I'd Love to Turn You On At the Movies #114 - Blackboard Jungle (1955, dir. Richard Brooks)

Blackboard Jungle is the first “teacher-with-a-heart-of-gold saves a classroom full of no-goodniks” film. It gave birth to an entire sub-genre of films such as To Sir With Love and Stand And Deliver. As I watched this movie, trying to determine what it was that struck me so when I was a kid, it occurred to me that Blackboard Jungle is the most compelling reason I can think of that explains why the 1960’s HAD to happen.   When it was made in 1955, one year before Elvis’ “Heartbreak Hotel” became his first major single, the entire societal apparatus turned on the thoughts and needs of “The Greatest Generation.” Within the next five years the world started to change. In 1955, the audience was expected to wink at the square, well-intentioned teachers and be horrified by the delinquent young men in the class, but from the opening notes of Bill Haley’s “Rock Around The Clock” (the first use of a Rock and Roll song in a major movie) at some level, we find ourselves rooting for the kids. The kids are led by two adult actors, Sidney Poitier and Vic Morrow, who, compared to the painfully stiff teacher (Glenn Ford) offer a much more compelling option. I guess that’s unfair. It is impossible to view this movie with the eyes of someone in 1955 now. So much has happened to both justify Glenn Ford’s desire for order and discipline and to explain the kids’ need to break out of the stifling black and white world of the 1950’s. With Kennedy, Vietnam, LSD, The Sexual Revolution and Martin Luther King right around the corner, the teachers’ point of view seems like a quaint, sad throw back to another time. This very fact lends great poignancy to a modern viewing of the film. Much like watching The Andy Griffith Show, one laughs both with and at the small-town rubes.

None of this is to suggest that watching Blackboard Jungle is anything less than totally enjoyable. Vic Morrow’s portrayal of a sadistic kid, bent on mischief and revenge and headed nowhere but jail is chilling, and Sidney Poitier might as well have been doing research for his role a decade later in To Sir With Love, when he, in the teacher’s role that time, was far more successful at relating to his students. But that brings me back to the main point, which is that this movie’s greatest achievement is to inadvertently illustrate the looming “generation gap” on the horizon. In its clumsy way, the film treats the youth as something less than human. They are the “other” and not what we fought to protect in WWII. It is not a gigantic leap to beatniks, hippies, yippies, punks and so on. As each generation feels its oats, the previous must take it on the chin. No scene illustrates this more perfectly than when one of Glenn Ford’s idealistic young colleagues brings in his prized collection of jazz 78 RPM records to share with his students. Instead of a Socratic sharing of his knowledge with his students, Vic Morrow leads his gang in smashing the records and mocking the teacher to his face. It is a painful scene (especially for a record collector) but ultimately it once again points to the widening gulf in the life experiences of those who lived through the Great Depression and war and those who were about to usher in the modern age.

Blackboard Jungle closes, as it opened, with the pulse quickening guitar and horn driven excitement of Bill Haley’s rock and roll masterpiece and as the credits roll, you can’t help but feel for the entirety of Glenn Ford’s generation. In the blink of an eye, they would go from being the heroes of the 20^th Century to “never trust anyone over 30.” This movie is an important glimpse into one of the major turning points in modern history.

- Paul Epstein

I'd Love to Turn You On #127 - Amon Duul II - Tanz Der Lemminge

Tanz Der Lemminge, the third album by Amon Duul II from 1971, is, ridiculously, considered their first accessible album after two wildly freeform psychedelic freakouts. I say “ridiculously” because, while Tanz Der Lemminge may be a bit more conventional than the first two LPs, it is a far cry from normal. Split into four major side-long pieces, Tanz Der Lemminge embodies all the characteristics of the Krautrock movement; complex, long-form compositions punctuated by long stretches of wild improvisation, strange, sci-fi lyrical themes and no fear of playing what might be considered fairly extreme music. Musically, Amon Duul II shares much ground with both Can and Atom Heart Mother-era Pink Floyd. There are waves of organ, piano and mellotron, crashing on beaches of throbbing basslines, while reverb soaked guitars skronk like birds above the fray. This is cosmic music, make no mistake about it!

The thing that originally drew me to Tanz Der Lemminge was the amazing cover. I was actually at the store – Underground Records – that I would buy about 15 years later and turn into Twist and Shout, when I looked up at the wall and saw import copies of Can’s Tago Mago and Tanz Der Lemminge for what seemed like a lot of money at the time. The cover of The Amon Duul II album was irresistible to me. Even though I had never heard of the band or their music, I took all my spare cash out and forked it over for a completely unknown quantity. It wasn’t that I was completely unprepared. I was a veteran listener of Pink Floyd, Yes, King Crimson, even Brian Eno, Tangerine Dream and Kraftwerk, so the idea of long-form compositions and electronic improvisation was not something new to me. I was, however, unprepared for the sustained ferocity of Amon Duul II. Much like King Crimson’s attack, they just pounded away with abandon, but they were stylistically agnostic, slipping easily from highly arranged prog-rock, to totally free spacerock, to gentle acoustic freak-folk, but all effortlessly and with the group mind of the best west-coast American psych bands. At times, like “Stumbling Over Melted Moonlight,” they almost sound like Quicksilver Messenger Service, but then will morph into insectoid drone patterns as soon as you think you have a handle on where they are going. Over the years, I have never gotten comfortable with Amon Duul’s work in the sense that I know what to expect, or where it’s going. Even though I have owned Tanz Der Lemminge for decades, each time I play it is like a new beginning and a revelatory one at that. I am constantly searching for new bands that can take me somewhere I’ve never been. Bands like Amon Duul II.

- Paul Epstein

I'd Love to Turn You On At the Movies #113 - Mallrats (1995, dir. Kevin Smith)

Brodie: There is something out there that can help us ease our simultaneous double loss.

T.S. Quint: What? Ritual suicide?

Brodie: No, you idiot, the f*#@ing mall!

T.S. Quint: I'd prefer ritual suicide.

Brodie: Oh come on man it'll be great. They have these new cookies at the cookie stand, you have to try 'em. They're awesome.

When ruminating upon films to write about I initially skipped over everything by Kevin Smith simply because I assumed that everyone had already seen them, however when I thought about it a little more about it I decided it’s time for people take a bit of a closer look at Mallrats. If you have seen this film before then you probably know how quirky, quotable, and fun it is; if you haven’t seen it there is a chance that you were in a coma through the nineties and it is time you got caught up (apologies to anyone who actually was in a coma… my bad). The truth about this film is that it is a perfect distillation of a generation of mall-walking nerd scholars of the nineties, and the result is straight up enjoyable.

