By Matt Singer
August 11, 2004
This column is written a bit in advance to provide me with a brief vacation. Thus, I cannot discuss a current movie topic as I usually do. So instead, here’s a conversation primer to get you through the week. Just plug in whatever name is hot in the first blank and his or her movie project in the second and you’ll look film literate to anyone who cares:
“Hey did you hear about ________? Yeah I can’t believe s/he’s going to make _______! I’m so excited!”
Next time I’ll teach you how to feign interest in a topic while secretly thinking about fantasy sports.
THE GOOD
DAVID CROSS: LET AMERICA LAUGH (2003)
Starring David Cross, Michelle Maryk
Directed by Lance Bangs
Unrated, 93 minutes
Available on DVD
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THIS IS SPINAL TAP was a fake documentary that disguised itself as a chronicle of the touring exploits of the world’s dumbest band. The very real DAVID CROSS: LET AMERICA LAUGH turns the camera 180 degrees, and finds that rock stars aren’t the only idiots, jerks, and weirdos. Rather than make a traditional stand-up comedy film, iconoclastic comedian David Cross invited documentarian Lance Bangs to follow him on his American tour and capture all the outlandishness of life on the road. During the opening credits we hear the message Cross left on Bangs’ answering machine to officially offer him the gig. Cross promises a lump sum payment of ten dollars. Then he changes his mind and offers him five dollars. Bangs must have found the terms acceptable, his name is on the DVD.
Cross is a brilliant comedian and a talented standup, though perhaps too talented. Most comedians hone an act and perform it over and over. Cross has set bits but even his strongest material can change from night to night; one of the DVD’s deleted scenes showcases his talent for improv by showing him doing the same bit in a dozen cities in a dozen different ways. He rambles and goes off on tangents and tailors the show to the local crowd (In Atlanta, he talks about an article in the newspaper that discusses the quality of pavement on the roadways in heaven). But despite his loose performance style onstage, he is a perfectionist when it comes to the crowd and the venue, and he’s refreshingly unafraid to voice his opinion. When a club owner in Nashville named T.C. puts out tables in chairs for the show, Cross requests they be removed so the audience can stand to watch the show. T.C. rejects his comments, informing him that he doesn’t know Nashville, which is “a whole different beast... Nashville can’t be compared to any other market except New York and L.A. cause it’s an industry market.” During that evening’s performance Cross explains the entire situation to the audience, quoting T.C. accurately throughout. T.C., understandably upset, orders Cross out of his club after the show. Just to be assholes, Cross and his crew take as long as possible to pack up his stuff and leave. A hidden camera records the half hour in which Cross made the club owner wait at the door of his dressing room while he very carefully tries to put a record and a poster into his bag.
Bangs’ camera also catches a large swath of fan exploits. There’s a woman in North Carolina who encourages people to come out to independent venues (Even though she works for ClearChannel!) and to support independent comedians (Like David Cross and Robin Williams). There’s an impromptu interview with a young stoner named Gordon Downs who is only interested in confirming the stories about Cross he’s read in other magazines. There are fascinating interactions with hecklers and other rude audience members. When people shout out things during Cross’ routine, Bangs catches their reactions to the comedian’s comebacks using night vision cameras. One old guy who is really kind to Cross backstage farts loudly during his set. Bangs captures that too. These scenes offer one possible reason that Cross named his first comedy record SHUT UP, YOU &$%#ING BABY!
Some may claim that Cross is making fun of his audience, but he is an equal opportunity mocker. He teases his sister, who changed the spelling of her name from “Julie” to “Juli.” He struggles through an awful gig in Little Rock where there is no backstage; one must wait outside on the street and then open a door that leads right onstage to perform. He ribs on the guy who Bangs hires to videotape the performance he can’t attend and who instead spent the night filming random drunks on the street. Above all else, the film’s theme is a complete intolerance for bullshit in any form.
There is very little of Cross’ actual standup material in LET AMERICA LAUGH (for those interested in hearing it, this DVD was recorded simultaneously with the SHUT UP CD). Instead, you get an honest peak into the world of a stand-up comedian, one whose tone matches its confrontational subject’s personality. Spinal Tap wouldn’t get this movie, but their fans might.
