick Production :: Hawk Films :: Columbia Pictures / EP: Leon Minoff / P: Stanley Kubrick / AP: Victor Lyndon / D: Stanley Kubrick / W: Stanley Kubrick, Terry Southern, Peter George (novel) / C: Gilbert Taylor / E: Anthony Harvey / M: Laurie Johnson / S: Peter Sellers, George C. Scott, Sterling Hayden, Keenan Wynn, Slim Pickens