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2-23-12 CINEMA SEEN By William Margold
Best Picture---THE ARTIST
Best Director---MICHEL HAZANAVICIUS
Best Actor---JEAN DUJARDIN (“The Artist”).
Best Actress---MICHELLE WILLIAMS (“My Week With Marilyn”).
Best Supporting Actor---CHRISTOPHER PLUMMER (“Beginners”).
Best Supporting Actress---BERENICE BEJO (“The Artist”). Avoiding a page full of “shoulds, coulds, and would ifs” …I’ve decided to end the suspense very early here by leading off this column with my PREDICTIONS for the winners of the six major OSCAR categories that will be presented on Sunday evening during the Academy Awards show which will be televised on ABC. I have been a terminally addicted victim of something called TTAWWTS (“Taking The Academy Awards Way Too Seriously”) for six decades, and although having tried mightily to shake my habit, I have nevertheless succumb to it repeatedly by staging modest dinner parties (complete with contests and prizes), wherein I have eaten myself into a stupor while agonizing inanely when one of “very personal” choices lost, or howling insanely when one of my “very personal” choices won. As I am writing this, I still haven’t decided whether to nourish a few friends with one of my massive tangy tomato-paste coated meatloaves. Or to simply endure the evening’s outcome all alone, cuisinely content to hand feed myself into an unsightly, highly aromatic mess with finger friendly half slabs of pork and beef ribs obtained from Culver City’s JR’s BBQ (www.jrs-bbq.com). Slathered with their palate seductive medium hot sauce that sensuously sinks under the fingernails, and that can be nibbled on a day later…all I can say is that “if Adam had known that ribs could taste so good, there would never have been an Eve.” And although my mind is more than content thinking about those ribs, I feel that I’ve given my Oscar-izings short shrift, so here’s a little more about each category.
Best Supporting Actor---PLUMMER was delightful as a man discovering that there are two sides to the carnal coin.
Best Supporting Actress---The joyously perky Ms. BEJO was the perfect definition of what the word “supporting” is all about. Her co-star (Jean Dujardin) would have had considerably less impact, if he hadn’t of had Berenice to sound off of, despite the fact that “The Artist” was essentially a silent film.
Best Actor---Without a doubt, the most demanding performance of 2011, the dapper DUJARDIN spoke volumes of emotions…with his eyes…and his nuances. And he made our minds hear every intonation.
Best Actress---WILLIAMS gut-wrenchingly infused Marilyn Monroe with a perfect combination of a little lost lamb who could shear almost every wolf who got way too close for their (and tragically her) own good.
Best Director---You don’t have a virtually perfect film…without virtually perfect direction. HAZANAVICIUS had a very daring silent thought and saw it in black-and-white. He richly deserves to be rewarded for his efforts that made us think a whole lot about a film that we couldn’t hear, and watch something that never made us think that it wasn’t in color.
Best Picture---See above…and then bask in the
shimmering radiance of THE ARTIST.
01-12-12 CINEMA SEEN By William Margold For almost two decades, although supposedly overshadowed by the overrated and overweight onslaught of portentous parties and pompous presentations, THE LEGENDS OF EROTICA event at Showgirl Video (631 South Las Vegas Blvd.) has invariably been the most memory producing attraction during the entire Adult Entertainment Expo (www.adultentertainmentexpo.com) in Las Vegas. And on Friday evening January 20, 2012, it is expected that the inductions of seven searing LEGENDS OF EROTICA will once more be the pinnacle of pleasure for all those who attend the historical program. Chosen to be part of The Class of 2012 are JULIA ANN, FELECIA, KAYLA KLEEVAGE, DYANNA LAUREN, KATIE MORGAN, TONY MONTANA and LEXINGTON STEELE. What really makes THE LEGENDS OF EROTICA unique and heart felt is that each inductee must choose a special person from their life and/or career to be their inductor. And the choices of inductors have ranged from adoring lovers to devoted fans to extremely proud offspring to best friends and admiring co-workers, and even to, in a couple of cases, my having to perform the delicate duty, because the inductee had no absolutely idea that he was going to become a “cemented” member of THE LEGENDS OF EROTICA. The soulful results of this unparralled process inevitably produces tears, both from the onstage participants as well as from the audience of ecstatic fans whose camera clicks and flashes and enthusiastic applause, are the lifeblood of the evening. For further details, please refer to the flyer on this page. Appropriately illuminating this page are exclusive LAXPRESS shots of the Class of 2011 inductees that included Lisa Ann, Jill Kelly, and RayVeness. However, as of my deadline, I was still frantically searching for a utilitarian shot of the fourth inductee: the magnetic Mr. Marcus. And because it’s been a couple of years since I last posted their eternal glory…I’ve decided to conclude this column by presenting the complete roster of THE LEGENDS OF EROTICA (listed alphabetically/year-by-year):
1994---Veronica Hart, Nina Hartley Hyapatia Lee, Porsche Lynn and Miss Sharon Mitchell.
1995---Annette Haven, Kay Parker and Seka.
1996---Juliet Anderson, Bunny Bleu, Vanessa Del Rio and Kelly Nichols.
1997---Christy Canyon, Marilyn Chambers, John C. Holmes, Shanna McCullough and Jeanne Pepper.
1998---Erica Boyer, Jeanna Fine and William Margold.
1999---Bionca, Jamie Gillis, Gloria Leonard, Candida Royalle and Annie Sprinkle.
2000---Rene Bond, Ginger Lynn, Britt Morgan, Joey Silvera and John Stagliano.
2001---Keisha, John Leslie, “Reb” Sawitz and Teri Weigel.
2002---Justice Howard, Sharon Kane, Amber Lynn, Tori Welles and Randy West.
2003---Lee Caroll, Eric Edwards, Jim Holliday, Linda Lovelace, Ed Powers, Selena Steele and Angela Summers.
2004---T.T. Boy, Victoria Paris, Rhonda Jo Petty, Alicia Rio, and Jim South.
2005---Angel Kelly, Johnnie Keyes, Shayla Leveaux, Lynn Lemay, Mai Lin and Henri Pachard.
2006---Fred Lincoln, Cara Lott, Jody Maxwell, Tiffany Mynx, Georgina Spelvin and Paul Thomas.
2007---Sean Michaels, Minka, Ruby, Herschel Savage, Serena and Taylor Wane.
2008---Brittany Andrews, Debi Diamond, Ron Jeremy, Midori, Mimi Miyagi and Kitten Natividad.
2009---Tom Byron, Gerard Damiano, Shane, Stephanie Swift and Sunset Thomas.
2010--- Shauna Grant, Roxanne Hall, Kylie Ireland, Cleopatra of the Nile, Peter North and Joanna Storm.
2011---Lisa Ann, Jill Kelly, Mr. Marcus and RayVeness.
end
12-15-11 CINEMA SEEN By William Margold About the same time that it first dawned on me that the female species was capable of coaxing nocturnal explosions from my lanky body…I became aware of a perfectly glamorous etched image of magnetic innocence and entrancing seduction named Marilyn Monroe. It was the late 1950’s, and up to that point, girls had essentially been rough and tumble buddies on the playground, and preening nuisances in the classroom. But no matter where I dealt with them, I always thought that they whined too much…and cried too easily. Then I saw a film called “Bus Stop” and I was captured by the resiliently fragile paradox of Marilyn Monroe’s character…as well as by the lady herself. And while I felt my heart urgently wanting to protect her, I also felt other parts of me wanting to do considerably more with her. Such thoughts, and many more, came rushing back as I watched MY WEEK WITH MARILYN in the cool, dark desolation of one of The Hollywood Arclight’s auditoriums. And I was painfully mesmerized to extent of almost non-stop tears by Michelle Williams, as she transformed herself eerily into the iconic Sex Goddess. While the film itself conjures “My Favorite Year” and is a slight affair based on the perhaps way too wishful thinking memories of a production assistant named Colin Clark (played with appropriate awe by Eddie Redmayne) who worked on a film called “The Prince and the Showgirl” wherein Marilyn was ill-matched against Laurence Olivier (portrayed with the expected amount of idol worship by Kenneth Branagh), it is a shattering showcase for the exceptional Ms. Williams. Although I never met Marilyn, I’ve seen enough footage of her for me to comfortably justify stating that Michelle delivers a painfully perceptive, astoundingly seamless performance of a little girl trapped in a woman’s body who utilized her sexual wiles to get almost everything that she wanted. However, because lust was so easy to exhibit, and perhaps just as easy to dispense, the tragic underbelly of her existence was that she never seemed to really find love, and therefore was horribly lonely in a crowd of leering men who most likely were deluding themselves with thoughts that they were saving/protecting her…from everyone else…including herself. I understand this all too well, because over the last four decades, I’ve been deeply involved with ladies in the Adult Entertainment Industry who, while looking for love, will offer and accept lust as a virtually self-defeating form of acceptance. And one thing that I can attest to is that, with rare exception, I have never been hugged more powerfully, longingly and desperately than I have been by many of the XXX-rated ladies that I have befriended over the years. Indeed, while they want to get as close as possible, they are so genuinely scared of trusting, that they wind-up pushing back against their own innocent feelings. A perfect example of this resistance process is that my great love (an adult actress named Viper) always referred to having sex as “Cuddly mocking.” I could run pictures of her, and many of the other legendary adult actresses that I have been honored to hug, but this page belongs to Marilyn Monroe, and how Michelle Williams portrays her, so all the pictures radiating here are of Michelle channeling Marilyn…or if you believe in such spiritual things, and in I what I call “transmigration of the soul”…Monroe channeling herself through Williams. end
11-24-11 11-03-11 10-20-11 10-13-11 09-29-11 09-08-11 CINEMA SEEN By William Margold Comfortably wedged between Pogo and Samson, my faithful feline friends, the peacefulness was shattered by the phone ringing shortly after 7am on Tuesday, September 11, 2001. Trying to extricate myself from my bed without disturbing my furry buddies---both of who simply yawned and stretched languidly before resuming their slumbers---I stumbled to the phone. It was Brian Sebastian, my redoubtable partner in a cable TV series called MOVIE REVIEWS & MORE. “Turn on your television set,” he proclaimed in a shaky voice that demanded my doing what he uttered. As the light from my set flickered wildly into my dim living room, I saw an enormous airplane circle as if it were trapped in a grotesque dream, and then slam into an even more enormous building. “Great movie,” I said, to which Brian responded, “It’s not a movie, it’s real, terrorists have just attacked The World Trade Center,” he concluded. And as what I was witnessing began to dawn on me, I said, “Boy, I’m glad that I am 57 and not 17.” Acknowledging that sometime during this issue’s news rack existence, the 10th anniversary of that mourning (sic) will rise in the east and set in the west, I’ve come upon a remarkable DVD/CD set from Industrial Entertainment (www.industrial ent.com) called PEACE NOTES wherein legendary film composer Ennio Morricone conducts The Roma Sinfonietta Orchestra accompanied by the Choir La Fenice and soprano Susanna Rigacci in Venice, Italy. Captured on 9/10 and 9/11, 2007, the exhilarating, emotionally supercharged audio and visual experience, most assuredly will get the tears out of you that you might not have expended a decade ago. The nervous energy of Morricone’s scores are accentuated by the utilization of what appears to be a veritable menagerie of eccentric looking instruments, which are tweaked and tickled to perfectly blend in with those instruments that you are accustomed to seeing bring forth great music. Indeed, watching the impeccably dressed members of the orchestra passionately conjoined with their instruments (particularly the elegant pianist, whose platinum waterfall of a mane is a vision that angels would envy), and becoming overwhelmed by the heart-pounding sounds of the choir, as well as being enraptured by the heavenly urgent tones of Ms. Rigacci---whose winged red gown clad presence is majesty personified---one will find themselves unashamedly sobbing uncontrollably…in awe…as well as in blessed relief. I found myself replaying the main theme from “Once Upon a Time in the West,” “Abolission” (from “Quemada), “On Earth As It Is In Heaven” (from “The Mission”), the main theme from “Cinema Paradiso” and “Here’s To You” (from “Sacco and Vanzetti”), and the remarkable “Ecstasy of Gold” (from “The Good, the Bad and the Ugly”), which instinctively induces me to conduct it with my remote control…so many times…that I am afraid of wearing my disc out. But as I am putting the finishing touches to this column, the achingly sweet, agonizingly sincere strains of Ennio’s entities are filling my living room with perfection. And although I deliberated about decorating this page with album covers and motion picture images from many of the films that Master Morricone has illuminated