While I have had a tendency to try and turn you on to more obscure and often esoteric masterworks of cinema, I, like everyone else, have a soft spot in my heart for a well-crafted comedy. While Smith’s dialogue and the acting can be a little rough around the edges, on the whole the movie plays out like a crass, sophomoric version of a Woody Allen film. The central figures, Brodie and T.C., have just been dumped by their respective significant others. T.C. (played by Jeremy London) was dumped for being stubborn when his girlfriend Brandi (Claire Forlani) had to cancel their trip to Florida (he WAS going to propose when Jaws popped out of the water), and Brodie (Jason Lee) was dropped by Rene (Shannen Doherty) for simply being an aimless and oblivious nerd. Joining forces, the two of them convene at the mall to ease their heartache (“I love the smell of commerce in the morning”). The rest of the film follows these two characters as they meander through the mall and engage in witty, although often crude, dialogue and stumble into a number of slapstick happenstances.

As the plot ambles along our heroes both put into play different strategies to prove their love to their former partners and win them back. T.C. hatches a number of different plans to stop Brandi’s father’s dating game show that Brandi is now the reluctant star of, while Brodie takes the long road to realizing that he wants Rene back. Luckily for them, and the plot of the film, most everything in the mid-nineties centered on the mall, the game show is happening in the mall and Rene is currently on a date with Brodie’s unseemly arch-nemesis at (where else?) the mall. The film’s climax happens as everything comes together on the stage of the live screening of Brandi’s father’s dating game, but you will have to watch to find out how this film ends.

The key thing that makes this film so enjoyable is the fact that as the two main characters walk the mall they run across a series of crazy side characters that keep the plot moving and add a certain comedic charm. As this is the second film in Kevin Smith’s “View Askewniverse” series there are a number of connections to its predecessor Clerks (1994) – notably the fact that Jay and Silent Bob play a prominent comedic role (nooch!). In addition to the undeniably likeable stoner duo, there are a number of other reoccurring characters, most importantly a sloppy large man that can’t see the sailboat in the magic eye poster (“When lord! When the hell do I get to see the goddamn sailboat!”), Ben Affleck playing a deplorable manager of The Fashionable Male who has a hot temper and a penchant for a certain sexual deviation, and a number of quick but poignant cameos from none other than Stan Lee!

Taking a step back, and separating the movie from my nostalgic attachment to this quick-witted hour and a half, the cinematography is good but nothing to write home about (another connection that can be drawn to a lot of Woody Allen flicks) and the direction can be a tad lack-luster or a bit heavy handed. However, if you can look past its minor shortcomings, the charm and wit of the writing and the appeal of the naïve acting of the entire cast will certainly win you over. It has been a while since I have watched anything directed by Kevin Smith (and on a side note this film turns 20 this year… AHH!), so I decided to do it right, crack a cold beer, and sit back to see if I enjoyed it as much as I used to. And, of course, it was just as I remembered it - a quick amusing ride. Masterpiece cinema it may not be, but an extremely enjoyable popcorn flick it certainly is! So unless you have recently been screwed in a very uncomfortable place (like the back of a Volkswagen?) and lost your sense of humor you will most likely find yourself charmed by this super fun nineties flick, so, CHECK IT!

            - Edward Hill

Otis Taylor – Hey Joe Opus Red Meat

Want to be proud of something from Colorado? Check out Colorado’s real blues legend’s new album. Recorded in Colorado at Immersive Studios and mastered by David Glasser at Airshow, this 2LP, 200 gram, 45RPM audiophile recording is an absolute showcase of everything good about our music scene. Not only is Colorado exploding with young, fresh talent, but we also have world-class engineering facilities and a legacy artist who is legitimately one of a handful of REAL blues artists left on earth. Otis Taylor is the real deal in so many different ways; he is a fiercely independent musician who makes the music in his head come out in a totally unique way. He has no precedent or antecedent. Like any of the great bluesmen, one listens to Otis and has to wonder where this came from. Hey Joe might very well be Otis’ greatest album. It is singular in his catalog. It flows like one long dream sequence. Blues, rock, jazz, trance - it all appears from a boiling stew of angst and slices of the human condition. Somehow, Otis expands the basic plot and theme of the classic song “Hey Joe” into various meditations on everything from love to hate to tranvestitism. Yes, like all of Otis Taylor’s albums it is unpredictable. Just like the various guest artists who pop up; Ron Miles sounding like Miles Davis in a Sergio Leone movie, Warren Haynes plays a couple of scorching solos, Billy Nershi picks some sweet acoustic, Langhorne Slim adds subtle vocals, but the star remains the Cumulus Nimbus of emotion and talent that is Otis Taylor. He really is unlike any other performer alive and he’s ours. And his new LP is OURS. For the time being, Twist and Shout is the only place this beautiful and collectible LP is available. I cannot recommend this album highly enough. It is a superlative listening experience, and an important addition to the blues legacy.

- Paul Epstein

I'd Love to Turn You On #126 - Trans Am - Futureworld

Trans Am never seemed like a band built for the long haul, but here we are, 20 years and 10 albums later. Turns out that Kraftwerk-meets-Rush schtick wasn't really schtick at all. Yes, they've always had a tongue in cheek approach to their mix of krautrock, new wave, prog, electronica, and whatever else they've thrown into the mix, but the band is also super-talented and come up with some really great songs. Trans Am was initially pegged as part of the post-rock movement that emerged in the mid-90s, primarily due to their association with Thrill Jockey Records, which emerged as the center of the scene. However, they had little in common with post-rock giants like Tortoise and Godspeed You! Black Emperor. One the main features that sets them apart is the superb drumming of Sebastian Thomson. He can keep down a solid motorik beat in the manner of Klaus Dinger, handle quirky time signatures and fills a la Neil Peart, and just bash it out, John Bonham style. Multi-instrumentalists Phil Manley and Nathan Means are no slouches either, moving from keyboards and electronics to guitar and bass with ease.

The band peaked with 1999's Futureworld, which stands as not just their best but one of the very best indie albums of the late 90s. It was also their first album with vocals, though all are sung through a vocoder. After starting with the mood setting instrumental "1999" (not a Prince cover), Thomson kicks up a solid beat and the band launches into "Television Eyes." It's one of the more rocking tracks in an album that covers a lot of ground. The epic title track comes next and moves in quite a few directions itself. From a driving intro to a thrash-like chorus, everything suddenly bottoms out in the middle. After a spacey bridge, a funky bass theme emerges and they ride this out till the end of the song. "AM Rhein" ends the first part of the album with a building, anthemic slice of stadium rock. The second half of the album is mostly electronic oriented, starting with the retro-dance grooves of "Cocaine Computer." "Runners Standing Still" slows things down a little bit but still has a gorgeous melody. "Futureworld II" and "Positron" are the album's most experimental tracks providing a pair of electronic soundscapes. The band switches back into rock mode for album closer "Sad and Young." It starts out slow and quiet, yet slowly builds to a loud and dramatic climax. This is the closest Trans Am ever gets to a traditional post-rock sound, particularly that which Explosions in the Sky would have so much success with a few years later. Yet it sounds like Trans Am all the way and proves an epic conclusion to an epic album.

