Monthly Archives: April 2008

Three Quickies

Before I shut down for the night, three items that caught my interest:

  1. Roger Ebert, the best film critic still working today, now has a blog.
  2. Salt Lake has a “disappointing” skyline.
  3. And if you’ve ever wondered whatever happened to one of the best-known writer/directors of the 1980s, it seems that these days John Hughes is making like Howard Hughes. Too bad…

Incidentally, does anyone else wonder what Ferris, Cameron, and Sloane are up to these days? I’ve often had the thought that it’d be very interesting if Ferris has become a burned-out, work-obsessed capitalist and his old buddy Cameron shows up to remind him of the life-changing lesson he taught 20 years ago…

Nah, it’d never work.

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In Memoriam: Hazel Court

Hazel Court and Boris Karloff in The Raven

In Sunday’s tribute to Charlton Heston, I mentioned something called the Big Money Movie. I think I’ve written about that before, but in case you didn’t catch the reference, the BMM was a local movie show here in Salt Lake that aired every weekday afternoon back in the mid-70s or thereabouts. The host was a funny little guy named Bernie Calderwood; his job was to introduce the day’s title and then, about midway through the show, to pull a phone number out of a rotating drum and call a lucky viewer at home. If the person answered and could tell Bernie what movie he was running or answer a trivia question or something, they won some cash (hence the “big money” part of the show’s title).

As best I can recall, the selection of films was exactly what you’d expect for a mid-afternoon slot in a (then) small television market (I’d imagine we probably qualify as “mid-sized” now), i.e., anything the station could get for cheap. That meant beat-up prints of decades-old back-catalog classics and a lot of B-grade genre flicks. I saw a lot of movies on the old BMM that I still adore, but the ones that are really standing out in my memory this afternoon are the adaptations of Edgar Allan Poe stories that starred Vincent Price and were directed by the legendary Roger Corman.

The “Poe movies,” as I think of them, are really amazing pieces of filmmaking: visually sumptuous and dripping with creepy atmosphere (if a bit sedate by modern standards) that become even more remarkable when you know the details of their creation. (Basically, they had budgets of about $1.98, but Corman cleverly “borrowed” sets, props, and costumes from A-level productions after they’d shut down for the day. Guerrilla filmmaking at its best, baby!) The films are rightly noted for their male stars, which included the always charming Price (he was in six of the seven Poe films produced by Corman) as well as Ray Milland, Boris Karloff, Peter Lorre, and Basil Rathbone, not to mention a very young Jack Nicholson. But it was the female co-stars who drew much of my interest, even as a boy. They were, in a word, beautiful, voluptuous and powerfully feminine in a way that today’s emaciated and generally plain-jane starlets simply cannot match. And one of the most memorable of these unsung heroines was the lady who appears in the photo above, Hazel Court. She appeared in three of the Poe films: The Premature Burial, The Masque of the Red Death, and, most impressively, as a conniving and very bitchy Lenore in The Raven. (The still above, with a sleepy-looking Boris Karloff, is from The Raven.)

Hazel, unlike some of the younger actresses who appeared in these movies, was more than a pretty face and nice cleavage, though; she had real presence and was more than capable of shining alongside the Hollywood legends with whom she shared the screen. She’s as much fun in The Raven as any of the “triad of terror” (Price, Karloff, and Lorre).

Hazel Court passed away last week at her home in Lake Tahoe; she was 82.

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In Memoriam: Charlton Heston

Charlton Heston in his most famous role

[Ed. note: I know I’m a couple weeks late for the funeral and pretty much the entire blogosphere has already had its say on the late actor Charlton Heston, but I feel I would be highly remiss if I didn’t recognize his passing here in my little corner of the InterWebs. So just imagine that it’s two weeks ago and this is current news, okay?]

One of the great treasures of my childhood was the time I spent watching old movies on television with my mom. I’m thinking in particular of the days before the home video revolution, when the viewer actually had very little control over the viewing experience. If you didn’t like whatever was on KSL’s Big Money Movie that day, you found something else to do. And if you did like the film, you really had to pay attention and savor it because there was no telling when it might air again.