with his wondrous work, I’ve finally decided not to, as only his presence here is necessary to compliment his creations. ************ Just in case you missed the details of how to order your own copy of PEACE NOTES…go to www.industrialent.com. end 09-01-11 CINEMA SEEN By William Margold I stood on a sun-baked cement pathway between two not particularly well-kept-up playing fields, and the unforgiving onslaught of time came crashing down on me like a massive wave, sending my emotions reeling. And, as the blazing orb beat down on my unprotected head, I wished that I had had the common sense to wear either my Detroit Lions Charities or my 1995 New York Yankees Wild Card hat. It had been cool and pleasantly overcast when I headed my faithful VW van toward a southeast appendage of downtown Los Angeles, on a recent Saturday morning. Through quirks of fate, and a friendly fellow named Salmon Murphy, I had been made aware that Central Juvenile Hall (located at 1605 Eastlake Avenue) was holding an “Open House.” Proud of the fact that, in all probability, I would be the only person in attendance who had lived there as an inmate (for over three months in 1956), and who had then come back to work there as a Deputy Probation Officer (from the summer of 1969 through 1971), I eventually found myself caught up in the realization that a great deal of my past should stay there. But I am getting a little bit ahead of my tale. Admittedly, Salmon was a gracious, albeit perhaps too gregarious a host, and the lovely lady with him eerily conjured up visions of a flame from 40 years ago, but as I wandered about feeling myself smile, but also feeling my heart grow very heavy, I couldn’t help thinking to myself, “What was I really expecting and/or looking for?” on this now sizzling Saturday in the summer of 2011. With the exception of a slightly remodeled, but still relatively same looking Unit R, where I had showed up bleary-eyed and distraught at 2am after what felt like an endless ride from Santa Monica on surface streets (because the freeway system had yet to rear its hectic head), and was booked as an “Incorrigible” on the last Sunday morning of June 1956, almost every other landmark from my past(s) in “Juvie” was gone. As a 12 year old, I had spent 100-plus days and nights in the dormitory setting of Unit W. Sadly I discovered that that building had been demolished shortly before I returned to work at CJH. Indeed, when I was released to Vista Del Mar in Culver City, I swore that I would return to “The Hall.” It took almost 13 years, but I did, and as a DPO, I spent my first year handling the intake duties of Unit R, before I was transferred to Units E/F. And it was there that I truly became “An Overage Juvenile Delinquent” proudly treating my “kids” as fairly (and squarely) as I had been treated in Unit W. Of course I was hoping to see that old building during this “Open House”…but like Unit W…it had also been demolished, and in its place stood a rather sterile looking edifice. By now you are probably wondering about my choice of images (some of which were generously provided by the friendly folks of Hollywood Book and Poster) for this page. And that brings me back to the opening of this column, because where I was standing, there had been an old auditorium, in which, on selected days, first as an inmate, and then as an officer with my own inmates, such cinematic enchantments as “Gunga Din,” “Beau Geste,” “High Noon,” “King Kong,” and in particular, “The Crimson Pirate,” would cause me (first, as a wide-eyed child, and then as an even wider-eyed “overage juvenile delinquent”) to spill back out onto the playing fields, and to enact the swashbuckling, gun-slinging, derring-do showdowns that I, and my “kids” had just witnessed. And the real magic of those moments has warmed my senses ever since…because even the most mean street toughened of the “kids” that I lived with in 1956…and then watched over in 1970 thru 1971…couldn’t help but get caught up in the action that those films, and many others like them, inspired. So I shuddered a little, feeling a chill despite the heat, as those images rushed at me back faster than I was prepared to handle them. And a few tears managed to escape before I could choke them back. Then I slowly turned, and walked away from those pieces of my past---realizing that while I truly treasured them---I could now finally (and perhaps, forever) bury them even deeper in the dog-eared scrapbook of my mind. end
08-18-11 CINEMA SEEN By William Margold After last week’s polishing off of 2010 titles, I am returning to the discussion of 2011 releases. And I guess that the best way to present the following quintet of titles is in the order that I saw them. And because I truly believe that “pictures speak louder than words” (even mine), I am utilizing a couple of shots in a couple of cases, to give you a better idea of the films focused upon here. Just like, in one case, I am utilizing absolutely no image at all to display my contempt for the movie being mentioned. BEGINNERS---The absolutely perfect example of a lovable “little” film…Mike Mills’ deliciously delicate creation about venturing onto the extremely thin ice of sexual and emotional relationships is the only production that I’ve seen so far in 2012 that screams Oscar nominations from its pretty heads to its nail-polished toes. A son (performed with admirable uneasiness by Ewan McGregor) discovers that his dying father (Best Supporting Actor cinch nominee---and mostly likely winner---Christopher Plummer) has blissfully blown the hinges off of his closet door, and is essentially a “happy homosexual.” And while he tries to cope with his father passing, Ewan must also (quite fearfully) deal with the “beginnings” of his own lust/love/like involvement with “too good to be true” Melanie Laurent (my own current cinematic heartthrob, as noted in last week’s acknowledgement of “The Concert”). And I haven’t even mentioned the presence of the picture’s canine Greek chorus, because I figure that I (and maybe even, he, in various marketing campaigns) will be talking lots more about this movie during next year’s award season. SUPER 8---I watched J.J. Abrams’ very personal effort twice before proclaiming it to be a somewhat touching blend of “Stand By Me” with “Invaders From Mars.” But more importantly, I also decided that the evocatively mounted production was/is all just a dream, wherein Abrams’ yearning teenage alter-ego (an appropriately pensive Joel Courtney) is not only the hero of the piece (saving his tiny, rather insulated, late 1970’s based, middle American town from a misunderstood alien), gets the object of his adolescent angst (Elle Fanning), and even finds some solace for the recent death of his mother. Of course, he also has the time to get involved in the making of a mini-movie (with his pals) about zombies that (be advised) runs throughout the credits…so don’t leave the theatre before the lights come up. That will also give you extra time to wipe up your tears. THE TREE OF LIFE---If I worked very hard, I might be able to hack out (and/or off) enough natural wonder, volcanic and teeming ocean waves footage (dare I say, “branches”) from Terrence Malick’s inexorably barren experience to fashion a relatively reasonable 38-minute-long IMAX entity called “The Creation.” Otherwise, the insufferable mess is the perfect example of a film that many pretentious critics will genuflect to because they will refuse to admit that they didn’t know what in the HELL was going on during the majority of its interminable 140-minutes. CAPTAIN AMERICA: THE FIRST AVENGER---I don’t think that I have ever felt being so “dumbed-down-to” as I did trying to duck and dodge (but also, ironically trying to stay awake) through what director Joe Johnston was tossing at me. In fact, I felt as if I were being bludgeoned into submission by an endless supply of extremely juvenile super-powered hero-oriented comic books. Then again, my own comic book images (from the early 1950’s) were those writhing about in such sensibilities shattering entities as “The Vault of Horror” and “Tales From The Crypt.” And those nightmare inducers were always good (an/or bad) for being almost “scared to death.” TRANSFORMERS: DARK OF THE MOON---And speaking of “being bludgeoned into submission”…the latest adventures of the clinking, clanking, clunking, calumburous collection of rampaging robots (btw: I still can’t figure out which bucket of nuts and bolts is a good, bad or simply indifferent junkyard joy boy), exhausted every ounce of my patience, and most uncomfortably made me seriously rethink my decision to become a film reviewer…way back in 1968. end 08-11-11 CINEMA SEEN By William Margold For no real reason, other than I feel ornery, I’ve decided that this will be the serving of Cinema Seen wherein I say a fond (and no-so-fond) farewell to last titles from 2010 that I was even remotely interested in catching up with. And in the majority of cases, thanks to the facility of NETFLIX (and to a lesser extent, the cranky monolithic presence of REDBOX), I finally did create enough of a backlog of 2010-ers that it demanded to be dealt with. All in small (or thereabouts), a couple of overstuffed handfuls of films will mentioned here, and the only reason some of the lesser ones are being pictorially represented is that the useable artwork for a few of those that I sort of liked, simply got tossed out. Therefore the genuinely involving, richly conspiratorial, truth be damned “Fair Game,” and the effectively emotional “The Switch,” sadly find themselves un-pictured, along with the instantly forgettable likes of the remarkably un-cuddly “Love and Other Drugs,” the no-where of “Somewhere,” something called “Catfish,” the seemingly endless “Another Year,” the lack of tension (despite the presence of Russell Crowe) in “The Next Three Days,” the barren boredom of “The Way Back,” something else called “Casino Jack,” and the squirm inducing cute-less-ness of James Brooks’ “How Do You Know” (which was annoyingly missing a question mark at the end of it title.) ???! BIUTIFUL---I dared to make my Oscar prediction in the Best Actor category before I saw this Inarritu directed intolerability that garnered the immensely watch able but herein achingly angst ridden Javier Bardem his nomination in that category. Let’s just say that Colin Firth (for his remarkable all-consuming performance in “King’s Speech”) really had nothing to worry about. And besides, Bardem added Penelope Cruz to his trophy case within the last year. And he can certainly do more with her than he can with another Oscar (remember he won for monotonically grumbling through “No Country For Old Men’). COUNTRY STRONG---Aimed at those who pick their noses with pitchforks and consider chomping on pork rinds to be gourmet dining, this undercooked concoction of road kill wasted the talents of Gwyneth Paltrow, and especially Tim McGraw, during its hell-bent toward self-destruction look at a fictional Country Music industry superstar. Atmospherically vacant, and virtually dimensionless, the slow go show doesn’t even have a memorable tune to hang its long johns and/or bib on. NEVER LET ME GO---Disturbing mind stuff here, this perversely poetic venture into the eerie possibility that some people are bred to simply be spare body parts, had me looking over my shoulder ever so often, even though I was watching it in the supposed security of my own home. Note…that I said “supposed”…as Samson, my histrionic Himalayan cat has been lying suspiciously close to my computer lately. And I get very odd e-mails after I’ve been away from home for a long period of time. Well…the joke’s on him, because after over six decades of various forms of brutalization and/or abuse…not many of my body parts are worth much any more. THE CONCERT---Despite the fact that she was in Quentin Tarantino’s insufferable “Inglorious Bastards”…I have developed a serious cinematic crush on the radiant Melanie Laurent. Her magic can be cherished currently in 2011’s best serious film (so far) “Beginners” (which I will discuss next week), and is gloriously on display in the sadly unrecognized 2010 production about a music conductor’s eternal journey toward melodic recognition that got strangled in the red tape of political intrigue and turmoil. LITTLE FOCKERS---I’ve saved the worst for last here, and I’ve made sure that its picture is much smaller than all of the other shots on this page. If Ben Stiller’s electric carving knife had gone out of control during the turkey sequence and had slaughtered everyone else at the dinner table, and had then turned on him…I might have been able to say something good about this pitiful piece of puerile picture making. If there is ever another one of these things…it had better be called “The Focker Solution.” end 07-28-11 CINEMA SEEN By William Margold Continuing my attempt to “catch-up” with 2011 releases, while three of the titles being discussed on this page are still, most likely, making their way through movie theaters in your neighborhood, and will, most likely, be doing so until Labor Day, I’m leading off with---thanks to www. firstrunfeatures.com---a title that was virtually a blink of the misty eye during its very brief local theatrical run…but is now, most certainly, a thought-provoking force to reckon with on DVD. HEY, BOO: HARPER LEE & TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD---While I was still trying to figure out what I was going to do with my life in the very early years of the 1960’s…the cinematic version of Harper Lee’s evocative novel snuck into my soul, and it has resonated there (melodically enhanced by Elmer Bernstein’s simplistically sweet score and Gregory Peck’s sublime nobility) ever since. And whenever things are darkest around me, I mentally shuffle through the dog-eared scrapbook in my mind, and use the memory of discovering Ms. Lee’s creation to brighten up the moment. Therefore, I can’t say enough wonderful things about Mary McDonagh Murphy’s delicate documentary about the enigmatic novelist, as it finally gave me the opportunity to learn as much as possible about the relatively mythic Harper and the tumultuous times that bred her masterwork. However…I would be greatly remiss if I didn’t---at the least---say, “Thank you!” X-MEN: FIRST CLASS---All the way through this highly enjoyable effort from director Michael Vaughn (whose “Kick Ass” I loathed), I kept thinking, “Why wasn’t this the “first” entry in the “X-Men” series?” Genuinely under whelmed by all the machinations of the mutants (including Wolverine) that have come before, I was ready for more of the lame same, but herein I got to meet quite a number of the oddly endowed heroes to be at essentially the same time that they discover that they are going to be able to save the world while not being allowed to fit into it. This is stuff of that “growing up painfully” is made of…and it provides immense viewing pleasure. PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN: ON STRANGER TIDES---By the time that the third chapter of “Pirates” sailed into its 2007 sunset, while I was sure that there was more than a little of Jack Sparrow in me, I was (almost) equally sure that I really didn’t want to see any more of him. But then (and it’s hopefully displayed here) always on the scene affable Rick Garcia (industrybyrick.com) snapped a weary shot of me at this April’s X-Rated Critic Organization event at The Hollywood Highlands with Johnny Depp looking over my shoulder, and I knew my big screen sailing plans were on the horizon...again! And so I ventured into “On Stranger Tides” hoping for the best but fearing the worst. However, enriched with a search for The Fountain of Youth driven plotline, the masterful villainy of Ian McShane (as Black Beard), the perky presence of Penelope Cruz, some very fishy Mermaids, and the recurring rascality of Geoffrey Rush (as Barbossa), Depp’s Sparrow flies (and flits) about with consummate joy, and in the process caused me to be thrilled over having the chance to be in the company of an old cinematic friend…again! HORRIBLE BOSSES---Continuing my policy of not running artwork with films that don’t deserve it, this uncomfortable mess conjured up visions of The Three Stooges (perhaps the least funny group of all-time), and only succeeded in reminding me of how I got revenge on my worst boss of all-time---an autocratic jerk who ran UCLA’s faculty center dining room in 1962. He was known as “The Colonel”---and he tromped around the area smoking a cigar and waving a fly swatter---bellowing out orders like Capt. Bligh. Fed up, I called the Humane Dept. and asked them to send over someone to pick up a mad dog called “The Colonel.” And they did, right in the middle of lunch. And to make my revenge even sweeter (and colder), one of the uniformed dogcatchers found an open mike, and, in front of a packed house of avaricious eaters, proceeded to announce that they had, “Come for The Colonel.” I wasn’t serving pickled beets that afternoon on my buffet table, but if I had been, “The Colonel’s” flustered face would have been in grand, but hardly compassionate, company. end 07-21-11 CINEMA SEEN By William Margold It’s been quite a while since I’ve dealt with any 2011 motion picture releases. But gloriously reenergized by the finale of HARRY POTTER…I feel that the time is not only right to play the first installment of a three part “catch-up” game (look for the second portion next week, and the third part as my August 4 column) by acknowledging a handful (including “Harry”) of the better 2011 efforts with artwork…but to also eliminate (dare I say, “punish”) a quartet of 2011 efforts…without the benefit of any artwork whatsoever. Therefore…the squirming unendurability of ”The Hangover Part II,” the overwhelming sense of one-take-ism of “Bad Teacher,” the ho-hum-hero-less-ness of “Green Lantern,” and the very slightness of “Larry Crowne” are all rendered into fodder for the thought of making a case for cinematic recycling. HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATHLY HALLOWS---PART TWO: I richly deserve to be sent to bed without dinner for at least a couple of nights for daring to doubt (after not having very much fun struggling through Part One of “Hallows”) that this magnificent series wouldn’t resolve itself in a manner befitting its early brilliance. Indeed…the fantastic, feelings-rich finale is not only the Best Film that I’ve seen so far this year…it is so beautifully fashioned…on so many wondrous levels…that I wouldn’t be surprised if doesn’t garner a Best Film Oscar nomination, and that Daniel Radcliffe (who has marvelously maturated into his role of the heroic Harry Potter) isn’t nominated for Best Actor as the enduring, damned by destiny wizard in the soaring movie-going experience that has dazzled the senses for over a decade. And if I said anymore about what transpires in the climatic chapter…then my going to bed without dinner would have to be extended to at least a week. FAST FIVE---Although the cars in this hyper-active high-octane effort have most of the best lines, the friendship between Paul Walker and Vin Diesel continues to blossom in enviable ways. And it doesn’t hurt to have Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson along for the rubber-burning, gear-grinding, skid mark screeching ride toward what I’m sure will be a sixth installment sometime in 2013. THOR---What the intolerable “Green Lantern” dreamed of being…this genuinely involving visit from (and with) a rather egotistical superego (played broadly by Chris Hemsworth) is…and it has “Starman” qualities all over it. Sprightly hammered out by director Kenneth Branagh, the production is enhanced by Natalie Portman, whose awe eases into affection as the simplistic plotline plays out. THE BEAVER---It isn’t what you think it is. And it sure as Hell isn’t what you expect. Mel Gibson sinks into a depression and comes out of it (sort of) fashioning an alternate-ego in the stuffed persona of an affable bucktooth wood nibbler. Jodie Foster artfully directs as well as adorably endures the evocative oddity that may well force Hollywood to take another look at the immensely watch able Mr. Gibson. Is there another “Lethal Weapon” (that isn’t himself) in his future? BRIDESMAIDS---Breast comedy of 2011 (so far), the Kristen Wiig created female-powered ferocity is a blow way below the belt to those men who are still naïve enough to think that they are the dominate sexual animal. Smart, sharp, sly and even sympathetic, Wiig (who co-wrote the hilarity with Annie Mumolo…and with whom I’m sure she will co-write the inevitable sequel), slaughters scared male chauvinistic cows with glee. And even when her storyline, and the Paul Fieg helmed film resorts to a food poisoning driven bathroom scene…it is rendered with such natural necessity, rather than gratuitous grossness, that it richly (albeit raucously, thanks to the bigger the better presence of Melissa McCarthy) validates the sentiment: “When you’ve got to go…you’ve got to go!” end
07-07-11 CINEMA SEEN By William Margold Major League Baseball---and in particular---the New York Yankees---have been a part of my life since a cool afternoon in October 1953 when, while ambling home from McKinley Grammar School in Santa Monica, I noticed a headline that read: “Billy The Kid Wins World Series!” As I stood in front of the LA MIRROR news rack, shivering a little as the ocean breeze driven twilight engulfed me, my wildly imaginative ten year old mind envisioned one of my favorite cowboy legends blasting away on a massive playing field many, many, many miles away. I had absolutely no idea about what anything else on that front page meant. Or, for that matter, just who (and/or what), the New York Yankees were all about. In fact, it really wasn’t until October two years later, when I heard (on a blaring radio…while taking in the sights and smells of Coney Island) the New York Yankees lose the seventh game of the 1955 World Series to the Brooklyn Dodgers, and I watched people going wild all around me, that I began to realize what the game of professional baseball was all about…and just how much it really meant to be a fan of a team. But Major League Baseball’s life long impact on my sensibilities, and the solidifying of me as a Yankee fan didn’t take permanent hold until a bright blue October morning in 1956, when, as an inmate in Unit W of Los Angeles’ Central Juvenile Hall, I was allowed (because I had earned---by during chores and behaving just enough---“messenger” status), to watch what would turn out to be the Yankees’ Don Larsen pitch a “perfect game” against the Dodgers. And it was at that time, that I also realized that Billy The Kid was, in fact, the Yankees’ second baseman Billy Martin. The indelibility of that moment came rushing back (along with a flood of tears), as I watched Ed Randall interview Yogi Berra (the fellow who caught Larsen’s historical game), as part of an exceptionally evocative DVD series called TALKING BASEBALL (www.talkingbaseball.net). Randall is remarkably unobtrusive in the presence of the other Yankee “Legends” on the DVD, including Whitey Ford, Phil Rizzuto, and the magnificent Mickey Mantle. (Regarding Mr. Mantle, a very dear and very special friend of mine known simply as “Reb”…just recently felt that I needed a replica New York Yankees jersey emblazoned with Mickey’s #7 on its back, to wear the next time that I wanted to boldly display my Yankee pride, so he sent it to me, because that’s what life-long Yankee fans, friends, and very special people in each others lives, do.) In appreciation of Mr. Randall, while I could sense his genuine awareness of his “great fortune” that the little boy baseball fan in him was now basking in the glow of his “bigger than life” baseball heroes, I admired the fact that he never ever missed a beat in acknowledging their impact(s) on the game. That Major League Baseball’s annual All-Star game will be played (on July 12) in Arizona, while this issue is on the stands, most certainly justifies my devoting an entire page (although with very limited artwork), to Ed’s treasure trove of material. Besides the aforementioned Yankees’ DVD, Volumes One of other teams included in the first round of TALKING BASEBALL are the Atlanta Braves, the Boston Red Sox (featuring, among others, Ted Williams), the Chicago Cubs (featuring Ernie Banks), the Cincinnati Reds, the Detroit Tigers, the Minnesota Twins (featuring Harmon Killebrew), the New York Mets (featuring Tom Seaver), the Philadelphia Phillies (featuring Robin Roberts), the Pittsburgh Pirates, the San Francisco Giants (featuring Orlando Cepeda), and the St. Louis Cardinals (featuring Bob Gibson). And, I guess that it is appropriate that I end this column by calling attention to the fact that while TALKING BASEBALL (www.TalkingBaseball.net) includes Volume One of Mr. Randall’s interviews with members of the Los Angeles Dodgers, it also incorporates a couple of gentlemen who played for the Brooklyn Dodgers, in particular, a pitcher named Johnny Podres, who beat the (my) Yankees way back on that Coney Island October day in 1955. end 05-26-11 CINEMA SEEN By William Margold Dear Friend: I am a Marine in the Saudi Desert, and I believe in what we are fighting for---FREEDOM---and I believe in what you are fighting for. My troops and I watch adult videos on base in the States. And being over here you see that these people don’t have that FREEDOM. So we don’t want to lose that. We want to come back and watch all the adult videos we want to. We have been over here for six months and we want to put a video in and see a beautiful woman, but that is after we do the real thing with our wives and girlfriends. The important thing is the thought of losing a FREEDOM that people have died for. We can’t let that happen. Semper Fi SSgt. Anthony Hairston Operation Desert Storm *********** SSgt. Anthony Hairston’s heartfelt sentiments were sent to FOXE (The Fans of X-Rated Entertainment) in February 1991. The original copy of the letter is safely put away among my most treasured possessions, because it inspired the most enduring, dynamic and thought provoking image ever created for the Adult Entertainment Industry---the “Fighting For Your Freedom”/”Freedom Isn’t Free” poster---and its many subsequent incarnations: ranging from t-shirts to mouse pads, and from lapel pins to wall calendar---to the explosive sentiment (“This is your freedom/This is censorship/Get the point?”) at the beginning of millions of adult videos and DVDs. But its birth wasn’t as easy as you would think. I was living with the notorious adult actress, Viper at the time, who had served in the Marines for six years. So when I suggested that I was “going to take the legendary Iwo Jima picture