It was an absolute pleasure to meet and get a quick interview with the great Kurt Angle this past summer in Ottawa. First making a name for himself on the amateur wrestling circuit, it all culminated with a gold medal win (with a broken neck, no less) at the 1996 Summer Olympics held in Atlanta, Georgia. The ultimate achievement for most amateur athletes, this was not the end for Angle, but only the beginning. Just a mere two years later, he had signed on to the World Wrestling Federation (now the WWE or World Wresting Entertainment), a leap that would soon find him taking professional wrestling by storm. Making his television debut in November of 1999, he was a natural, not only at the wrestling, but also on the mike.
One of my favourite films as a young boy – wholly capturing my imagination, was the 1960 George Pal directed sci-fi adventure The Time Machine, based on the 1895 novel of the same name by iconic author H.G. Wells. It is this movie that has possibly fuelled my intrigue with clocks, pocket watches and other time oriented things (motion pictures definitely fit within this grouping). Set at the turn of the twentieth century, specifically on two days, December 31st, 1899/ January 5th, 1900, H. George Wells (Rod Taylor) is an inventor and time enthusiast, a peculiar fellow who has changed quite a bit in a short amount of time – at least according to his friends. Disenchanted by the warmongering of the British government (the Boer War) and the ways in which technology has been used to improve the efficiency of killing, the inventor looks to the future for hope in humanity.
An atmospheric noir that takes place on both land and sea, Michael Curtiz’s 1950 crime drama The Breaking Point, the second adaptation of Ernest Hemingway’s “To Have and Have Not” (the original, the 1944 version, utilized the novel’s title and paired Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall for the first time), is a gripping tale that never lets you go. A touch less cynical but just as fateful as your prototypical film noir, the narrative follows former marine Harry Morgan (John Garfield), a genuine yet gruff fishing boat captain who has never caught the break he has so hoped for. Working with his loyal-to-a-fault African American first mate, Wesley Park (Juano Hernandez), the pair have been together for twelve years, always just making ends meet.
An inside joke for fans of Buster Keaton, they surely know that he often wears a pork pie hat in his films. Well, while watching 1928's Steamboat Bill, Jr., there is a scene where his uncle takes him to buy a new hat – to replace the effeminate French beret that currently adorns his little head. A revolving number are tried on by the young man, with the closest to his original being wholeheartedly rejected. Though he does eventually purchase a much larger version of a pork pie hat, it flies off of his head and into the flowing river, not to be recovered. This, in many ways, is symbolic of the changing era the talented silent comedian found himself in. After the box office debacle that was The General (now considered one of his greatest features), Keaton was no longer blessed with carte blanche when making his movies – the studio keeping a keen eye on spending and limiting his overall control.
I was fortunate enough to sit down with legendary heavyweight boxer Gerry Cooney not too long ago. One of the biggest punchers to ever grace the bright lights of the ring, his career spanned from 1977 to 1990, a final record of twenty-eight wins and only three losses (twenty-four of those victories came by way of knockout). A towering six feet, six inches, and with an impressive eighty-one inch reach, the offensive minded boxer dismantled two legends of the sport, Ron Lyle and Ken Norton – leading him to a match with the great Larry Holmes, a spectacular bout that went into the thirteenth round, ending with Cooney losing by TKO. After three more convincing wins, Cooney faced two more formidable foes, Michael Spinks and George Foreman, the latter bringing an end to his illustrious career.
An observation I am sure many of you have made over the years is the general stupidity (and lack of skill) the villains, police or any other nefarious enemy has had in the movies. With the James Bond films being a prime example, it shows the low standards the maniacal mastermind must have had when hiring his henchmen – they cannot shoot, drive or seemingly do anything else, stumbling over each other in the process. Also think of John Wick or any other motion picture made over the past multiple decades. Well, it was this thought that struck me as I sat watching two early silent shorts from the comedic great Harold Lloyd (placed alongside Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton as the top comics of the silent era). Starting with 1919's Bumping into Broadway, it was the first time the actor donned his now-famous “glasses” character, usually just referred to as The Boy. A two-reeler that lasts twenty-five minutes, it has The Boy getting into all kinds of hijinks.
We often think of the western as being set in the sunbaked, sand-filled deserts of the John Wayne and Clint Eastwood epics. Turning this idea on its head, Robert Altman takes us into the frontier lands of the wet and snowy northwest (filmed in and around Vancouver, Canada), an equally picturesque yet no less hostile terrain, in the 1971 film McCabe & Mrs. Miller. Riding into town with his bushy beard and no less hairy fur coat, John McCabe (Warren Beatty) is a businessman looking for his next big opportunity. He sees the tiny, half-built town of Presbyterian Church (just over one hundred people) not as a hindrance, but as the perfect location to set up a one stop saloon, gambling den and whorehouse. Hiring some local men, they get to work while he heads off to procure the working girls – purchasing some lower class ladies for the gruff, rough, and equally low class frontier men of the area.