After Futerworld, Trans Am would expand their sound and ambition even further with the great double album Red Line. Other strong entries to their catalog include 2007's Sex Change and last year's Volume X. One of the great things about indie music of the past 20-25 years is that a support system exists for quirky, unclassifiable bands to have long careers where they evolve and change. Trans Am have gone in many different directions while still maintaining their unique sound and vision. Futureworld is both a classic for long time fans and great entry point for beginners.

            - Adam Reshotko

I'd Love to Turn You On At the Movies #112 - The Thin Man (1934, dir. W.S. Van Dyke)

Wait, you mean you haven’t seen The Thin Man? Seriously?  But it was one of the top grossing films of 1934! And it has huge stars in it! - William Powell and Myrna Loy as Nick and Nora Charles, a boozy, retired detective and his wealthy wife (also boozy). And though Nick would rather drink martinis – he’s given up detective work since marrying the wealthy Nora – everyone pushes him to investigate a murder/missing person case. But once he’s certain that the wrong man is begin framed, he takes an interest when everyone else thinks the case is shut. And let’s not forget Asta, the wire fox terrier who started his career here but went on to appear in such massive Hollywood hits as Bringing Up Baby and The Awful Truth (and one of the five sequels to The Thin Man). And how could you have missed their comic interchanges, which like so many films of the early sound era worked a quick wit and sparkling dialogue like very few films have since.

As an example, there’s a part in the film as they start to get embroiled in a murder case and a nosy reporter questions Nora:

Reporter: Say listen, is he working on a case?

Nora Charles: Yes, he is.

Reporter: What case?

Nora Charles: A case of scotch. Pitch in and help him.

Or when another reporter is grilling Nick about the case (murder case, that is, not the scotch) and it goes like this:

Reporter: Well, can't you tell us anything about the case?

Nick Charles: Yes, it's putting me way behind in my drinking.

You might have correctly guessed that this mystery-comedy leans pretty heavily to the comic side. Though there’s danger to the characters and suspense, it’s usually studded with bon mots like the above.

And it’s based on a hit novel by Dashiell Hammett, who also wrote the novel The Maltese Falcon, and surely you know that film, right? And like the earlier, 1931 version of The Maltese Falcon that people don’t know as well as the famed 1941 version, The Thin Man was knocked out quickly (shot in 12 days) and got into theaters a mere matter of months after the novel itself hit the stands. I mean, Hammett’s a great writer and even though other people adapted the screenplays, his work lends itself beautifully to cinema, doesn’t it? Especially when that film is photographed by one of the great cinematographers of old Hollywood, James Wong Howe, who makes both the shadowy suspense and brilliantly lit comic scenes work equally well.

I mean, it was nominated for four Oscars, too – surely you knew that, right? Didn’t win any, but it got the nods.

Well, maybe not. Maybe you’re more familiar with the great Oscar winner of 1934, It Happened One Night, instead. (You’re not? Man, we need to talk about some Capra then!) Maybe you weren’t born in 1934, and neither were your parents, and maybe not even your grandparents. I suppose that’s a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why you haven’t seen it. Maybe you knew about the sequels (quality films, too, not diminishing returns) that kept coming regularly up through 1947 and maybe not. Maybe, for some insane reason, you have an aversion to older, B&W cinema, no matter how entertaining and amazingly well written, acted, and shot it may be. Well, if that’s the case, maybe you can start learning with this film about why people considered the 30’s a big part of Hollywood’s golden age – you just don’t find dialogue like this, with completely non-P.C. alcoholics as our heroes played with brilliant comic flair by Powell and Loy, in today’s films. Or yesterday’s, or pretty much anything after the 1950’s. If somehow this little delight has eluded you until now, it’s high time you check it out. But be forewarned – it will not only lead you directly to the sequels, but will probably put you in the mindset to check out at least two of the other films above (though I’d recommend all four of them heartily)! Of course, there’s nothing wrong with that. But start here – it’s a gas.

- Patrick Brown

I'd Love to Turn You On #125 - Gilberto Gil – Gilberto Gil (1969)

Gilberto Gil’s 1969 album, which like his 1968 and 1971 albums is simply entitled Gilberto Gil, is a wild mélange of psychedelic pop, Brazilian sambas and bossa novas, guitar overload, and much more; hugely inspired by the rock movements taking place up north in the United States and across the pond in Britain, but delivered with a distinctly Brazilian spin. One key difference is that the music Gil and his cohorts (Caetano Veloso, the band Os Mutantes, Gal Costa, composer Rogério Duprat, and others) were making was being made under a military dictatorship, and while the young musicians keyed in on the transgressive and expansive possibilities of rock music, their government reacted harshly to the youth movement. One might draw a parallel to what musicians faced in the English-speaking countries, but no musicians I know of from the era were ever forcibly sent into exile out of their home country because of their involvement with the music scene, which happened to both Gil and Veloso in 1969.

            But back to this record. Gilberto Gil had been an active professional musician since the mid-60’s but began releasing solo albums with his debut in 1967. His debut is in a much more traditional vein than what followed because in the interim between that album and his 1968 self-titled release the Beatles released Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, which several accounts say Gil listened to obsessively. The 1968 album features Gil in full faux-military regalia on the cover and couldn’t be a more explicit tribute to the Beatles, full of wild arrangements that jump from sound to sound (usually within one song) and keep the musical surprises coming, backed by the young band Os Mutantes and arranged by Rogério Duprat. But on this 1969 release, he pushed the experimentalism even further, this time with Stanley Kubrick’s landmark film 2001: A Space Odyssey as an artistic touchstone. In what I can make out of the lyrics without seeking online translations, I note references in two songs a row to astronauts, a song entitled “2001” and the lead cut called “Cérebro Eletrônico,” which translates as “electronic brain.” Note that these were all released the same year as David Bowie’s celebrated “Space Oddity” single and its attendant album, and were all recorded and done before Bowie’s tune had been released. And then there’s the closing track, “Objeto Semi-Identificado,” (English: “Purpose Semi-Identified”), Gil and his collaborators’ take on the Beatles’ “Revolution #9,” which is wild and out there, but still settles into musical phrases more regularly than the Brits’ track does. In fact, it’s not unlike the 1968 album’s experimentalism taken to further extremes – still listenable but jumping wildly all over the place.