and put five more adult actresses in it besides you” she grinned, politely thanked me for thinking so highly of her, but also matter-of-factly cautioned, “You had better get their (the Marines) permission.” Charged with that mission (although even my most naïve associates fully know that I would have proceeded with plan---permission…or not!) I ventured off to the Marines’ offices off of La Brea Ave. and Rodeo Blvd. near Baldwin Hills. After wandering around the corridors for a while, with just enough expression on my face to suggest that I knew where I was going, I located a formidable Gunnery Sergeant named Enrique Torres, who just happened to be in charge of public relations. When I boldly announced, “I’m going to take six adult industry actresses and put them in the Iwo Jima pose,” Torres bristled, and immediately all sorts of images from Leon Uris’ “Battle Cry” flashed before my eyes. Hmmm, could a civilian be put on KP? Was there a special stockade for “public nuisances?” Having been refused by the Marines when I tried to enlist in 1960 (because I had been “incorrigible” during my juvenile delinquent days), would I now be forced to serve? Torres quickly dispelled any of my concerns, by following up his bristle with a smile, and a quick response, “sure, Sir, and I’ll be happy to help choreograph it for you.” After insisting that he call me anything but “Sir”…I told him that I would start rounding up the ladies, and a photographer, and report back to him in the near future. Realizing that I needed the very best photographer available, and having just become aware of Brad Willis’ striking box covers for a couple of major adult video companies, I contacted him, and rather easily persuaded him to help me create “an image for the ages.” Of course, he would be “volunteering” his photographic services, and those of his wife, who would function as make–up artist and set director. FOXE would cover all of the other production expenses (film, developing, studio rental, etc.). It’s interesting to note here that when I dropped my idea on the table of the next Adult Video Association board meeting, I was told not to do it, and in fact, “that it would be unpatriotic.” Essentially their resistance guaranteed the project’s completion, as the five most important in the (my) adult entertainment alphabet are R-E-B-E-L. Finding adult actresses to join Viper in the shot wasn’t very hard, as every lusty lady I contacted absolutely demanded to be part of the project. The only problem was their extremely busy schedules. And I’m talking about a smoldering spectrum of stars including Nina Hartley, Jeanna Fine, Britt Morgan, Ashlyn Gere, Raven, Cameo, and Brandy Alexandre. As I wanted to premiere the poster at July 1991 Video Software Dealer’s Association convention in Las Vegas, I knew that it to be shot by the end of May, in order to allow enough for printing…which had been volunteered by Michael Warner and Great Western Litho. Therefore, on the Sunday before Memorial Day 1991, in a tiny studio in Culver City, the six “Freedom” femmes who slipped into tattered battle garb and struck the powerful pose were (clockwise) Viper, Porsche Lynn, Alicyn Sterling, Taylor Wane, Selena Steele and Ashley Nicole. The shooting took over seven hours. Willis snapped off 60 shots. Gunnery Sgt Torres was on hand, and watched in awe at the enthusiastic desire by the six, as Selena would call them, “Warriors.” It was very hot and extremely uncomfortable…both factors exacerbated by the presence of a smoke machine. Brad’s wife tried to keep the ladies’ spirits up, but the precise posing pressures began to fray the nerves of all involved. Finally, as the atmosphere neared intolerability, Willis announced that he had what he needed. Driving home in the hazy twilight, emotionally drained, I told Viper that she had just been part of “something great.” She smiled and responded, “I hope so.” Four days later, she left the adult entertainment industry, driving, as I heart achingly pronounced, “out of history into legend.” And the legend of the flag raising image lives on as well, as it has been 20 years since that sweltering photo session in Culver City, and the radiance of what was rendered that day now glorifies a stunning t-shirt---which, whenever I wear it---never fails to be commented on quite favorably…and is always the topic of “obtainable” conversation. ************ So…to that extent…the t-shirts are being re-issued through LOUIE MAX’S Custom Imprinting (www.info@louiemax.com)…and should be available for YOU to wear proudly this summer.
end
05-19-11 By William Margold
It’s hard to be humble when one has been thought worthy of getting the chance to fondle a Golden Flying Penis. The delicately hand crafted Lifetime Achievement Erotic Award will be presented to me on Friday, May 20 at the Night of the Senses Ball in London, England by Dr.Tuppy Owens, and is emblematic for those who “counteract negative attitudes to sex and sex workers by honoring artists and activists who have devoted their lives to making the world a sexier, more liberated place.” Although toying with the concept of flying over there to accept the honor in person, I trust that whomever does latch onto it for me will care for it long enough to package it up safely, and then post it over to me, so that I can I place it in a prominent position on my stylishly swollen “awards” shelf. Acquiescing to “commonsensorship”…I fully realized that displaying the trophy on this page might rattle the fragile cages of readers with delicate sensibilities, so I’m running the event’s website instead--- www.eroticawards.co.uk---in the hope that bolder readers out there might take a peek at trophy as well as learn considerably more about Dr. Owens, The Grand Jury of Conspicuous Sensuality, and the charity--- www.outsiders.org.uk---that will be benefiting from The Night of the Senses Ball. (In place of a shot of my latest award are shots---with many of my all-time favorite X-rated friends---from adult industry events---that should provide indelible proof that my being honored is fully justified.) What follows are parts of a press release from Dr. Owens’ organization, wherein the basis (dare I say, “justification”) of my award is overwhelmingly delineated. William Margold’s involvement in the American adult entertainment industry has spanned almost four decades: actor (in over 160 films), scriptwriter, director, agent, critic, activist, welfare counselor…and the voice of conscience… in an industry commonly thought to lack one. He has devoted his life to the letter X, with an uncompromising honesty and passion, earning him the nickname “Papa Bear” from those who he refers to as his “kids”---the overage juvenile delinquents who populate the world of hardcore entertainment. He calls this world “The Playpen of the Damned”…and states, with a great contempt toward a hypocritical society, “That my kids are jacked off to with one hand and then denied with the other.” In October 1985, he began his testimony in front of the anti-porn Meese Commission with “In a society that is drug-infested, violence-wracked and polluted by chemical greed…no one has ever died from an overdose of Pornography.” He has been a tireless fighter against censorship, serving for over 15 years (1988-2003) as a director of The Adult Video Association and The Free Speech Coalition, for whom his imaginative fund raising items (including the iconic---currently celebrating its 20th anniversary---“Freedom Isn’t Free” flag-raising image) have been the high spot of numerous adult industry trade shows. Tired of the favoritism that he saw in the early adult film award ceremonies, in 1984 he co-founded, with the late Jim Holliday, the X-Rated Critics Organization (XRCO) to present honors untainted by commercial bias. And when, in 1989, he recognized that the adult industry frequently had no respect for its consumers, he conceived, with his great friend and love Viper, Fans Of X-Rated Entertainment (FOXE), to give the viewers---through legendary annual shows---a chance to meet and mingle with their favorite performers. But perhaps his most significant creation is Protecting Adult Welfare (PAW) www.pawfoundation.org---a non-profit outreach organization (established in 1994) that provides an umbrella of support for anyone in the adult industry. His current campaign is “21 in 2012” through which he hopes to persuade the adult industry to raise the age of performing hardcore sexual activities on screen to 21. Since the passing of X’s first historian, Jim Holliday in 2004, Margold, faithfully adhering to his motto---“There is no future, if in the present, we fail to pay homage to the past”---has proudly accepted the role of XXX’s preservationist, making himself freely available for interviewers and documentary film makers who want to learn about “The Golden Era of X.” In their book “Once More, With Feeling” Victoria Coren & Charlie Skelton declared of William Margold: “He is pornography.” end 04-28-11 CINEMA SEEN By William Margold David F. Friedman was a raconteur par excellence and the robust ringmaster of an adult entertainment exploitation era long gone, wherein his productions were based on what you thought that you saw instead of what you really saw. And then, because you were somewhat ashamed to admit that you had gone into the movie theatre hoping to see more, and you really hadn’t seen very much, you said that you saw lots more than you really did. You are encouraged to read the above concept over a couple of times. And by the time that you are done…I’ll bet that you’ll be laughing out loud---at yourself…and with yourself---in a manner emulating Dave himself. David F. Friedman passed away on Valentine’s Day, 2011. He was 87 years old. His body simply wore out. But his spirit will burn brightly forever. ************ A decade before I met him (in the mid-Seventies), because I regularly attended The Majestic Theatre in Santa Monica, I was acutely aware of his productions, and in particular, the 1964 “gory girlie” called BLOOD FEAST”…that unlocked the zipper of my mind…in many more ways than one! Coincidentally, the Herschell Gordon Lewis directed production starred my all-time favorite Playboy centerfold…June 1963’s Connie Mason. And while she didn’t bare much at all in the film, my anticipation of seeing what she had so coyly kept away from my eyes in her layout, fueled my frenzy to a fevered pitch. In 2000, Dave, fully aware of my adoration for Ms. Mason, invited me to a screening of a documentary about him and his cronies at which Connie was making a guest appearance. And while I grinned like a demented Cheshire cat as she signed the yellowing (from age, etc.) centerfold that I laid out before her, and I babbled my dedication and delight…she confided, “You know that it was because you really didn’t see any of me at all.” ************ Within a couple of years of my entering the X-rated industry, one of my activities had become regularly reviewing adult films in a number of adult-themed street papers…including The Hollywood Press…the precursor of the publication that you are holding in your hands. Eventually…and apparently…my reviews became so troublesome, that I was called to appear on the carpet of David F. Friedman’s office on Cordova St. It was 8 in the morning…but he offered me a cigar…similar to the miniature telephone pole that he was brandishing. I politely declined. And then I noticed a poster for “Blood Feast”---along with quite a number of other posters from my mid-Sixties Majestic Theatre movie-going days…and I realized that this portly gentleman had indeed been my “Wizard of Ahhh’s”…and that therefore considerable genuflection was due…for many more reasons than one! Dave proceeded to mildly scold me for being “too severe a critic”…and sagaciously suggested, “it would be better to promote rather than pillage…since we are a considerably smaller village than the mainstream world.” I would have been foolish to misunderstand his meaning. And besides…I was anxious to tell him just how important his films had been to me during my Majestic Theatre going past. We went to lunch. We became friends. We went to many more lunches. And eventually…as my adult entertainment industry activities expanded all the way from actor to activist…with scriptwriting, directing, talent representation, public relations and advertising/marketing included for good measure…most importantly, we became mutual admirers. ************ And so it was in February 1985, when The X-Rated Critics Organization (XRCO) was struggling to bring “truth and honor” to the award giving game---in the fearsome face of Dave’s very powerful but highly suspect Adult Film Association of America (AFAA) award bestowing process---that I showed up on his Cordova St. carpet to plead its case. It was a two-cigar meeting. With lunch in the middle. But, by the time I staggered (because I inhale anything that I’ve smoked) out of his office, the XRCO had his blessing. Oh yeah…it might have helped when I told him that he was going to be the first person inducted into the XRCO’s Hall of Fame. Therefore…as his laughter resonated with volcanic warmth---and he said, “God damn, Billy, never stop being you”---I sensed that a torch was being passed to me that had to burn as brightly honoring the past, as it would have to glow in the present, and that was going to be needed to help illuminate the future.
