Stealers Wheel

One of the great horror directors of the 1930s, James Whale shot Frankenstein, The Old Dark House, The Invisible Man, and The Bride of Frankenstein in just four short years, an impressive feat that also somewhat overshadows a few of his lesser known, non-spook related features – specifically, 1931's Waterloo Bridge. . . which, interestingly enough, earned Whale so much favour with the head of Universal Pictures’ production department, that Carl Laemmle, Jr. (due to a combination of his quality work and coming in under budget), gave the director the choice of anything the studio had in early planning stages – the filmmaker chose Frankenstein, a smart decision. His Waterloo Bridge is based upon Robert E. Sherwood’s 1930 Broadway play of the same name (the playwright based it upon many of his own experiences), where we are transported to London, England, circa World War I. Stuck in the metropolis is Myra (Mae Clarke), a chorus girl who has fallen on hard times.

Will Buster Keaton ever catch a break?. . . well, let’s be honest, by the end of the film, things usually work out alright. But, as The Great Stoneface hops, skips and jumps his way through a bevy of ever complicated (and might I add, intricately plotted) obstacles – no matter what movie, luck never seems to come his way. Case in point, 1921's two reel short, The Goat – which has nothing to do with an animal. Opening with a clever gag in which Keaton, (playing a famished, unlucky man monikered The Goat), is seen heading to the back of a bread line. . . misfortune reveals that the last three men in the procession are not actually men at all – they are mannequins showing off clothing for a store, hence, the never moving lineup.

Like an episode of Star Trek on Viagra, 1968's Barbarella is an exploitative romp in space, a journey that will take you far past the gaseous crevices of Uranus and into another sci-fi tinged dimension. Written by a pair of era icons (and seven other collaborators), two time Oscar nominee Terry Southern and Roger Vadim (also the director), you will likely never see another movie have an opening credits sequence like this one – a 401st century astronaut, Barbarella (Jane Fonda – Vadim’s wife at the time), slowly removes her spacesuit whilst floating in a gravity-less craft. . . a most sultry, slow-motion striptease (the effect was achieved by having Fonda lie on a large piece of plexiglass with an image of the spaceship underneath her. . . filmed from above, it flawlessly reenacts the semblance of zero gravity).

One of the great anti-heros of the 1980's, Kurt Russell’s Snake Plissken (John Carpenter’s Escape From New York) is a quick-thinking cynic; a cool, level-headed former Special Forces military man with a plan. . . and let’s face it, his combination of quick wit and eye patch makes him one bad-ass muthafuka. Quite the opposite, Jack Burton (also played by Russell), with his diction having a John Wayne tinge, is a cocky, brash American, a fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants ‘in his own mind’ leader who lacks the brains, the skills or the know how to be in that all-important position. The main protagonist of John Carpenter’s 1986 fantastical martial arts action/adventure/comedy Big Trouble in Little China, Burton is a truck driver (his big rig named The Pork-Chop Express), spending those long days and even longer nights spouting his unique brand of advice to whoever is listening on their CB – a prime example, “when some wide-eyed, eight-foot-tall maniac grabs your neck, taps the back of your favorite head up against the barroom wall, and he looks you crooked in the eye and he asks if ya paid your dues, you just stare that big sucker right back in the eye, and you remember what ol’ Jack Burton always says at a time like that: ‘Have you paid your dues, Jack?’ ‘Yessir, the check is in the mail’”.