And none of the space stuff and reckless experimentation touches on some of the album’s most notable virtues – Gil’s strong and sometimes slightly unhinged singing grounded in the rhythms that are the heart of the best Brazilian music, guitarist Lanny’s fuzzed out psych guitar work across the whole album (notable in the very first cut, but really, it’s everywhere), and Rogério Duprat’s better-integrated arrangements that don’t sound as much like separate ideas tacked together, but rather a way to augment the possibilities of Gil’s finely balanced pop sensibilities that lurk underneath that reckless experimentalism. And it also doesn’t note the album’s hit song and finest track, “Aquele Abraço” – an irresistible samba groove that is a love letter to Rio and an ode to joy, calling out samba schools, football clubs, street parades, etc. It’s so buoyant, joyous, and propulsive that you’d never know that Gil wrote the song while on house arrest awaiting exile. Or that on this song, like most of the album, Gil wrote and laid down basic vocal and acoustic guitar tracks at his home in Salvador, Bahia while Duprat made the musical arrangements for the album and recorded the other instruments in Rio and São Paulo. Back in February Gil and Veloso had been arrested by the military government, spent three months in prison and four under house arrest, and then were told to leave the country, living in Europe in exile until they were allowed to return in 1971. They were given no reason or charge for their arrest. If you think youth music can’t be a powerful force, think about that for a bit. And next time the cops bust up your party that’s too loud, think for a bit about how much worse off you could be.

The fact that Gil could make a record this delightful under these conditions is remarkable, thanks in no small part to Rogério Duprat’s sterling work in bringing its disparate ideas together. At least six tracks are delights, with two of the others fine enough and letting up the tension a little, and then the wild closing number of “Objeto Semi-Identificado.” But there’s a happy ending - on return to Brazil, Gil continued making music (obviously music that would be less offensive to the government) and contributing greatly to the artistic culture of his home country in spite of how he’d been treated. And from 2003 - 2008, under a new government, Gil served as Brazil's Minister of Culture, resigning only for health reasons after having his resignation rejected twice by the president. He left to have a vocal cord polyp treated and to return to music, which he continues to this day, having released four new albums since leaving his political career behind. But his landmark work from the late-60’s into the mid-70’s remains the cornerstone of his catalog, a catalog well worth perusing in its entirety.

- Patrick Brown

I'd Love to Turn You On At the Movies #111 - Cape Fear (1962, dir. J. Lee Thompson/1991, dir. Martin Scorsese)

Two movies, made twenty-nine years apart: same title, same basic plot, yet morally a universe apart. The original, starring Gregory Peck (one of the most likable actors in the history of Hollywood) as lawyer Sam Bowden and Robert Mitchum (one of the most menacing) as maniacal ex-con Max Cady, whose lives become intertwined when Bowden witnesses Cady assaulting a woman, testifies against him in court, and lands Cady with eight years of apparently very hard time. Cady has come from prison with one thing on his mind: revenge against Bowden and all that he holds dear. The original film, from 1962, is a classic noir, with beautiful use of shadow and light to illustrate the moods and advance the themes. The themes are also fairly black and white. Mitchum’s Cady is a tightly wound spring of a man. On the outside he is all smiling and laughing good old boy, but just below the surface seethes a dangerous, misogynist, predator. He has a history of violence and abuse to women, and shows no remorse or understanding of his actions. Mitchum was absolutely made to play this role, and all his greatest assets: the heavily lidded eyes, the deep, cultivated southern accent, and his entirely imposing physical presence work beautifully to assure us he is entirely below reproach. Peck’s Bowden is drawn just as broadly as Cady’s moral opposite: he is a good husband and father, an honest lawyer and a decent man. Cady’s animus towards Bowden seems random and inexplicable. Why not seek revenge on the judge or prosecutor? So the lines are clearly drawn for a clear-cut struggle between good and evil. And a gripping and tightly directed struggle it is, as director J. Lee Thompson skillfully builds Cady’s menace in the Bowden family’s life with escalating appearances in the personal affairs of Sam’s wife and pre-pubescent daughter. Events go from the murder of the family dog to an eventual appearance at Sam’s daughter’s school. At this point Sam Bowden has been pushed far enough. Fear and his protective instincts slowly challenge his core beliefs as he starts to try anything to stop Cady’s murderous revenge. Along with a friendly cop and a private detective he devises a plan to lure Cady to an isolated vacation spot called Cape Fear where he can be gotten rid of away from the eyes of society. While Bowden is clearly the morally superior man, we are forced to confront uncomfortable issues revolving around just what is justifiable in the name of self-protection.

Enter Martin Scorsese in 1991 with the same story drawn with a very different set of inks. In Scorsese’s film our protagonist, this time played with sleazy complexity by Nick Nolte, is not a clearly good guy. In fact he is a pretty lousy guy. He is a serial philanderer, his marriage on the rocks, and his fifteen-year-old daughter experimenting with sexuality and rebellion. In this version, Bowden actually was Cady’s public defender and intentionally hid evidence that could have exonerated Cady. It’s not that Cady didn’t deserve the jail time though; Robert DeNiro plays a Max Cady so beyond the pale of normal decency that he almost seems like a different species. In one of his most startling roles (and THAT is saying something) DeNiro channels every frightening, Pentacostal, woman-hating, backwoods, boogeyman stereotype you can imagine, and hones them into an almost unearthly, tattooed, bible-verse spewing, madman whose anger and desire for vengeance is demonic. The differences between this and the original film could not be any more starkly drawn. In Scorsese’s universe of the 1990’s, moral certainty no longer exists. Cady is a terrifying murderer, but his anger and contempt for Bowden seem far more understandable considering the lawyer’s own moral failings.

It is this very ambiguity that becomes the key to the latter-day Cape Fear’s greatness. The movie turns on the audience’s discomfort with Bowden’s own character flaws as they relate to Cady’s hostility. There is no question that Cady is evil, but there is a question about Bowden. Nolte’s performance is delicately nuanced as he goes from being annoyed by Cady’s appearance to furious and outraged, and finally landing at a near animal state as he locks into mortal combat with a human monstrosity.

Both movies ultimately belong to the antagonists. Mitchum beguiles us with his creepy southern charm, while DeNiro goes as far as he ever has in a role, offering up two of his most memorable scenes. In the most uncomfortable 10 minutes ever committed to film, he slowly and expertly takes the 15-year-old Juliette Lewis’ character into his confidence, exploiting her adolescent feelings of inadequacy and confusion to sexually advance on her. If you can watch this scene without discomfort, please see your therapist. In the final half hour of the movie, DeNiro’s performance defies expectation or category. The movie almost moves to the level of magic realism as Max Cady’s capacity for violence and pseudo-biblical narration take on nearly supernatural levels. I’ve seen this movie a number of times and I still scratch my head at that last scene. It is almost incomprehensible, except that it all feels somehow possible. Unfortunately, the real world has prepared me for this level of madness.