end
04-07-11 CINEMA SEEN By William Margold It all began with her eyes. Although I couldn’t help noticing, thanks to the last vestiges of the setting sun, that she was wearing only what she had been born with under her white dress…it was the mischievous glint radiating from her autumn green orbs that captured a great deal more of my attention. It was April 7, 1986…and I was in the presence of a lady who I would name VIPER (for reasons to be explained below), and my life was about to change…forever! The lithe (5’9’’) redhead announced that she was hungry. Anxious to please, I took her to the long defunct Ah Fong’s (next to Greenblatt’s) on Sunset Blvd., and during the next two hours, I sat in awe, watching her delicately work her way through quite a number of Chinese dishes, and two bottles of white wine, listening to a considerable portion of her life story. Raised on the East Coast, she had studied ballet with The American Ballet Theatre. But not achieving the level of performing that she aspired to, she then joined The Marine Corps.During her six-year stint, she managed to “service” her country more than it was used to, to the extent that she was discharged for “fraternization.” Back on the East Coast, she went to work…hustling on The Block in Baltimore, and then pleasure providing on Arch Street in Philadelphia. There she met a notorious tattoo artist named Harry Von Groff, and over a nine month period allowed herself to become adorned (from left tit to pierced clit) with a spectacular image of snakes, foliage, and a tiger…a portion of which appears here…as displaying its starting and ending points would most certainly violate this easily accessible news rack publication’s relationship with the community. And now she was sitting opposite me expressing her desire to perform in the Adult Entertainment Industry for a reason that would sum up her truly remarkable ability to come right to the point, “So I can have sex with 10,000 men at a time rather than just one.” (That sentiment is dutifully designed and documented here…courtesy of Carnal Comics.) I hadn’t said very much up to this point, content to listen, and eat, and even drink my fair share of the wine. And of course…I hadn’t seen her infamous body artwork. But, perhaps bolstered by the wine, I felt compelled to interrupt her, and I cautiously offered, “Your adult industry performing name is going to be Viper.” Her eyes flashed with the fire of acknowledging something well analyzed, and richly deserving of considerable appreciation. And during our walk back to my apartment on DeLongpre Ave. in West Hollywood, when I reached out to hold her tiny left hand, she took it willingly, and she clutched it intensely. Later that evening I got to see her tattoo, as well as everything else I had already sort of seen through her dress. But it wasn’t until the third night that we slept together. That waiting period proved to be the best decision of my life During the next couple of days, I took her to see many of my X-Rated industry associates, including World Modeling’s legendary talent agent Jim South, who immediately realized Viper’s potential, and proceeded to book work for her. She expressed her great admiration for Jim, and called him, “a true gentleman.” For the record…Viper’s first hardcore film appearance was in “White Trash.” It was shot off of Coldwater Canon on a Saturday morning in early May 1986. I mention this because back in 1986, making adult films in California was illegal. And while I was playing football at 1100 Coldwater Canon that morning, I was horrified to watch a number of siren blaring police cars zoom up the street. But my fears were thankfully for naught as Viper returned home later that afternoon with a big grin on her face. She gleefully reported, while luxuriating in a tub of extremely hot water (her routine after every performance), that her first boy-girl scene had been with Tom Byron. And as her eyes grew wide with an expression of amused wonderment, she exclaimed, “He kept calling me ‘Mommy’.” (Almost all of her credits can be found at www.iafd.com.) One day, well into our second year of being together, I asked her what she would have done had we slept together the first night we met. Instantaneously she responded, “I would left the next morning. But I sensed that you wanted more from me. And when we didn’t have sex on the second night, I figured that you wanted to be my friend.” At that point, Viper began to cry. I rushed over to hug her. Instead, she extended her tiny left hand, and I clutched it intensely with both of mine. She looked at me with tear-reddened eyes that ate their way deep into my heart, and sobbed, “I’ve haven’t had many friends.” Hopefully, a few of
the shots on this page will reflect that way beyond anything else in
our five-year relationship---as well as forever---Viper is the best
friend that I’ve ever had.
03-10-11 CINEMA SEEN By William Margold Although I am relatively content in having picked four out of the six major categories (including Best Director/Tom Hooper for “The King’s Speech”) correctly in the recently bestowed Academy Award---I feel obligated to discuss those who prevented me from being perfect as well as those who seriously contended (and in two cases…won!)---and many of those who were just taking up space. This page will also serve to acknowledge a number of the titles in the ridiculously expanded to 10-titles Best Picture category…that was won most deservingly by “The King’s Speech.” And, in fact, I will lead off by suggesting that if the Best Picture category had been kept down---or reduced back to 5---then most likely “Winter’s Bone,” ”127 Hours,” “The Kids Are All Right,” “True Grit,” and “The Fighter” would have all been left to settle with the fact(s) that, at least, they had performing nominations. However…a few performing nominations came from films that didn’t make the 10. I was truly astounded that the unspectacular nuances of JACKI WEAVER (“Animal Kingdom”) even wound up in the Supporting Actress group. And I was equally unimpressed with what Best Actress nominee MICHELLE WILLIAMS brought to “Blue Valentine.” But Best Actress nominee NICOLE KIDMAN was powerfully (and painfully) understated in “RABBIT HOLE”…and she would have been my Best Actress pick…if it weren’t for my being shattered by Natalie Portman’s (“Black Swan”) tortured twists and turns. I suspect that it was as difficult to deny perky HALLIE STEINFELD her Supporting Actress nomination, as it was to challenge JEFF BRIDGES’ Actor nod. But The Coen Brothers’ remake of “True Grit” was truly unnecessary…to such an exasperating point…that I lamentably wound up labeling it “No Western For Young Boys.” I found “The Fighter” to be remarkably ordinary. But it did feature a number of admittedly strong performances. And while I preferred what Supporting Actress Amy Adams did with her less showier role, I knew that MELISSA LEO’s worn down but not worn out Matriarch would be victorious in that category. (For the record…I placed my hopes in Helena Bonham Carter’s corner for her sterling support throughout “The King’s Speech.”) And, in what also amounted to a futile gesture, I knew that CHRISTIAN BALE’s punch drunk Pollyanna would be unbeatable in Best Supporting Actor category. But…I really and truly hoped that Geoffrey Rush’s perfect complimenting of Best Actor winner Colin Firth in “The King’s Speech” would be recognized. “The Kids Are Alright” (which finally lapsed into a rather annoying and terminally depressing rant) featured a couple of nominated performances: an admirable effort by ANNETTE BENING (Best Actress) and an appropriately anguished Supporting Actor exercise by MARK RUFFALO. But the exclusion of titian-tressed Julianne from both the Actress and Supporting Actress categories, made it genuinely difficult to consider Bening and Ruffalo as serious contenders. “127 Hours” was literally a one-man show. And JAMES FRANCO literally pulled it off as best as he could. But the immensely likeable James couldn’t have beaten Colin Firth for Best Actor…even he would have been able to use two arms. And finally it’s time to deal with “The Social Network”---a stunningly soulless film that frigidly exposed the malevolent machinations of the creator of Facebook. As Mark Zuckerberg, JESSE EISENBERG (nominated for Best Actor) gives serious rise to just what part of his performance was acting…and what part wasn’t. Personally…I’ve avoided being lured down the Facebook “friend” path…as it appears to me to be a barbed wire treadmill populated by a legion of mean spirited (and for most part, pseudonymous) hamsters. I am neither desperate or bored enough to clutter up my days with the prattle of those who spend their entire lives feeling that they need to be heard when, in fact, they have absolutely nothing to say in the first place. And, in more cases than not, they proceed to take seemingly forever to flatulently prove it. end
02-24-11 CINEMA SEEN By William Margold In that annual riot of cinematic congratulations known as The Academy Awards---wherein I put my own cinematic critiquing abilities on the line by predicting the winners in the six major categories---inevitably there will be at least one (and perhaps even two) categories in which I will suffer ridiculous rage and the inane temptation to toss my TV out of the window. Therefore…unless you are one of my way too noisy neighbors…I would strongly suggest that you avoid walking beneath my apartment on Sunday evening, February 27. Although the limited number of images on this page should tip you off as to my choices, I will try and provide some suspense by presenting each of the six major categories in the ascending order of my preference, with my pick in each category appearing in CAPITAL LETTERS. However…I will refrain from using all capital letters in my reasoning(s) for my predictions.
************ BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS Jacki Weaver (“Animal Kingdom”) Hailee Steinfeld (“True Grit”) Melissa Leo (“The Fighter”) Amy Adams (“The Fighter”) HELENA BONHAM CARTER (“The King’s Speech”) Ms. Bonham Carter’s love for and loyalty to her hapless husband (Colin Firth as King George VI) was a painfully portrayed piece of a perfect puzzle of priceless performers.
BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR John Hawkes (“Winter’s Bone”) Mark Ruffalo (“The Kids Are All Right”) Christian Bale (“The Fighter”) Jeremy Renner (“The Town”) GEOFFREY RUSH (“The King’s Speech”) To ignore Rush’s (essentially Mr. Miyagi in English tweeds) tough/tender teachings here as speech therapist to Colin Firth’s King George VI, would be like not acknowledging Patty Duke’s Best Supporting Actress Oscar win as Helen Keller learning from Anne Bancroft as Annie Sullivan worked her communicating magic (and won the Best Actress Oscar) in 1962’s “The Miracle Worker.”
BEST ACTRESS Michelle Williams (“Blue Valentine”) Jennifer Lawrence (“Winter’s Bone”) Annette Bening (“The Kids Are All Right”) Nicole Kidman (“Rabbit Hole”) NATALIE PORTMAN (“Black Swan”) A stunning as well as shattering showcase for Ms. Portman who never missed a step as a brutalized (internally as well as externally) ballet dancer. Her all-consuming role truly frightened me in the same way that Heath Ledger’s Joker did a couple of years ago.
BEST ACTOR (I did not see Javier Bardem in “Blutiful.” But this category was won the in-in-in-instant that its wi-wi-wi-winner st-st-st-stuttered his fir-fir-fir-first word.) Jeff Bridges (“True Grit”) Jesse Eisenberg (“The Social Network”) James Franco (“127 Hours”) COLIN FIRTH (“The King’s Speech”) Guilty of making me cry so much that my eyes burned…Firth (as King George VI) delivered a heroically helpless performance for the ag-ag-ag-ages.
BEST DIRECTOR Joel Coen and Ethan Coen (“True Grit”) David O’Russell (“The Fighter”) David Fincher (“The Social Network”) Darren Aronofsky (“Black Swan”) TOM HOOPER (“The King’s Speech”) Making his movie magnetic from frame one, Mr. Hooper helmed his moving masterpiece---in such a seemingly effortless manner---that they appeared to be destined for each other.
BEST PICTURE “Winter’s Bone” “Inception” “True Grit” “The Kids Are All Right” “The Fighter” “The Social Network” “127 Hours” “Black Swan” “Toy Story 3” “THE KING’S SPEECH” It would be really great if “Toy Story 3” (my favorite film in 2010, which justifies its artwork on this page) could win---or maybe even tie---with the excellent, emotionally rich elocutionary experiences of “Speech.” But realizing that miracles are rare…I won’t be doing any TV-tossing when the magnificent “King” is crowned. end
01-20-11 CINEMA SEEN By William Margold As the acclaimed (by virtually anyone worth a damn) highly controversial Historian and proclaimed (by even those not worth a damn) eternally outspoken Patriarch of X…I feel that it’s my duty to alert LAXPRESS readers to the fact that NINA HARTLEY---the Adult Entertainment Industry’s “Bowl of Sunshine”---is having medical problems that has caused a website: (www.giveforward.com/giveitawayfornina) to reach out to all of her fans for financial assistance. Therefore…with limited editing and minimal addition…I am offering the bordering on “too much information”--- soulfully created by a fan of Nina’s---sentiment…that is calling attention to that website. ********** Nina Hartley is seeking funds to cover her recovery from surgery, tentatively scheduled for late January/early February 2011. Recovery will take 2-4 weeks. Nina has fibroid tumors in her uterus. They are genetic and not cancer, nor will they turn into cancer. So that’s a blessing right there. However, they are unsightly, and they are starting to cause other, negative side effects. After dealing with them for nearly twenty years, the time has come for a permanent solution. She thought that nearing menopause would cause them to shrink, but they show no signs of doing so. So…surgery is the next step. She’s lucky enough to have medical insurance to cover the cost of the operation. What she needs is money to cover her expenses during recovery. In her 26 years as perhaps the most beloved adult entertainment actress/activist of all-time…she’s never needed help more. And she’s never asked for help before. So it’s very hard for her to do so now. ************** My own very highly valued relationship with the perpetually radiant, seemingly tireless (she eagerly “volunteered” for every anti-censorship fundraising event I created for many years) trooper Nina Hartley extends way back to late 1985, when I choose her to be the (X-Rated Critics Organization’s “Heart-On” Girl for its February 1986 event. I remember her very innocently asking me why I had picked her. And with absolute confidence, I told her, “Because you are going to be one of the very best that will ever be.” By 1989, she had taken over the duties of the XRCO’s Mistress of Ceremonies. And it was in that capacity, during the XRCO’s 1990 frosty event in the Merry-Go-Round area of the Santa Monica Pier when the ocean wind-chilled-aided temperature sank below freezing, that she persevered, without a whimper, throughout the proceedings, clad in the scantiest of purple outfits. In 1991, realizing that she was unparalleled in her awesome ability to create a mutual admiration (and adoration) society between herself and the fans, I humbly asked her to host the first FOXE (The Fans of X-Rated Entertainment) awards. And finally, when The Legends of Erotica were established in 1994…there was absolutely no doubt in my mind that the very first performer I wanted have inducted would be Nina Hartley. So it was fitting that during the recent Legends of Erotica inductions in Las Vegas, that I held up one of Protecting Adult Welfare’s bear buckets---featuring a beautifully drawn image of Nina---and told the fan-packed audience that, “One of our very best needs help.” And it was extremely gratifying that the fans’ thanks for the multitude of molten memories provided by Nina Hartley, resulted in Protecting Adult Welfare being able to donate $333 to her through www.giveforward.com/giveitawayfornina. Now…it’s your turn! end
12-30-10 CINEMA SEEN By William Margold My annual pilgrimage to the city of Las Vegas (which I’ve often referred to as “Greedy Gulch,” “The Mecca of Misery,” and “The Neon Nightmare”) will begin a few days after this column hits the stands. And although Protecting Adult Welfare (www.pawfoundation.org) has been very generously donated a 20x20 booth at The AVN Adult Entertainment Expo 2011 (www.AdultEntertainmentExpo.com)--- wherein I will attempt (with the greatly appreciated aid of radiant volunteers including spectacular “SuperTanker” Minka, ebullient ebony entity Izzy Charms, human hand warmer Kandi Hart, fearsomely feline Ava Vincent, always unpredictable Anita Cannibal, and the aroused/anxious newcomer Luna Azul) to raise monies for the non-profit adult industry helpline---my primary purpose for traveling over 300 miles from Los Angeles is to help stage an event called THE LEGENDS OF EROTICA. And on Friday evening January 7, The Class of 2011---LISA ANN, JILL KELLY, DYANNA LAUREN, MR. MARCUS, PATTY PLENTY and RayVeness---will be honored during the induction ceremonies inside Showgirl Video located at 631 South Las Vegas Blvd. The sextet of X-rated industry notables will cause the roster of THE LEGENDS OF EROTICA (initiated in 1994) to swell to over 90, and I’ve already jotted down close to 20 more deserving additions to deal with over the next few years. Particularly noteworthy this time around however will be the taking of some time out of THE LEGENDS OF EROTICA proceedings to honor one of the most important elements of the X-Rated Industry…its FANS. With the recent passing of the formidable fan Howard Hurley (pictured here receiving his Fan of the Year award during the 1992 FOXE Follies), I realized that an appreciation and acknowledgement of those who derive vicarious thrills from what the erotic performers provide was way overdue. However, common sense made me want to protect the seven others who won FOXE’s Fan of the Year from society’s derision, so I felt listing them by first names only---Andrew, Calvin, Ernie, James, Jay, Joseph, and Munson---would suffice. But I would be negligent if I didn’t mention a few of the current generation of Super Fans by first name as well: Anthony, Curtis, Eric, Joe, Larry, and a couples of Toms. I would also be negligent if I didn’t acknowledge another feature of THE LEGENDS OF EROTICA presentations: The Carnal Medal of Honor. Conceived by Showgirl Video’s owner Raymond Pistol a few years before I surprised him by presenting the first one to him in 1999, it has since become an emblem of esteem for service to the Adult Entertainment Industry way beyond one’s normal duty…and concern. And with only one exception (truly a severe lapse in judgment on my part in 2002)---for a seemingly endless series of reasons including his obsequious journalistic verbosity and his litany of egregious adult entertainment history errors---the name of the 2002 recipient, who perpetuates a bilious horned toad visage, will be permanently missing from any Carnal Medal of Honor list with which I am involved. However, it has been the proudest of pleasures to bestow Carnal Medals of Honor upon “Dirty” Bob in 2000 (pictured here in between 2001 recipients John Douglas and Dave Michaels), Dr. Phillip Berman (2003), Christi Lake (2004), Stevi Secret (2005), Anita Cannibal (2007), Summer Haze and Steve Nelson (2008), and Jared Rutter (2009). For the record…Carnal Medals of Honor were also prepared for Rachel Worth (2006), for Charlie LaTour (2009), and for Dr. X (2010)…but they have yet to be bestowed. Although there will no Carnal Medal of Honor recipient during the 2011 LEGENDS OF EROTICA…many other well-deserving souls are under serious consideration for future presentations. Finally, and with the heaviest of hearts, I am concluding this column by announcing that the wall behind the perpetually busy clerk’s counter at Showgirl---which is already emblazoned with the images of those LEGENDS OF EROTICA (including John C. Holmes, Rene Bond and Shauna Grant) who have passed away---will now be sadly enhanced by portraits of Jamie Gillis and John Leslie. end
12-23-10 CINEMA SEEN by William Margold
Although DEATH (the use of capital letters is a display of respect), and I have a deal that will allow me to be a thorn in the side (and elsewhere) of my enemies until The Detroit Lions win The Super Bowl…it also has the highly unpredictable ability to make me alter my plans when it comes to preparing a Cinema Seen column about one topic, and then having to switch, at the very last moment, to another. And so it was with the recent passing of the awesomely gifted Adult Entertainment Legend JOHN LESLIE. Of course I honed something to read at his Celebration of Life (held on Wednesday December 15 at The Sportsman’s Lodge in Studio City). And I also encouraged many of his Legendary Co-Stars (and Classic Contemporaries) to send me their sentiments…if they weren’t going to be able to attend. However, as the length of time began to wear the audience’s attention span thin, I was unable to read any of their thoughts…so I am presenting them here…in alphabetical order…while saving mine for last. TRACEY ADAMS---From the minute I laid eyes on John. I wanted to have a drink sitting in some restaurant in a red leather booth with him and get to know him over a bottle of Red. Not as one comes to “know” another in the sense of the word that make US all famous like rock stars but as John Nuzzo…the quintessence of John Leslie. His class and dignity held us all up in the face of relentless objection and ridicule in the 80’s not by shaking a fist and going newsworthy, but by maintaining an air of pride and elegance in what we were doing through some inherent magnificence he possessed. John came through for me on a couple of occasions. With just one phone call he righted some wrongs that befell me in a manner not unlike many in Italian history that followed the kissing of a gold ring. All the while I felt challenged as an actor working with him, intimidated by his awesome looks, and more or less like a toad in his