I think that’s probably the biggest difference between The Way Things Used to Be and the on-demand world we now enjoy, the way we take it for granted that you can watch the same flick over and over, whenever you feel like it. When I was a kid, we just didn’t have that luxury, and I honestly think movies meant more to film lovers back then because of the relative scarcity of any given title.

There were, however, three pictures that you could count on seeing pretty regularly, because they always aired at least once a year, usually around holidays: The Wizard of Oz, Ben-Hur, and The Ten Commandments. As it happened, my mom loved all three of them, and, in the case of the two Heston films, could even recall seeing them on the big screen when they were new. (Somewhere down in the Bennion Archives, I have the Ben-Hur souvenir program that she bought in the lobby of the late, lamented Villa Theatre way back in 1959.) Squashing these epic movies down into the confines of a 24-inch TV screen robbed them of much of their grandeur, of course, but I didn’t fully understand that at the time. I thought they were neat, partly because watching them was an annual tradition, partly because my mom was so enthusiastic about them and my early tastes were heavily influenced by hers, but mostly because I liked Charlton Heston, who died April 5th at the age of 84.

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The Prunes of Tomorrow

Here’s a weird little novelty, courtesy of Lileks. No introduction from me would really do it justice, so just watch:

Remember when everyone thought the future was going to be, well, futuristic? We’ve lowered our sights in so many ways. Sigh… at least they haven’t de-wrinkled our prunes yet. (Um, wouldn’t a smooth prune just be a plum? Duh, guys.)

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Friday Afternoon Cheesecake

Since I seem to wallowing in stereotypically masculine interests today anyhow, what with the airplanes and all, I thought I’d throw this up, too:

Mmmm, yummy Raquel in a serape

That’s the eternally yummy Raquel Welch, circa mid-1960s or so. I have no idea if this is a still from a movie or a modeling gig or what. But… it’s Raquel Welch… in a serape and a gun belt… mmmmm…

Oh, come on, it’s Friday afternoon! What better time for a big ol’ slice of cheesecake? Stop looking at me like that…

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Air Force Retiring the Nighthawk

Hm… I just read some news that kind of startled me: the Air Force is retiring its F-117A Nighthawk fighter planes — a.k.a. “the stealth fighter” — this month. Next week, in fact. Monday, to be precise.

And why is this startling, you may ask? Mostly because it doesn’t seem like these weird little black arrowheads have been around all that long, but the article I read reveals that they’ve actually been in service for over twenty years, ever since 1983, although the Air Force denied their existence until 1988. (Makes you wonder how many UFO sightings prior to ’88 were actually Nighthawks being tested out and then flown on secret missions, doesn’t it?)

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Plasma Torch + Ex Girlfriend = Huh?

I’m not one to pay much attention to dreams — I don’t try to interpret them, I don’t freight them with any real significance, and most the time I don’t even remember them (I assume, however, that I do have them, because, as far as I can tell, I haven’t gone mad like you’re supposed to if you don’t dream) — but I had one this morning just before the alarm woke me that’s really staying with me for some reason. It wasn’t scary or anything, it was just… weird.

In the dream, I was in The Girlfriend’s bedroom, trying to find the source of this freaky purple light emanating from beneath her bed. I got down on my knees and, after a moment’s hesitation, lifted the bedskirt. There was an automated plasma torch under there, merrily slicing strips from this long bolt of fabric, which I somehow knew were going to be used to make underwear. I don’t know what kind of underwear, or whether it was ladies’ underwear or men’s or sexy or utilitarian. Just that the fabric would end up as… underwear.

And then an ex-girlfriend that I haven’t seen in probably 12 years showed up. She didn’t do anything, she just walked into the room, gave me a little wave, and walked out the other door.

And that was it. Weird, huh? The ex-girlfriend’s appearance makes a certain amount of sense — the media coverage for Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull is beginning to pick up, and I was involved with her back when Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade came out in ’89, so reading those articles yesterday probably just stirred up some old memories — but where the hell did the plasma torch and the underwear come from? I’m going to be pondering this one all day, I fear…

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