Bronson [2008)

Three hospitals.

Three towers.

Alan Franey running Broadmoor on recommendation of Jimmy Savile.

From 1968 onwards, Jimmy Savile had his own room at Broadmoor for his “charity” work.

Savile had a personal set of keys to Broadmoor from 1968 till 2004.

Or 2009.

Unsupervised access to some wards.

Mad max.

Black hawk down.

Tom Clancy.

I got close to Luton.

In the rain.

Wandsworth.

Gary Glitter.

James Earl Ray.

Julian Assange.

Oscar Wilde.

Pete Doherty.

Broadmoor 1982.

With that fucker Jimmy Savile on the loose.

Who’s the real criminal?

Wormwood Scrubs.

Babyshambles.

True romance.

She’s marrying Brian.

Brixton.

Mick Jagger.

Glenn Danzig.

New Jersey.

Bristol.

Rock and roll part II.

Belmarsh.

GITMO as a verb.

WikiLeaks.

Tommy Robinson.

Budgie.

Motorboating.

Nicolas Winding Refn.

Christina Hendricks.

Lively and Reynolds in New Orleans.

Honoré soon gun-grabbing again like in Katrina.

Most certainly masterpiece.

Birds.

Pajaros.

Magritte.

Un Chien andalou.

Bronson Salvador.

Jung death wish.

Verdi.

Refn Jewish Dane.

Wagner.

Little-known Attila.

It was my destiny like Rachmaninoff.

Ring cycle.

Stolen.

Richard Strauss.

Bruckner 4.

Delibes.

Deliberate.

Puccini.

Watch for Bregenz.

Q ear piece.

Lapel.

-PD

Patriot Games [1992)

This is not a game.

Assassination attempts on motorcades.

Jack Ryan jumps in here.

An expert by Clear and Present Danger.

Since 1972.

Tom Clancy.

Minister of State, Northern Ireland.

The answer.

Paul Channon.

Six months.

We are.

In that period.

Married Ingrid Guinness.

Former wife of his cousin.

Jonathan Guinness.

PC.

Guinness board of directors.

Guinness Trust.

By the way.

What ever happened to Rachel Chandler?

Wife of Thomas Guinness-Taylor?

He being son of the aforementioned Jonathan Guinness and mistress Susan “Shoe” Taylor?

The date of birth seems to match.

1986.

Northern Ireland Office.

Would be equivalent to Robin Walker.

1972-1974: Conservative (Edward Heath).

1974-1979: Labour (Harold Wilson/James Callaghan).

1979-1997: Conservative (Margaret Thatcher/John Major).

1997-2010: Labour (Tony Blair/Gordon Brown)

2010-present: Conservative (David Cameron/Theresa May/Boris Johnson).

The Provisional IRA was socialist.

Not to be confused with the IRA of 1919-1922.

Cells.

Splinters.

Gilded.

Annette is English.

Red wig.

Not a real ginger.

Prisoner transfer motorcade ambushed.

On the move.

Dangerous.

David Robinson.

This was before the Colombian PTSD.

A healthy amount of paranoia.

Highway attack.

By 1994, Fort Huachuca had come into the mix.

Film misdated as 1998 is actually 1992.

Watched out of order.

Keyhole.

Who dares wins.

Flynn.

Lindell.

SAS because British citizens.

CIA assist.

Assassination attempt on American.

Terrorists.

Pence was a mole.

Traitor.

McInerney correct.

London.

Alaska.

Chevy Chase, Maryland.

Diplomatic Security Service.

Maryland State Police.

HRT Quantico.

Crisis management.

A career of crises.

Diversion.

Spartacus.

Next film was already in the works.

You are watching a movie.

-PD

Red Dawn [1984)

Wikipedia wants to focus on NATO.

“–Soviet Union suffers worst wheat harvest in 55 years.

–labor and food riots in Poland. Soviet troops invade.

–Cuba and Nicaragua reach troop strength goals of 500,000.

El Salvador and Honduras fall.

–Greens [sic] Party gains control of West German parliament.

Demands withdrawal of nuclear weapons from European soil.