presence. Then I had the opportunity of a lifetime to be Beauty to his Beast. It was at this time I became aware of a subtler John. The John I sadly never got to have that drink…never really got to know. LARRY FLYNT---John was a pioneer in the industry. Everyone will most certainly miss him. GLORIA LEONARD---As part of the original East Coast talent pool back in the mid-late 70’s---before Blue Movies headed to the Golden West---John and I spent considerable time together on a number of movie sets---yes, gang---movies, not videos---perhaps some of you can remember that far back. What a man, what a man, what a man! It wasn’t just his dazzling good looks combined with THOSE eyes…it was his remarkable intelligence, outrageous sense of humor, and considerate compassion that I remember most. I’d seen some of his fine art, sampled some of his culinary creations, and listened to him wail on the harmonica. Talk about your Renaissance man---way before the term was widely used. John was the real deal…always full of life and lust. I can remember a time in the mid-80’s when I was recovering from surgery and John came to see me. Out of the blue, he remarked that he though I had “young eyes.” It wasn’t until sometime later that I came to understand his observation. And if indeed the eyes are the mirrors to our souls. I will always and forever feel connected to one of the most incredible men I had the good fortune to cross paths with. Rest in peace, beautiful John. SEKA---First and foremost John was interesting, handsome, strange, a force to be reckoned with. At times difficult to be with, around and understood…he knew what he wanted, how he wanted it, and would not settle for anything less. He will always be revered and forever missed. SERENA---John was the one that was a pleasure to work with in the 1970’s when we both were hired to act. He was a Bay Area guy, very handsome with olive skin and a tight butt. The Italian stud…he was always reliable, always ready with a hard-on when required, and always a complete professional. I am in shock that he is gone. Together we made some good movies in The Golden Era of Porn. Which means that he is in Heaven. RANDY WEST---John was one of the most talented guys we ever had in the business, both in front of and behind the camera. He was a class act and always professional, which is not a common trait in the entertainment business. He was demanding, but also had a good sense of humor. When you worked with John, you knew that you were working with a real actor, which would always make your performance better. That’s what real actors do. And he was also just as talented, if not more so, as a musician. We’ll miss you, John. You’re gone too soon. But you didn’t get cheated. You had a hell of a life and saw and did it all. And you got lucky enough to find a beautiful, smart and loving wife as well. Now I’m getting, you bastard. Have a good journey my friend. And may your next life be as interesting as this one was. God bless, brother. Quickly adapting to the fact that none of the above was going to be heard, I used the following to encourage any and all performers in attendance from John’s early days to join me on the stage for a once-in-a-lifetime photo opportunity. And while they struggled with their sorrows as well as their physical depreciations to join me, I, feeling myself starting to shake under tremendous emotional strain, bellowed out: I’ve labeled this evening THE LAST RENDEZVOUS…in the realization that carnal cinema contemporaries---who I am immensely proud to be a member---of the gentleman whom we are honoring here---was one of Explicit Erotic Entertainment’s MOUNTAIN MEN. During the 1970’s, we seized and shattered society’s sexual sensibilities as scaled mammoth mammaries, ventured deep into captivating caves of copulation, and navigated up furious rivers of flesh. And in the pulsating process…we created The Golden Age of X. And without a doubt…the most unique of our lusty legion was a magnetic, mesmerizing monument of masculinity named JOHN LESLIE. By now, confident that John’s multi-faceted adult industry credits---and his remarkable talents as a musician, artist, and culinary master have all been reverently acknowledged---I am content to conclude my homage by offering the following image for your minds to digest: JOHN LESLIE is the only man I’ve ever met that could chard the Venus De Milo into giving him a hand job. end
11-18-10 CINEMA SEEN By William Margold It was the summer of 1958, and I was nervously pacing about the patchy grass and dirt that approximated right field of the baseball area at Vista Del Mar, a home for children of the Jewish faith with various sociological problems in Culver City. I was a gangly 14 year old, and I was foolishly trying to “fit in”…so, although nicknamed “Fours”---because I wore heavy glasses with exceptionally thick lenses---and being fully aware that my baseball playing skills were a pathetic combination of uncoordinated hand and eye activity that reduced fielding a ball (hitting one was whole other nightmare) to a state of genuine panic, I tried to look cool by neurotically pounding into the well worn leather glove on my left hand with my right hand that was rapidly turning a deathly color of white because I had been keeping it tightly clenched for way too long. At the plate, the batter was busy fouling off a series of pitches. Then he connected with a mighty thwack, and I shuddered as the softball rose high into the bright blue summer sky. I knew my team was now watching me. And as the forces of gravity started to pull at the ominous looking spheroid and it began to hurtle back down to the piece of earth that I was standing on…terror coursed through my sensibilities! At this point…I will leave you (hopefully) dangling in suspense…so that I (and my pal, the redoubtable Joey “Speedy” Alkes) can deal with the reason that this column exists: JEWS AND BASEBALL: AN AMERICAN LOVE STORY---a documentary (from Udy Epstein’s Seventh Art Releasing) that opens on Friday, November 19 at Laemmle’s Music Hall (9056 Wilshire Blvd. in Beverly Hills), and Laemmle’s Town Center (17200 Ventura Blvd. in Encino). And since Joey’s (who lists himself as a “little post World War Two kid second baseman”) effusions far surpass my thoughts about the empathically (obviously!) educational Peter Miller directed production to the warm extent that he will sending his Dad a copy for Chanukah…I’ll turn the page over to him…and his richly reflective images. One of my favorite memories as a child was my father’s 9-inch screened piece of 4-foot furniture that would broadcast crazy little men running around a diamond-shaped trail after hitting a ball amidst a flurry of snow we called “reception” in the mid-20th Century. Baseball seemed to consistently tantalize and delight my dad. It was a break from the Holocaust/WWII veteran chip on his shoulder. I also recognize today, what I didn’t as a kid, that I was uniquely blessed as one of the “chosen people.” Let’s face it, in American baseball lore, being a New York Yankees fan truly does make you one of baseball’s “chosen people”…if I may? Unfortunately, my mother’s side of the family was almost all avid Brooklyn Dodgers and New York Giants fans. The arguments over the dinner table were Talmudic debates. Baseball introduced me to the paradox of life. Here I was a “to be buried in my Yankees jersey young man”---but my favorite ballplayer (for many years) was Sandy Koufax of the hated Brooklyn/Los Angeles Dodgers. Talk about massive amounts of Yiddish angst. Therefore I understood completely when Rabbi Albrecht states that one of her first Jewish baseball heroes was Jackie Robinson, “because the iconic Jewish star ballplayer Hank Greenberg was to later say that for all the harassment he took as a Jew in Major League Baseball, it did not compare to the abuse Jackie had to suffer through.” (Besides pictures of Los Angeles Dodgers Sandy Koufax and Detroit Tiger Hank Greenberg, this page is graced with shots of Cleveland Indian Al Rosen, Boston Red Sox Kevin Youkilis, and baseball’s first designated {as in “chosen?”} hitter, New York Yankee Ron Blomberg.) And now it’s time to return to my moment of reckoning in right field. While trying to shield my eyes from the glaring sun with my right hand, I forlornly raised my gloved left hand in the desperate hope that the ball, seemingly making the sound of a meteor as it descended upon me from above, would somehow manage to land where it should. But as fate would so fittingly have it (perhaps because I had perpetually failed Hebrew School, and was, in fact, never Bar Mitzvah’d)…the demonic object somehow found its way between my upraised hands and smacked me right between the eyes, breaking my glasses, and knocking me down on the ground…as well as out of playing baseball ever again. But, very much like Joey, I had already “chosen” to be a New York Yankees fan…and have been playing baseball vicariously through them ever since. end
09-16-10 CINEMA SEEN By William Margold Although the viewing circumstances (Arclight’s pristine Cinerama Dome in Hollywood) were about as far away from the seedy theaters of my younger film-going daze---wherein caution and commonsense were abandoned so that I could roll in the cinematic carrion that was regularly regurgitated onto the decaying screens in downtown Los Angeles well over 40 years ago---experiencing Robert Rodriguez’s maniacal MACHETE brought back lots of bad---as in being real good---movie-going memories. From my favorite vantage point (Row Z Seat 30), which I insured reserving by arriving early enough on the Sunday before Labor Day matinee screening, I was able to watch the modest crowd enter the massive auditorium. They were a combination of boisterous young adults eagerly looking for some cheap thrills, and hunched over middle-aged folks seeking a couple of hours of escape from their routine lives. Although teasingly lured by the inescapable, always-freshly-exploded odor of the Dome’s delicious popcorn, I resisted the temptation to rush down and buy a cylindrical container of the delicately oiled and salted concession stand staple. Instead, I opted to look around, and in particular, at the ceiling. I felt a twinge of reflective sadness in the realization that almost 50 years ago, Dennis, my very best teenage friend (who passed away in 2004), had in fact, worked as a lathe and plasterer on the original building that is now the landmark piece of architecture for the very edifice in which the lights were now starting to dim. And as MACHETE began to furiously flicker onto the massive screen, and the audience’s expectations became audibly palpable, I smiled soulfully in the knowledge that if Dennis were still alive…he would have most certainly been sitting right beside me prepared to wallow in the bombastic burritos, the chorizo con carnage, and the frenetic frijoles that were about to be ladled out…because that’s a great part of what being very best teenage friends is all about. Breech-birthed from a trailer that was part of 2007’s horrendously uneven “Grindhouse”---a collaboration between Rodriquez (whose “Planet Terror” portion was a perverse pleasure) and his sycophantic associate Quentin Tarantino (whose “Death Proof” was an egregious embarrassment), MACHETE unleashes the appropriately specious talents of monosyllabic Danny Trejo (a leatherette version of Mickey Rourke) as a “take no prisoners” man who would prefer to cut a hand off…rather than shake it. Pitted against the mean-spirited (anti-immigration) machinations of Robert DeNiro and Steven Seagal (as well as Don Johnson and Jeff Fahey, plus gory make-up legend Tom Savini, whose mincingly evil character’s fate is never realized)…but then I guess that’s why there will most certainly be an “unrated” DVD “Director’s Cut” version…Trejo hacks his way through a virtual slaughterhouse of expendable extras. Aiding him, until he’s crucified (that scene unleashed the loudest roars of shocked approval from the very appreciative audience), is Cheech Marin. And “a-bedding” him are Jessica Alba, Lindsay Lohan (fashioning a nun’s habit), and a genuinely compelling Michelle Rodriguez. All three ladies elicited the appropriate responses from the audience as well…for various vicarious reasons. And once the film ended, I stayed to listen to the audience applaud, and then to hear them burble their glee as they departed, tragically aware however of the fact that many of them would be forced by the lifestyles that they have chosen, to deny having ever seen MACHETE as soon as they were 100 yards away from the theater. But I, anxious to share my demented delight with the affable staff of the always-reliable (and very generous) Hollywood Book & Poster Co. (6562 Hollywood Blvd.), rushed over to the store to obtain the images that illuminate this page. And then I rushed home to phone a good friend of mine named Steve, who is a Michelle Rodriguez “aficionado”…and left a message advising him how good his lady was in the film, and that he should rush right out and see it…because that’s a great part of what being good adult friends is all about. end