It is impossible to say which of these two thought-provoking thrillers is the more satisfying. The original offers the clarity of a black and white world. It has a beginning, middle and end leaving us with little uncertainty. Scorsese’s version is much more reflective of the modern world; it is a bleak look into moral uncertainty and unhappy endings. One film was much easier to watch, and provided a welcome sense of emotional closure as the credits rolled, while the other left me with deep, unshakable questions about the human heart. Now that is a good afternoon of film!

- Paul Epstein

I'd Love to Turn You On #124 - Paul Kantner - Blows Against The Empire

One of the more important figures in 1960’s rock and roll, Paul Kantner, the founder and idealistic heart of The Jefferson Airplane, has had his importance obscured in the shadow of ex-wife Grace Slick’s flamboyant personality. Yet, in many ways he was the architect of the Airplane’s sound and if you doubt that, listen to Blows Against The Empire, his first, magnificent solo album from 1970. The musical and spiritual twin to David Crosby’s If I Could Only Remember My Name, Blows Against The Empire gathers many of the same members of The Airplane, Crosby, Stills and Nash and The Grateful Dead axis to form a super group of like-minded, stoned, science-fiction loving, anarchists in search of the lost chord. In many ways they succeed. Blows Against The Empire is a heady, ecstatic musical promise to the entire 60’s generation. Kantner, the guy who said “up against the wall motherfucker” in The Airplane, continues his adversarial stance against the older generation, this time suggesting that all those who have turned on, board a starship and leave earth. Crazy, idealistic shit right? Yup, it is totally of another era. It is from a time when a large portion of a generation felt they could transcend the mundane realities of a Nixon/Reagan war cult by taking drugs and dropping out of society. In this case, boarding a spacecraft and “Carry 7000 people past the sun/ and our babes’ll wander naked through the cities of the universe.” Wow, really? Yes, really, and he sings this stuff with a totally straight face (one imagines). And what’s more, the musicians assembled make a sublime, skronky joy out of it. The core group is Kantner, Slick, David Crosby and Jerry Garcia, all flying high on their late 60’s success as well as LSD concocted by uber-chemist and cultural lynchpin Owsley Stanley (who is thanked in the liner notes along with a bunch of authors such as Vonnegut, Heinlein and Jean Genet.)

Understanding the political and cultural subtexts of the era is important, because once immersed into this album, there is no coming up for air. One has to give himself over to Kantner’s utopian vision. In 1970, for me, this was not a stretch. I was more than excited by these ideas. I was just entering my teenage years, and already a major fan of both science-fiction and rock and roll, so the idea of all the young people boarding a spaceship to leave earth and set out for some as-yet-to-be-determined Garden Of Eden sounded to me like a great way to get out of the pain and embarrassment of adolescence . Going to mars might actually be easier than asking a girl out. The album itself flows like a suite of songs. In spite of their being many styles represented, from the pure folk of  "The Baby Tree," to the anthemic sunshine of  "A Child Is Coming," to all of side two, which flows like a psychedelic space opera, sounding somewhere between The Airplane and Hawkwind, the music soars with Garcia’s guitar sliding between Kantner, Crosby and Slick’s perfectly blending voices, Kantner’s fantastic acoustic playing and all of it anchored by the lyrical and thematic ambition of the entire project. Side one closes with the tour-de-force, "Let’s Go Together," which perfectly sums up the magic of this album. Kantner sings his desire: “Wave Goodbye To Amerika/Say Hello To The Garden” while Garcia tastefully plays hide and seek with Airplane bassist Jack Casady’s fluid runs. It is the hippie dream personified and given flesh. On the inside gatefold cover of the album there is a foil-sheened painting of a planet surface with craters, pyramids, mutiple moons, and rising over the horizon is a depiction of Paul Kantner, his hair made of marijuana leaves, and a look of steely determination in his eyes. It is the Lewis and Clark adventure for the stoned generation.

Paul Epstein

I'd Love to Turn You On At the Movies #111 - Logan’s Run (1976, dir. Michael Anderson)

“Computer: Do you identify the word Sanctuary?

Logan 5: Negative.

Computer: Sanctuary is a pre-catastrophe code word. Used for a place of immunity.”

Released in 1976, the year before Star Wars, Logan’s Run provides a very interesting and somewhat disturbingly dystopian vision of the future. At the age of 30 everyone in this fantasy world submits to Carrousel in order to be renewed - or do they?!? The first time that I watched this poignant yet entertainingly campy film was in a literature class in my freshman year (of my first bachelor’s in 2005). The class was early and I was often prone to nodding off. However when I got to class and found out that we were watching a science fiction film my interest was piqued and I had no trouble staying awake for the rest of that class. Somewhere in my mind (and in my heart) between my love for fun science fiction, like The Fifth Element and Star Wars (to name a few), and my adoration for campy genius, such as Buffy the Vampire Slayer (movie and TV show) and the original Star Trek TV series, lies my obsession with this cult classic film.

In order to prime you for this film there are a few tidbits that I should probably fill you in on. First and foremost, there is no voice over or omniscient recap text scrolling across the screen. This film assumes that its audience will get quickly caught up in its future world. But for good measure I will touch on a few things about the future you are about to enter. First and foremost, in this world pleasure reigns supreme, meaning that everyone is selfish and the pursuit of happiness (in all aspects of life) is the only thing that matters. Secondly, all (or at least most) of the citizens have and know their place and are complacent in their positioning, as determined by an all-knowing, computer-centered governing force. Thirdly, (as mentioned above) at the age of 30 everyone willingly submits to their own public ‘death’ at Carrousel. This needs a tad bit more explaining: because of their belief in the system and everything that system has told them, they trust that at the age of 30 they have come to the end of their life cycle and if they have lived their life correctly they will be renewed. However not everyone has been drinking the Kool-Aid, hence some people run from this fate. These people are called Runners and there are certain people, Sandmen, whose job it is to eradicate these runners for the good of society.

This is where our story begins. Our hero, Logan 5 (Michael York), is a Sandman. When he meets an intriguingly odd woman, Jessica 6 (Jenny Agutter), who questions the status quo it sparks a series of events that will change his world. Just prior to meeting Jessica, Logan had successfully taken down a runner and pulled an ankh off the body. When he checks in with his computer overlord boss, the computer recognizes this symbol as signifying sanctuary, possibly a safe haven for runners. Without a moment’s notice, and without Logan’s agreement, the computer changes Logan’s status from having 4 years of life left to ready for renewal. The only assignment he was given was to become a runner and find and infiltrate the sanctuary. Remembering that he had seen this same ankh symbol of Jessica’s necklace he seeks her out in order to attempt to figure out what is happening to him and find sanctuary. Is he trying to execute his orders or at this point is he merely attempting to escape his fate. What follows is a psychological journey to a ‘renewed’ vision of life.

