GordonCole

Baby, excuse me for saying it, but you're my kind of woman.

I always found the song, Good Morning, Mr. Zip-Zip-Zip, to be a personal favorite which could have only been improved if Leon Beiderbecke had been on the recording.

Or for that matter, Glenn Milstead?

Let's just say, that you could get reported here for having a sense of humor undetectable to some of the vox populi, but if you were acting like Harvey Weinstein, you would probably get on just fine. Don't let it get you down.

Of course you should be complimented, Miss Wonderly, as you are the most inherently noir woman here, and so deserving of the title. Mary Astor herself could not be so appealing. Can you not see that I am your biggest fan and I will never turn you in like Sam did, and not appreciate your unique qualities of dissembling intelligence and circuitous routes of endeavor, and I mean that in the nicest way. I would never send you up to the Big House since I would miss your posts too much. Now get out there and carry on posting, and put more of these male suckers under your thumb, and don't hate me for loving your evil ways. The Black Bird is just beyond your reach this time for sure.

Wil....Burrrrr, of course.

Just joshing ya! If we got rid of all typos on forums, there'd probably be no post at all. I enjoy your posts so keep them coming.

Last week on Thursday, a rather negative review of the movie, The City of the Dead was reviewed herein on the I Just Watched thread, by a respected poster at TCM. I will take this opportunity to post an alternative viewpoint as I feel [and hope others do also] that all opinions are worthy of exposure at this forum. The opening credits of the film portend a medieval feeling what with an elegant demonic monk theme, accompanied by Gregorian chant background music. We then enter the realm of a very Lovecraftian environs in New England, which could be Arkham if it weren’t called Whitewood, with apologies to Blanch Dubois. Harking back to Dreyer’s Vampyr, we see ghostly images achieved by the skillful hands of noted director of photography, Desmond Dickinson who also lensed such classics as Hamlet, The Rocking Horse Winner, The Browning Version and others. What Dreyer achieved by shooting at twilight, Dickinson does with the aid of a sprayed paraffin that casts a mysterious spell on the village. The period is set in 1692, namely March the 3rd echoing a kind of Salem witch trials mood since a local harridan is being subjected to the ritualistic fires after a Candlemas celebration. In refusing to recant but instead cursing her accusers, they invoke the noted diatribe, “Burn, witch, burn!” in venomous tones yet are somewhat stymied by a burst of rain, which delays the final denouement of the life of witch, Elizabeth Selwyn [Patricia Jessel]. These are the first usages of the four elements in the film, of fire, water, earth and air, though Taoism adds wood, another essential item in the movie. The viewer is now transported to modern times with Professor Driscoll, as played by Christopher Lee, to debate the veracity of such demonic personages with his students, in his lecture on “The History of Witchcraft in 17th Century New England”. Any researcher of demonology or covens will tell you that when Driscoll directs young and innocent, Nan Barlow [Venetia Stevenson] to visit an Inn named after Ravens, that things may become hazardous but such is the way of all flesh and now we are on the road to the misty, foggy, eerie world of Whitewood. I need not go into any further details about the plot, so as to despoil it, let’s just say that Nan may meet her destiny on Candlemas Eve, and leave it at that. I would rather remark on many of the virtues of this extremely low budget film that has garnered praise as a cult item on many fronts. The storyline with the assistance of George Baxt is literate and intriguing and bears an interesting connection to the later renowned horror classic he worked on with Richard Matheson called, “The Night of the Eagle” which was also graced with a second moniker, “Burn, Witch, Burn”. The director, John Moxey derived incredible visual effects with a small budget, and produced said film entirely on a soundstage at Shepperton Studios. As Moxey has stated quite eloquently, his desire was to make films for people with creative imaginations who did not need to be spoon fed. For those who need films to be more formulaic and straightforward in imagery, this film is not for them. Moxey’s use of half shadows and chiaroscuro would have impressed Caravaggio, and is artistically rendered throughout in a macabre way, reeking of evil but with hidden violence. I feel it unnecessary to explain to long time horror fans, of silents and talkies, that the movie contains a certain Descent Motif in the heroine’s intrepid entrance into dangerous waters in which she is bound to become a sacrificial victim. This theme along with Moxey’s mise-en-scene tendencies in shot selections brings the viewer into the film willingly in morbid curiosity. We also are aware that in Reformation times, any search for forbidden knowledge was greeted with those ending up in the Devil’s Hellmouth possibly. Credit should also be mentioned for the choices of villagers with faces reminding one of a Bosch or Hogarth painting. This movie is full of atmospheric touches of an auto-da-fe audacity, that remind horror film buffs of antecedents in the genre like The Devil and Daniel Webster particularly in the frenetic dancing scene and influenced later films like Herk Harvey’s Carnival of Souls, Hardy’s The Wicker Man and Tombs of the Blind Dead by Osirio and even The Exorcist. It’s resemblance to Psycho in some plot points has been noted by many over the years, yet interestingly it preceded Psycho in production. All in all, one can only believe that the film in all its minor classic glory would have pleased both Howard Phillips and the professors of the occult at Miskatonic University and even witchfinder general, Mathew Hopkins more than any Peine Forte et Dure could have supplied in ardor of the fantastic. The City of the Dead is for some, a truly unique and remarkably beautiful and poetic film. Before judging a film by only one reviewer, which might dissuade one not to view it... remember: Ars Longa, Vita Brevis