08-05-10 CINEMA SEEN By William Margold
RELIGION. POLITICS. SEX. MOVIES. Which of the above four topics really doesn’t fit when it comes to igniting conversations that might end in finger-pointing, name calling and derogatory inferences…and maybe even the shattering of friendships? Well…I guess that I should clearly state my position in the first three areas…just in case some “friends” would like to bail out early. RELIGION: When an interviewer tried to catch me off-guard by asking if I believed in God…I quickly responded, “The Detroit Lions haven’t won The Super Bowl.” POLITICS: “Those who live here…should speak here!” SEX: “Talking about it means that you haven’t had enough of it.” MOVIES: Emperor, I mean, director Christopher (“Wears No Clothes”) Nolan’s INCEPTION (starring Leonardo DiCaprio) is incredibly insipid and immensely intolerable. Domineeringly (and deceptively) designed to lure in viewers (and critics) who are “easily overwhelmed”…and who then refuse to admit that what is incomprehensible to them can also be insufferably devoid of entertainment…”Inception” made me feel like I was a marble trapped inside a tin can the size of The Grand Canyon. But I am getting a little bit ahead of myself here...as I really wouldn’t be subjecting you to the semi-seriousness of this page, if it weren’t for the fact that a photographer “friend” named Dave, decided to tritely taunt me with his unsolicited sermon about “Inception”: “Within the madness and chaos lies…total logic. Best film of the year---maybe decade.” To which I responded: “Told the person I went to see it with (and who walked out of it) that you would be “easily overwhelmed” (etc.), and that I was going to excoriate it. In fact…I had to go see not one, but two, films the next day to try and get the bad taste of Nolan’s nothingness out of my mind.” (For the record…the two films were “Knight and Day” and “The Twilight Saga: Eclipse”…both of which will be discussed next week.) To which he responded: “I can see why he walked out. The man only eats pizza and burgers. I knew that you would hate it. The most brilliant and intelligent film of the decade, so many beautiful levels of writing and filmmaking.” And, now obviously trying to tread to water in a life preserver made of toilet paper, he then quickly followed up with: “That came off wrong, I just meant that ‘man cannot live on burgers and pizza alone’, but has to take a trip to the international buffet once in awhile.” And (uncomfortably combining his futility and ignorance): “I know you look for good films to write a bad review and use multiple words with the first letter of the title of the film, that’s the kitch (btw: it’s kitsch, kid), but do you ever really look at the whole of the film with multiple levels…which, for this film, was figurative, but in essence, much more.” And finally, mired in muddlement, “That’s actually an interesting analogy (‘marble trapped in a tin can the size of The Grand Canyon’) since it shows we are but a small part of everything. Oh, and watching those two films to get the ‘bad taste’ out is like having a paper-cut and instead of applying medicine, throw on salt and alcohol and then lit a match to it. How could have that been better?” To which I responded: “I hope that you realize your dreams/delusions will be worked into my “Inception” column. Stick to photography…and leave the art of writing to those who can paint pictures with words.” And if “Inception” were worthy of such painting, even in the cheapest watercolors, I would be slathering on the imagery with bold brushstrokes that would make tapestries and rainbows jealous. But tragically…all “Inception” does is tediously transform the potentially wondrous world of dreaming into a bad and bombastically boring cinematic experience.
end
07-29-10 CINEMA SEEN By William Margold
I still like to think of myself as an ornery 12 year old…dedicated to the preservation of that period of my life--- before the torturous trials of adolescence and eventually the taxing tribulations of being an adult---overwhelmed the last supposedly carefree vestiges of my childhood. Paradoxically however, I spent the final three months of my 12th year in Los Angeles’ Central Juvenile Hall. But the one “childhood” thing that I can’t really remember before I turned 13 (in 1956), was if I ever had a favorite toy. Because my first 12 years was an unsettling road show adventure that led from being born in Washington D.C. (in 1943) to being whisked off to Hawaii (in 1947, after my father died) only to return to California (in 1948) to begin a march through numerous military and private boarding schools (all of which I ran away from) pockmarked by futile attempts to live with my mother in various parts of Santa Monica, I never was able to keep any plaything long enough to consider “treasuring it.” In fact, even when I was living at home, I spent as much time as possible staying away by maximizing every facet of my local beaches and numerous playgrounds. Indicative of this is that only items I have left from those years are a dwindling collection of far from cuddly marbles as well as some scars on the upper half of my right thumb from being pretty damn good at making my shots count. (BTW: they were “dwindled” down by 50 a few years ago, when I bestowed that amount upon a dear friend when she celebrated a numerically coinciding birthday event…just in case, she had lost a few of hers…mentally!) Therefore, I strongly suspect that the emotionally introspective as well as soul enriching effect that director Lee Unkrich’s exhilarating TOY STORY 3 (wisely and warmly written by Michael Arndt) had on me was laced with envy for the characters (toy as well as human) as they were able to act out their dreams, provide mutual comfort, and more importantly, create eternal bonds fused by memories, that I never had the chance to experience. I also strongly suspect that that’s the reason---well into my sixth decade of existence---I am word processing this column surrounded, and being closely observed by, a smothering amount of teddy bears. Plus…there are MANY more wide-eyed rotund woolies on the way, as, due to an economically unsettling situation of adulthood, I have just had to clean out my Protecting Adult Welfare office. And while not wanting to spoil any of your personal viewing pleasure during the first great film of this new decade (and certainly the first of this year to be considered worthy of a Best Film nomination), I found it dementedly delightful that the villain of TOY STORY 3 is a cane wielding, glad-handing crimson hewed ursine that most certainly bears close attention. end
CINEMA SEEN - "Memorial Daze" 04-02-09
CINEMA SEEN By William Margold
A copulating confluence of events spanning over 30 years of my life will be coming full circle when AMERICAN SWING opens on Friday April 3 at Laemmle’s Sunset (8000 Sunset Blvd.). Matthew Kaufman’s and Jon Hart’s broadly amusing little documentary about New York’s most notorious swing club during the late 1970’s---Plato’s Retreat---and the lusty life and testicular times of its creator---Larry Levenson---made me sit up and take notice, if for no other reason than in clips from 1979’s “Plato’s The Movie” (shot in Hollywood) that Kaufman and Hart use to “flesh out” their production, I appear, in almost all of my glory, as Roger, the “blue-ward-robed” manager of the infamous swing club. (In fact, because of the limited images from the AMERICAN SWING press kit, some of the artwork---including me in my blue bathrobe---on this page is from “Plato’s The Movie.”) But I am getting way ahead of my tail. Back in the early 1970’s, when I was just starting to get my feet (etc.) wet in the Adult Entertainment Business, I was introduced to the warm and writhing world of swinging by the legendary adult filmmaker (and very dear friend) Titus Moody. One balmy evening in the fall of 1973, Titus brought me to a swing house known as Chris and Flora’s in Sherman Oaks, and then wandered off with the first friendly lady that came his way. Within a few minutes an aggressive redhead reached out, and not for my hand, and led me off to a corner of the living room, where a comfortable couch became our passion pit…until our passion was pitted. Then I was encouraged to go off and find “more passion partners.” Eventually I found myself in a dimly lit area, wallowing in a massive hot tub, replete with mountains of bubbles, partaking of whatever literally fell into my lap. And to this day, I still think that there was something four footed and remarkably wooly in the hot tub that might also have played “bare bumper tag” with me that evening. My “Swinging Saturdays” segued into “Stumbling Sundays” as I was playing (with very little left in my legs) in a football league during that period, and I opted out of the orgy scene (although I did keep a few intimate relationships on the side), because I was getting more than enough action making X-rated films. Which eventually led to my being cast as the lead opposite Seka and Lisa DeLeeuw in the hardcore feature film look at what was supposedly going on in New York’s Plato’s Retreat. Shot in late November 1979, at what was called Plato’s Retreat West (on Ivar in Hollywood), the production took six days, with everyone taking Thanksgiving Day off to celebrate the holiday, which provided me with the chance to watch my beloved Detroit Lions win their only other game that season. And of course I returned to the set, with renewed sexual vigor (Lions victories have always had that effect on me) and proceeded to bang my way through quite a number of scenes…on camera…as well as off. In 1981, the garrulous Al Goldstein, a perpetual guest at Plato’s Retreat during its brief heyday, and who had championed Larry Levenson on the pages of Screw Magazine, (and who appears throughout AMERICAN SWING) asked me if I thought that I would be able to “knock off more women than Larry” over the period of an evening. In fact, Al was willing to bet on me against “The Baron of Balling.” I was tempted. But then I thought about it with the head above my shoulders, and not wanting to squander whatever the magic was that made me able “to get up, get in, get out and get off” in front of the camera on an evening of meaningless sex, I declined. I forgot all about Plato’s and Larry Levenson until the spring of 1999, when while visiting New York for a convention called EROTICA USA at the Jacob Javits Center, I was befriended by a bundle of investigative reporting energy named Jon Hart. He told me that he was in the process of interviewing Larry, and that he was eventually going to make a documentary profiling him and his club and the era that allowed them both to proliferate. I wished him well, and basically forgot about his project until recently, when word of AMERICAN SWING (www.magpictures.com) came bubbling up from the depths of life’s very own massive hot tub. At first, my DVD player, and even my computer’s DVD player, did not take to the screener that I was sent. But from I could see in the surprisingly (and delightfully) explicit to a pretty fine pulsating pubic point, what Hart and Kaufman, utilizing a crazy quilt of evocative interviews, had come up with was a non-judgmental look at an innocent nebbish named Larry Levenson, who decided to bring swinging out of the suburban bedrooms, and for a brief steamy and sweaty moment, elevate it into the mainstream---wherein sex was guiltlessly transformed into the three letter word: FUN.
end
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