So other than the obviously amazing storyline that I have set up for you, why would I want to turn you on to this film? Well, the brilliantly campy portrayal of the future and characters, the costume design, special effects, and set designs are as the kids say, ‘next level.’ In our film culture today all of these aspects that we take for granted were meticulously put together either in detailed models or in intricate set design and this movie doesn’t merely utilize these elements but beautifully harnesses the power of this strategy. There is a certain authenticity to the obvious artifice and an undeniable charm to the imagination behind the story and the concept of the future. If you are anything like me, while you enjoy the special effects in films of the present, you can’t help but love stepping back in time and watching a simpler attempt at practical special effects (which are rooted much more heavily in reality).

In the end if you are inclined to enjoy cerebral science fiction, but also drawn to the appeal of campiness, this film is for you! Let yourself fall back in time in order to spring forward into a strange new future world. Since that first time watching this film in class, I have owned several copies and watched this movie more times than I’d like to admit. So joint the cult, and discover this somewhat unknown old school science fiction film.

            - Edward Hill

I'd Love to Turn You On #123 - Meat Puppets – Up On The Sun

Meat Puppets first burst out of the Arizona desert in the early 80s as one of the key bands on legendary punk label SST.  But while they started out loud and fast, they were never really punk.  Growing up outside of any scene that would constrain them, they were free to indulge in whatever influence sparked their fancy.  Brothers Curt and Cris Kirkwood, along with drummer Derrick Bostrom, brewed up a psychedelic stew of punk, country, and classic rock that found an audience among the freaks and weirdos of the emerging alternative nation.  Many of them formed bands of their own.  Some of them became huge, most prominently Kurt Cobain who turned over a whole segment of Nirvana's Unplugged appearance to a sit-in with Curt and Cris.  All the songs they played on Unplugged came from the Pups' legendary second album Meat Puppets II.  As great as that album is, its follow-up, 1985's Up On the Sun, is even better.  This is where the Meat Puppets truly come into their own, creating intricate compositions with the talent to back them up, yet still retaining a garage band feel.

The title song is a beautiful laid-back jam, meandering in the best way possible.  It might seem strange to kick off an album with its most mellow tune, especially for a band still considered punk at the time, but "Up On the Sun" perfectly sets the tone for everything to come.  They follow with the instrumental "Maiden's Milk" and the song's intro showcases the band's talent for tricky compositions with Cris' hyperactive basswork leading the way.  The song relaxes into a pleasant groove, complete with whistling, and some nice guitar leads from Curt.  The band's complex side also comes through later in the album on "Enchanted Pork Fist," which jumps from light-speed prog-fusion to an infectious arena rock chorus and back again, all within two and half minutes.  The band also knows how to get funky with Cris and Derrick forming a super tight rhythm section on "Away" and "Bucket Head."  If there's any song that deserves all-time classic status, it's the country-flavored "Swimming Ground."  A relaxed reminiscence of summer days of yore, one can easily picture this tune covered by a clever bluegrass ensemble or jam band, though it's hard to picture anyone besting the original.  The album closes with a pair of reflective songs, the pastoral "Two Rivers" and the metaphysical "Creator."

Meat Puppets continued to make great music for SST throughout the 80s, and moved up to a major label at the dawn of the 90s.  Their music may have gotten more mainstream but always retained a uniquely skewed point of view.  The Unplugged appearance, as well as the alternative music explosion, exposed them to a wide audience for the first time and they even scored a couple of hits.  But substance abuse and personal issues caused the band to fall apart by decade's end.  And then, in the late 2000s, came a miraculous return.  They've made several great records recently and tour constantly.  The material from Up On the Sun is still part of their repertoire, in fact they played a fantastic 10 minute version of the title track at the Bluebird a few years back.  Whether you're an old fan or new, a Meat Puppets show is always a good time.  And Up On the Sun is a great album to either check out for the first time or revisit after a long absence.  It's one of those that just never gets old.

            - Adam Reshotko

I'd Love to Turn You On At the Movies #110 - Jules and Jim (1962, dir. François Truffaut)

François Truffaut pulls out all the cinematic stops in his 1962 masterpiece, Jules and Jim: voice over, dolly shots, aerials, pans, wipes, masking, freeze frames, photographic stills, newsreel footage. It’s like an overflowing portfolio of the possibilities of film. And it’s a great story: two good friends, Jules and Jim, a German and Frenchman, live the bohemian life in Paris before World War I, drinking wine in cafes, talking about art, looking for love. A friend gives them a slide show of ancient statues and they’re both taken by a marble portrait of a woman with a mysterious smile. A few days later, they meet a woman named Catherine who looks just like the sculpture, and so begins a 25-year saga in which both men are in love and obsessed with her, and their triangular relationship shifts dramatically over the years. It’s storytelling at its most sophisticated, with an almost musical quality, more like a symphony than a movie. At times, years go by in a breathless whir, as the narrator spins the yarn of the increasing complexity of the trio’s love. Other times the pace suddenly slows, often to a complete stop, with a freeze frame of the lovely Catherine, her blond hair backlit by the sun. Or it’ll linger on a seemingly mundane scene, maybe Catherine and Jim packing a suitcase, or the three of them drinking wine in a meadow, or riding their bikes on a tree-lined lane. It’s all so beautiful, and all of it together—the fast parts, the slow parts, the panacea of motion picture technique—gives the film a fullness that’s rare in movies.

The film won the Grand Prix (predecessor to the Palme d’Or) at Cannes, and is often included on lists of the best movies of all times. It’s inspired generations of filmmakers, including Martin Scorsese, who specifically hailed it as a precursor of the riveting pace of Goodfellas. In a gushing review, Roger Ebert wrote, “Jules and Jim was perhaps the most influential and arguably the best of (the French New Wave’s) first astonishing films that broke with the past. There is joy in the filmmaking that feels fresh today and felt audacious at the time.” Indeed, it still feels like cutting-edge art, despite being more than 50 years old and in black and white. And not just stylistically. Even though the story is set in the early 20^th Century, and the film came out a few years before the sexual revolution of the late 1960s, the tragic romance feels contemporary, and infidelity abounds. Catherine is as liberated and self-assured as any character who might grace the screen today, in many ways even more so. And that’s what makes this film a true classic, its timelessness. In another fifty years, Jules and Jim will no doubt be as poignant as it was when it came out, and as it is now.

- Joe Miller

I'd Love to Turn You On #122 - Lennie Tristano – Lennie Tristano

Lennie Tristano is a jazz pianist whose small body of recorded work does not do justice to his influence on the music, which is audible in the works of such piano legends as Bill Evans and Keith Jarrett (each of whom have gone on to become major influences on other musicians in their own right) and those who worked directly with him, like saxophonists Lee Konitz and Warne Marsh. Tristano, blind by age 10, began studying music at a young age and somewhere in the late 1940’s became influenced in his playing by the bebop revolution, especially the music of Charlie Parker and Bud Powell. But his own approach was different – while he liked the rapidity and complexity of bebop, he was attracted to the structural and rhythmic elements more than the emotive, “bluesy” elements. This has, unfortunately, lead many to dismiss his music and cold or cerebral, when nothing could be further from the truth. In Tristano’s own words: “I can never think and play at the same time. It’s emotionally impossible.”