IF YOU LIKED DAVID CROSS: LET AMERICA LAUGH, CHECK OUT: CHRIS ROCK: BRING THE PAIN (1996), a more traditional stand-up comedy special, but one of the funniest I’ve ever seen. The only one I’ve ever loved more is the never released on VHS or DVD JON STEWART: UNLEAVENED. The things I’d do for a copy of that.
THE BAD
KID GALAHAD (1962)
Starring Elvis Presley, Gig Young
Directed by Phil Karlson
Unrated, 95 minutes
Available on VHS
If you’re lucky in this life, you have one special skill you do better than anyone else. Michael Jordan was blessed with spectacular basketball skills. When he tried to move to baseball, he found only limited success. In KID GALAHAD, Elvis Presley’s character Walter Gulick is a former soldier, a gifted mechanic, an incredible boxer and he sings like Elvis Presley. Yes, he’s Walter Gulick: Renaissance Man.
More or less, this is standard fare for Elvis movies. Per the formula, the incredibly gifted musician and marginally talented plays a regular joe who gets into various adventures and wins a girl, and just happens to have one of the most powerful voices of the twentieth century. There’s a reason Elvis’ music has survived and flourished and his movies have not: the movies stink, and most of his best music was on his albums, not the soundtracks. KID GALAHAD includes a number of songs but only one, the gorgeous ballad “Home Is Where the Heart Is,” really sounds like a classic.
In between ditties, Gulick hitches his way into a sleepy town where Willy (Gig Young) runs a training camp for boxers. Walter’s looking for work as a mechanic but Willy and his trainer Lew (Charles Bronson) needs sparring partners, so Walter climbs into the ring. In his first bout - one of the few scenes that approaches anything resembling goofy camp entertainment - Walter is pummeled repeatedly (and I mean repeatedly, it’s like twenty shots to the face), unaware of how to even protect himself from a punch. Eventually he gets fed up with the beating, throws one punch, and knocks the other guy out. At this point, Walter is declared a boxer, even though Walter is more interested in the five bucks he was promised for sparring than the infinite potential he supposedly possesses.
Quickly Walter gains the nickname Kid Galahad, after his chivalrous nature and protective attitude toward women. Then Willy’s sister Rose (Joan Blackman) catches Walter’s eye. The two share a charming scene in which gear head Walter tunes up his car while Rose watches. He drops a part under the car and ducks underneath it to search for it. Rose asks what it looks like and sneaks up besides him for a surprise smooch. “It’s a quarter inch,” Walter tells her. “It’s about this big,” as he gestures the approximate size with his fingers. Somehow all this talk about things a quarter inch in length ignites the fires of Rose’s passion and she moves in for a romantic clinch. What’s Elvis doing talking about his quarter inch nut? He’s the King damnit! A quarter inch isn’t fit for a pauper!
Rose may be falling for Walter, but there’s trouble: Willy doesn’t want Rose to see Walter. When Rose arrives at Willy’s, he tells her “You couldn’t reorganize the part in your hair unless I drew you a map!” Nice burn Willy, except Rose doesn’t have a part in her hair! Willie is infuriated to learn that his kind, honest, likable, hard-working, talented, money-earning prodigy has fallen for his sister. If he was named “Kid Serial Date Rapist” or “Kid Incurable Venereal Disease” Willy’s position would be a lot more understandable. But he’s just got to lower his standards a little; I don’t think Kid The Second Coming would be an acceptable mate for his treasured Rose.
This battle between Willy and Walter is obviously manufactured out of nowhere, but it’s not surprising since without it the movie has very little conflict. Walter and Rose click instantly and don’t suffer any of the normal movie relationship miscommunications or breakups, and good ol’ Galahad is such a good boxer there isn’t much suspense in the boxing scenes, whose fight choreography makes ROCKY’s look realistic. Plus, teens going to see an Elvis movie were looking for their hero to rebel against some squares and their rules anyway. The question then must be asked why The King was cast so harshly against type. Elvis Presley was a wild, hard-living rock and roller with a raw sexual edge. Walter Gulick is so kind-hearted he earns the moniker of one of the knights of the round table. Elvis isn’t terrible in the part; in fact, he’s pretty convincing as a country bumpkin fightin’ mechanic. The question is why cast him as one.