I am currently reading The History of Hell by some lady who was the fiction editor at Playboy, so she know of what she speaks. Currently I am riding the crest of a wave on the River Lethe which works well after reading posts here. Speaking of all the Post paradigms including Post-Modernism and such, I only deal with Post-Post, which is following in the footsteps philosophically of Wilbur Post.

Thanks for this list. It's a wonder Ray Anthony is alive after being married to MVD.

Thank you for an unvarnished answer. There are those who would prefer that their stars remain untarnished by truth in a bio or even autobiography but I think, why write anything if it is not a true approximation of how one became one in essence. Now don't get me wrong, autobiographies which detail every liaison known to man are not the kind of truth I am looking for in my literary slacking off periods. But to paint a film star who slept their way to the top as Pollyanna out picking daisies daily, I feel is a disservice to the point of writing a book about anyone.

I have to go but want to thank you, Sgt. Markoff for the way you are deftly playing with the pretense of Miss Wonderly that you need prompting to just "do it" and post your really true and heartfelt feelings about the pure noirs you would choose. As if you are not fully capable mentally to do so without her helping you along to foist your feelings on others here. Those into expressing their "feelings" about films tend to think that this is the coup de grace on what constitutes just adulation or importance of any film. Next she'll be explaining to you how to dig deeply into your psyche and tell us what you really think about all earthly things without using all the ameliorating terminology about such themes being already sewn in ancient times, the works of Homer and so on.

Speaking of "too much" methinks the lady doth protest too much that she has a sincere interest in what Sgt. Markoff thinks. Thinly veiled but still quite apparent what the devious goal here is, but keep it up as it is entertaining. When she accuses you of being a multiple personality poster though, run for the hills.

Let's not even venture into the camp that thinks The Maltese Falcon is noir, including Eddie Muller. Hammett is laughing in Hades now I bet...

Ooh, I see the trap being set already by some ersatz dark dame trying to pin you down and make you cry uncle, Sgt. Markoff but as usual you are way too clever to become the proverbial noir male loser, who spills all his beans and then gets castigated by the same lady for whatever you says in supposed confidence. The truth is, there have been noirish tales since time immemorial, eschatologically speaking that aren't even dreamed of by Eddie Muller. His erstwhile fan club hang on his every word, as if he is to noir what Jerry Falwell was to biblical interpretation. My favorite noir character is Gil Gamesh, and if he were to appear in the noirish tale called Frogs I think all Coptic devotees would see the light at the end of the noir tunnel.

Yes, being erudite does prevent the enjoyment of many pleasures for you, I'm so sure. It must console you though to be called "pedantic" as a barb, when it is really a compliment.

What is the meaning in the above sentence for "pedantic" one might ask. Translation for Sgt. Markoff: Any post with words that had to be looked up in the dictionary by the poster.

What is the meaning in the above sentence for "pedantic" one might ask. Translation for Sgt. Markoff: Any post with words that had to be looked up in the dictionary by the poster.

I'm sure Chiparus would be complimented to hear of that connection.

Some might say "There are no boring things, just boring people." Apropos of that though, must say I was certainly not bored reading this fascinating review of Moxey's film.

Ya mean you are not desirous of purchasing a faux Chiparus Art Deco lamp for your den anytime soon?

Do you prefer a biography of a movie star, director or anyone movie related, that ignores the more unsavory aspects of their life to portray them as saintly specimens or one which tells the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but, including warts and all?

I'd go with 1919's Anne of Green Gables with Mary Miles Minter and directed by her lover, William Desmond Taylor.

I'd say ones with the wise cracking dame who thinks she knows everything but is sadly mistaken which leads to adversity as in The Blair Witch Project.

Beautifully composed tribute befitting a great actress. Much thanks also for the wonderful photos of Valentina throughout her career.