            So even though in his conception of the music he instructed his horn players (especially Konitz and Marsh) to use an uninflected and neutral tone to better concentrate on the structure and form of their solos, the guiding principle is still expression via improvisation, one of the core ideas of jazz. So when people accuse him of “cheating” or violating some principle of jazz for using techniques that eventually became commonplace in jazz (such as overdubbing and tape manipulation), in addition to the crime of using intellectual means to focus his music, I would reply that one need listen to only one minute of this record’s “Requiem,” a piano solo tribute to the recently deceased Charlie Parker, to understand that this music is intensely emotional, and of course improvisational – in short, that it’s most assuredly jazz.

Though there are earlier studio recordings dating to the mid-40’s, this 1956 album marks what will probably stand as Tristano’s major recorded statement, a record that divides neatly into two halves – one set of studio cuts that outline his approach (and his then-controversial studio techniques) clearly and one group of ballad standards recorded live that show his ideas in practice in a more conventional jazz setting. Fans of the studio cuts often dismiss the live material as lighter weight, and indeed it’s definitely more traditionally beautiful and less challenging, with Lee Konitz and Tristano trading solos over the relatively anonymous rhythm support of Gene Ramey and Art Taylor. But the studio works that define the album (and lead it off) help show how to understand the second part more deeply.

The first track is “Line Up” in which bassist Peter Ind and drummer Jeff Morton tick off a steady (and studio-manipulated) rhythm over which Tristano solos continuously, offering up no set theme and just letting one idea flow from the previous one until the song eventually fades out. Next is “Requiem,” which after its classical-styled intro drops into a bluesy tribute, but is full of constantly changing rhythmic attacks from Tristano’s improvisations, marrying his logical approach to an undeniably emotional content. It’s gorgeous, warm, touching, perfect, and it too, fades out. Next up is another piano piece (plus somebody shaking a maraca to tick off time), “Turkish Mambo,” (neither Turkish in origin, nor a mambo, but a great title regardless!), in which he lays one piano rhythm down, lays another track of piano over it in counterpoint, and then adds a third overdub in which he solos on the complex, shifting rhythms that he’s set up with the other tracks. And again, a fade.

Why the fades, you may wonder? Well, my theory is this – he’s set up a structural approach (most clearly in “Turkish Mambo”) in which he could keep improvising forward forever on the rhythmic lines he’s made. In my mind it’s analogous to a comment King Sunny Ade once made about his approach to his own music: “the rhythm is basically simple and, once you hook it up, it flows endlessly.” Tristano’s rhythms are sometimes trickier and his varied approach to them keeps it feeling like a moving beast, but the idea is the same – set up a solid rhythmic base and then go as long as you need over it. The last studio cut, “East Thirty Second” brings Ind and Morton back in for a number very similar in sound to “Line Up” with Tristano soloing over their foundation. And of course, it fades out. Then come the ballads, which all sport the traditional theme-and-solos approach, have endings rather than intimations of infinity, and all hit a slower tempo than most of what’s preceded them. But after hearing the studio work a few times, it’s obvious that in these Konitz and Tristano could’ve kept rolling out their ideas for as long as the audience would be there to listen if they’d chosen to. The approach remains the same even if the feel of the second half is very different.

And of course there are those who find the first half, with its “cheating” approach to jazz hard to take, but who generally find the lovely second half quite endearing and simply gorgeous – not at all the cerebral coldness that Tristano is accused of. Me, I love both parts, especially given the paucity of recordings of Tristano on the market. It’s a great album and the diversity of it only makes it stronger in my ears.

            - Patrick Brown

I'd Love to Turn You On At the Movies #109 - Bad Day at Black Rock (1955, dir. John Sturges)

Director John Sturges is noted for a 30-year career of slam-bang action films, usually starring tough (or at least manly) guys in the lead role – he worked with John Wayne, Steve McQueen, Charles Bronson, and Clint Eastwood among others – acting out macho fantasies – Gunfight at the O.K. Corral, The Great Escape, and The Magnificent Seven are three of his best-known films. It’s not all he did – he’s got a couple straight dramas, an anomalous comedy, and a couple later sci-fi films to his credit – but it’s the reputation he holds today, and deservedly so since it’s his specialty.

Bad Day at Black Rock falls about ten years into his career, which at the time consisted largely of action-oriented westerns and crime films knocked out fast and cheap, and it’s the film that made enough money for MGM that it put him on the map and gave him the ability to establish an independent production company in 1959. But even so, Bad Day at Black Rock started no different from any number of B-movie cheapies he’d made before it – he shot it in three weeks from material that could have made for a dubious film (the producer almost canned the film, believing it to be “subversive”). And if the action isn’t exactly “slam-bang” the tension is methodically ratcheted up like very few of his films managed. And I doubt that anybody thinks of Black Rock’s star Spencer Tracy when the word “macho” comes up in relation to actors. But for my money, this is the finest film by Sturges that I’ve seen (he’s got over 40 to his credit), and certainly his subtlest. Allegedly the film’s writers, not sure they would be able to land Tracy in the role, rewrote is as a one-armed man with the idea that no actor can resist playing a character with a physical impairment. Tracy would go on to get an Oscar nomination for his performance here, his first since his heyday.

Bad Day at Black Rock is the story of war veteran John Macreedy (Tracy) going to the small town of Black Rock (which consists of no more than a dozen buildings) to visit an army buddy’s father, the Japanese-American Komoko, to give him important news but nobody in the small town seems especially ready to help him find Komoko. In fact, they range from coolly silent to downright hostile to see him there snooping around town, an outsider who should just mind his own business and move along. As the train rolls into town the townspeople all look up at the unusual occurrence of a stranger coming to town, with one of them even commenting aloud “first time the Streamliner’s stopped here in four years.”

What happens from there is a master class in slowly simmering tension, as Macreedy keeps asking around about Komoko’s whereabouts without giving up his intentions while the townspeople get increasingly frustrated with his unflappable calm and nervous about him and his unexpected and unwanted visit. He shortly meets Reno Smith (played by the great Robert Ryan), who seems smarter and more level headed than most of the others in town – that is until Macreedy starts asking too many questions. Forty minutes in to the film, Smith and Macreedy have a confrontation that’s all understated feinting around each other until Smith starts to show his hand about his xenophobic anti-Japanese attitude. Macreedy then mentions that maybe the fallow land at Komoko’s place could be used for a graveyard, shoots Ryan a significant look, and shows his hand that he knows that the place may have someone buried there – perhaps not human, but perhaps human. And from there on it’s open – yet still understated and tense – warfare between Macreedy and his few allies against the rest of the town, hiding their shame, guilt, and complicity in whatever may have happened by lashing out at Macreedy, who proves perfectly able to handle himself, as in the scene where Coley Trimble (a bullishly belligerent Ernest Borgnine) tries to cold cock him in a diner and Macreedy neatly disposes of him.

