Stealers Wheel

Only the second feature film to be made by Disney (the first was Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs), Pinocchio, released in 1940, was, shockingly, a failure at the box office (partially due to distribution problems relating to World War II). . . though, after many re-releases, including the highly successful 1945 venture, it flourished. A complex and influential undertaking, it took five sequence directors (Norman Ferguson, T. Lee, Wilfred Jackson, Jack Kinney, and Bill Roberts), two supervising directors (Hamilton Luske and Ben Sharpsteen), and a mind-boggling seven writers (Ted Sears, Otto Englander, Webb Smith, William Cottrell, Joseph Sabo, Erdman Penner, and Aurelius Battaglia), as well as uncredited scribe Bill Peet to bring Carlo Lorenzini’s (better known by nom de plume Carlo Collodi) fairy tale, “The Adventures of Pinocchio”, to life.

It’s funny how vivid our memories can be – clearly recalling moments from when we were kids. I can remember hearing of actor Brandon (son of Bruce) Lee’s death while shooting a movie, seeing photos of him plastered all over magazines and tv in his now iconic makeup. Making a connection soon after in my mind with Sting (not the singer of The Police, but rather, the wrestler – who soon after Lee’s death modelled his makeup on his character. . . as you can guess, I was into wresting at the time), his look and story stuck with me from the age of six until now, a heartbreaking tale of a fatal mistake made on set. Of course, the film I am referring to is The Crow, directed by Alex Proyas (Dark City) – a tale that is hard to separate from the depressing real life tragedy. Like some sort of eerie foreshadowing, its narrative follows Eric Draven (Lee), a man who has died after being stabbed, shot and thrown out of a window (Lee passed away after being shot by an improperly deactivated cartridge) – all of this after his fiancée has been raped and murdered.

With a remake currently in theatres, it is the perfect time to revisit 1974's Death Wish. A film that was mostly panned by critics upon its release (a rare supporter was Roger Ebert), its raw form of vigilante justice captured the imagination of the American public – after all, it was an era when crime ran rampant in many urban metropolises. A pure example of a gritty, violent, anti-establishment exploitation piece, director Michael Winner (The Mechanic) introduces us to an architect named Paul Kersey (Charles Bronson – his star raised by this game-changing role), a happy man who is currently on vacation (in Hawaii) with his wife Joanna (Hope Lange).

To provide a reference point, 1953's It Came From Outer Space comes off like a mix between an episode of The Twilight Zone and Star Trek, a science fiction horror tale with a message at its heart. A prime example of the way in which horror movies transformed in the Atomic Age (the fear of nuclear annihilation on the collective consciousness throughout North America and around the world), yet with a unique twist, director Jack Arnold brings Ray Bradbury’s story (adapted into a screenplay by Harry Essex) to vivid life. After the title explodes onto the screen, we meet amateur astronomer John Putnam (Richard Carlson – Hold That Ghost; Creature From the Black Lagoon) and his teacher girlfriend, Ellen Fields (Barbara Rush – she won Most Promising Newcomer - Female, for this film at The Golden Globes), who spot a giant meteor that hits the desert close to his home.

An influential and innovative director that is sadly unknown to multiple generations of movie enthusiasts is Russian filmmaker Sergei Eisenstein, who would have turned one hundred and twenty a couple of weeks ago on January 10th. Best known for Battleship Potemkin (a laudable feature that will be reviewed here in due course), those in the know also point to his first full length motion picture, Strike, as being a vital piece of film history (it is often cited along with Orson Welles’ Citizen Kane as being one of the most audacious and impressive efforts by a first time filmmaker). Released in 1925 (the same year as Potempkin), though set in 1903, the aptly named picture, told in six parts, looks at a factory workers’ strike in pre-Revolutionary Russia. A fascinating study of early socialism versus capitalism from the Soviet perspective, the workers are close to their tipping point. . . looking for better hours, higher pay, less work for the child labourers and other such things. With the elite sensing their waning drive, they warn their spies on the inside to keep both eyes open for civil unrest – each of these men have an animalistic nickname, their personas connected to the beast they have been named for.