KID GALAHAD is mostly tame and mild, with only occasional sparks of life when characters do inexplicable or say things (One character tells another, “Why you could path the eye of a monkey on a swing!” WHAT?!?). Don’t be cruel; just skip this one.
INSTEAD OF KID GALAHAD CHECK OUT: BUBBA HO-TEP (2003), the greatest Elvis movie never made, starring Bruce Campbell as The King.
THE UGLY
AVENTURERA (1950)
Starring Ninon Sevilla, Tito Junco
Directed by Alberto Gout
Unrated, 101 minutes.
Available on DVD.
If you use the term “guilty pleasure” frequently to describe your favorite films, you are guaranteed to dig the deliciously entertaining Mexican melodrama AVENTURERA. It’s an obscure film in the United States, but well known to lovers of Mexican cinema, who hail it as one of the landmark films of the cabareteras genre, where a juicy film noir story is littered with campy musical numbers.
Elena (Ninon Sevilla) has had a bad day. First, she catches her mom in the arms of another man. Then, realizing the jig is up, the mother abandons the family for the other guy, and leaves a spiteful note for her father, who promptly kills himself. Her weekend ruined, and then the rest of her life after that basically a bust, she leaves home and makes her way to the big city, where her only friend Lucio (Tito Junco) offers to help her find a job, liquors her up, then sells her into slavery as a whore in the stable of a Joan Crawford-look-alike named Rosaura (Andrea Palma). All of these incredibly tragic events occur within the film’s first five minutes, so most of the actual emotional impact is as tarnished as poor Elena’s reputation
Then things get really wacky. Rosaura finally gets Elena to accept her life of sexual servitude when the man who wrecked her family pops up in the whorehouse-slash-nightclub where Elena works. Reacting as many of us likely would when confronted by the man who killed your father, embarrassed your mother, and led you on your first steps toward prostitution, Elena smashes a bottle over his head and then kicks the living hell out of him (And Sevilla is frighteningly convincing as she wails on the guy). Rosaura, fed up with Elena’s bad behavior tries to have her kill, only to have Lucio intercede on her behalf. Eventually, Elena winds up working as a dancer at a more respectable club, where she catches the eye of millionaire Mario Cervera (Ruben Rojo). Looking for a way to lie low while the cops look for her after a bank robbery, she agrees to marry Mario and joins him for a visit to the Cervera family home. Who she meets there is one of the most shocking reveals you’ll ever see in a movie.
The rest of AVENTURERA finds Elena seeking revenge against Lucio, Rosaura, and anyone else who wronged her in the past. All the while she continues her day job as a dancer, which provides the film with a bounty of outlandish, awful, ludicrous musical numbers. In one, Elena wears a hat made of two pineapples which, in a puff of smoke mid-musical number, magically changes into an outfit decorated by a dozen bananas. The plot requires Elena to carry on dramatic dialogue scenes before and after the pineapple/banana number in costume, so while she is being blackmailed by a man who knows her secrets, you are staring at her titanic fruit hat, barely able to hear the dialogue over your howls of laughter. As I left the theater discussing this scene with a friend, an AVENTURERA fan who overheard us tried to defend the filmmaking choice to dress in pineapples then magically switch to bananas. “Hey - it happens!” he said.
Made with the subtlety of a bustling construction site, AVENTURERA is brash and noisy, with a this-is-entertaining-screw-you-if-you-don’t-like-it attitude. The editing is excessively frenetic, the music overbearingly emotional, and the acting often Boar’s Head quality ham. It practically defines the term guilty pleasure, if you’re the sort of person who still feels guilty about seeing enthralling movies that might be a little to the weird side of the mainstream.
IF YOU LIKED AVENTURERA, CHECK OUT: UNA FAMILIA DE TANTAS (1949), a camp-free Mexican melodrama, about a dictatorial father, his rambunctious daughters, and their unending conflict
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