Bad Day at Black Rock is a perfect example of how classic Hollywood used to work when things were right – take a major star (Tracy was a few years past his main box office draw, but still well known) surrounded by an able cast (that also includes the great Walter Brennan, Lee Marvin, and Dean Jagger), take a solid script and add a few twists, and put a knowledgeable director at the helm to streamline things. The result – a wickedly efficient dramatic thriller. 

            - Patrick Brown

I'd Love to Turn You On #121 - The Dream Syndicate – The Medicine Show

Looking for a rock and roll hero who has had a career for decades, never “sold out,” never made a shitty record, never been, er… spoiled by great success (read: never got really famous)? Look no further than Steve Wynn. He is still out there (sometimes with a reunited Dream Syndicate) playing his brand of heroic music, equally in thrall to the late 60’s and late 70’s underground (think Velvet Underground meets Standells meets Television with lots of guitar based jamming in the live show and you start to get the picture.) Lyrically, Dream Syndicate were in the beatnik/Patti Smith tradition of literary, thoughtful anthems. The Medicine Show was their second album and first for a major label, so expectation in the 1984 underground was very high for this album. With big-time producer Sandy Pearlman (The Clash, Blue Oyster Cult) on board, it seemed like these brainy L.A. Paisley Underground heroes might break through to the mainstream and change the face of modern pop (pretty bad at that time) for the better. As it turned out, history frowned on the whole Paisley Underground movement (it would have gone gangbusters now) and almost all of the great bands from that era (Opal, Rain Parade, The Long Ryders etc.) are no more than a footnote. However, at that particular moment in time I remember being blown away by this thoughtful, intense album.

The heart of all Dream Syndicate music lies in the juxtaposition of their lyrical ambition, with their fearless guitar workouts. Somewhere between Neil Young’s ferocity and Tom Verlaine’s stinging precision, lead guitarist Karl Precoda laid it down for the ages on this album. Snaking in and out of Wynn’s snarling vocals on songs like “Bullet With My Name On It” or the title track, his guitar coils in waiting for the opportunity to strike with lethal force, biting with venomous lethality. One of the unsung guitar heroes of the modern era, Precoda is as distinctive as he is reminiscent of the greats. On the song “Medicine Show,” and the incomparable “John Coltrane Stereo Blues” Wynn’s brains and Precoda’s brawn provide the exact raw elements needed to combine and produce a musical explosion. The first time I heard “Coltrane” I could not believe a rock band had the ballsy effrontery to name a song after one of the great musical geniuses of the era and then just OWN it as powerfully as The Dream Syndicate did. After Wynn sets the stage with his hipster verses about 20^th century musical ennui, he and Precoda tear into an absolutely, joyously dangerous cat and mouse game with verses and guitar breaks, building in intensity to a psychedelic punk frenzy that’ll grow some hair on your chest. Live, the band would take this song to sometimes-ridiculous lengths, but the album version is just right.

The album comes to a close with a reminder of Wynn’s superb songwriting on the Springsteen-like “Merritville.”  Pearlman’s intelligent production lends the band the gleam and restraint they needed to smooth their raw edges, yet he keeps their spiky, punk vitality completely intact. Precoda rips into a meaty, noisy solo between Wynn’s honest verses on American life. Springsteen, Michael Jackson and Prince all topped the charts in 1984, and when one listens to The Medicine Show in that context, it is both a wonder that it wasn’t a hit, and a reminder that in any given year, much of the cultural and intellectual vitality of our society is well hidden from the public eye.

- Paul Epstein

I'd Love to Turn You On At the Movies #108 - Wait Until Dark (1967, dir. Terence Young)

What makes a movie scary is a very subjective thing. For instance, when I first saw The Exorcist, the scene that scared me the most (and the whole thing scared me profoundly) involved a character walking into a kitchen and the lights in the room were blinking inexplicably. For some reason I found the unnaturally blinking lights more terrifying than the adolescent Linda Blair spewing pea soup on the priest. In most cases I find more explicit, violence-based frights - blood-soaked exercises in graphic shock - to be less effective than being slowly seduced into fear through a series of incongruities or subtle shifts in mood. The factor that made the original Alien so scary, and all the sequels so NOT scary, was the simple technique of building suspense by not showing the audience the monster until the last possible moment. Each encounter uncovered another small glimpse into the horror to come because the imagination is so much scarier than any reality could ever be. In many ways Wait Until Dark uses this exact technique to brilliant effect, by slowly uncovering the depths of evil the antagonist of the film (Alan Arkin) is capable of while simultaneously building our appreciation of the protagonist (an almost irresistible Audrey Hepburn) as a woman of almost genius ingenuity.

The plot of Wait Until Dark is labyrinthine and almost irrelevant. It also unfolds in such a way that giving any but the most rudimentary details could spoil the movie. Suffice to say that Audrey Hepburn plays a blind woman who finds herself in the possession of a doll that is stuffed with heroin and Alan Arkin is a criminal who wants - and is going to get - that doll. He employs the help of two hapless low level crooks (Richard Crenna and Jack Weston: both great) to enact an elaborate subterfuge to get into the blind woman’s confidence and thus retrieve the heroin. Arkin offers up what has to be one of the most menacing performances in film history, morphing from a slimy hipster to mad-dog killer in the blink of an eye. His transformation is so sudden and violent that he becomes the stuff of nightmares. Hepburn, on the other hand, is gorgeous and innocent, yet totally believable as a woman driven to the edges of her own sanity; forced to test the limits of her own strength and courage in the face of unthinkable terror. The movie develops in a way that slowly builds tension as we gradually understand how much danger Hepburn is in, how utterly despicable Arkin is, and how he will stop at nothing to achieve his goal. Not only is Hepburn’s life in danger, but her virtue as well.

Everything boils down to the last fifteen gripping minutes, as Hepburn fights for her life in a white-knuckle ride that takes us inside the mind and emotions of a blind person struggling to level the playing field in a world of darkness. This ultimately is the hook, if you will, that makes Wait Until Dark an unforgettable classic. The shift in perspective is remarkably effective as the darkness starts (as the veil it is to all sighted people) and actually becomes illumination as the situation changes. Filmed in a composed, Hitchcock-esque style, with a masterful, hair-raising score by Henry Mancini, this is a classy, old school thriller that terrifies the audience as much by what it sees as by what is left hidden.

- Paul Epstein