–Mexico plunged into revolution.

–NATO dissolves.

United States stands alone.”

Gist correct.

Minor typographical errors possible.

Agenda set by Joi Ito’s sister Mimi.

Jeffrey.

Benjamin Mako Hill.

MIT Media Lab.

One Laptop per Child.

What could possibly go wrong?

Nicholas Negroponte.

Epstein.

John Negroponte.

First DNI.

Beneficiary of 9/11.

Now Avril Haines.

Rewarded for being a “player” in Event 201.

Mexico and Honduras.

Davenport College.

Yale.

George H.W. Bush (Skull and Bones [CIA]).

George W. Bush (Skull and Bones).

William F. Buckley Jr. (Skull and Bones [CIA]).

Samantha Power.

Trevor Neilson (Gates Foundation).

Craig Newmark (Obama/Biden).

Melissa Hagemann (Soros).

Essa’a Al Shafei (MIT Media Lab [WEF]).

How snow looks in Texas from a 4th grade window.

Gets a bit ridiculous quite quickly.

A bit implausible.

Thinking Soviet.

Red.

They heard some Spanish.

Find the gun owners.

Confiscation.

Lots of batteries.

Soda water.

Cereal.

Arrows.

Ammunition.

7,000 Bell helicopters in the Vietnam War.

Re-education at the drive-in.

Harry Dean Stanton.

Film on repeat.

Saying how America was never great.*

120/124 #FlagOfficers4America .

Boykin.

Bolduc.

72 special operators from USSOCAF lost under Bolduc’s command.

4thPOG.

Avenge me!

Avenge me!

Toni and Erica join up.

Hidden in the cellar.

Like Jews.

Because of an invading force of pillaging rapists.

A constant in war.

Lea Thompson gunner.

Headless.

Jennifer Grey nade.

Keep me warm.

No surgery now.

No surviving a wound of this sort.

Multiple gunshots.

Abdomen.

Chest.

Bleeding out of mouth.

Pull the pin for me.

Wolverines.

Michigan.

Matthew DePerno.

Families of rebels killed.

Break the spirit of the rebels.

Mayor Bates is Mike Pence.

Powers Boothe.

F-15 ejection St. Louis on runway.

https://www.businessinsider.com/st-louis-airport-f15-pilots-reportedly-ejected-2021-5

Southwest Texas State.

Me too.

Year two.

Later return.

Texas State.

Omaha (Offutt) overrun by Cubans [STRATCOM].

D.C. nuked.

Invasion across U.S. southern AND northern borders.

Middle of country taken.

Stopped at Rockies and Mississippi.

Conventional warfare prevails.

Asymmetrical wolverines.

Legendary on the coasts.

In California.

In the mountains of Colorado.

Northwestern Canada seized by Soviets.

Most important line.

600,000,000 Chinese on our side.

Give me a fucking break.

Wait for the remake.

China has never been a U.S. ally.

Wikipedia riddled with subtle propaganda.

Shaffer.

Sellin.

10th Mountain.

Fort Drum.

A chopper from Rambo III.

Where were they getting these things?

Iraq?

Israel?

Defectors?

MIGs at Area 51.

Must be willing to fly vertical.

Looked like Erica shot Daryl.

Mil Mi-24.

Ravenous.

Apples.

Cereal.

Pour in mouth.

Milk later.

Squeeze rind to flirt.

A moment of joy in the mountain sun.

Orange freshly.

A bit maudlin.

Propaganda.

Cuban revolutionary cannot kill other revolutionaries.

Actually, a very interesting theoretical conundrum.

John Milius more writer than director?

Dirty Harry.

Apocalypse Now.

The Hunt for Red October.

Clear and Present Danger.

The film peaks.

By the swing set.

What we never thought we’d become.

Soldiers.

In a war.

China is the threat and the invader.

The war is now.

Bio psywar economic sabotage Marxist divide and conquer British bolsheviks.

Bolsheviks

Cheney out.

Operation moving.

1 by 1.

Just sayin’.

-PD

Cuban Fury [2014)

“You got no fear of the underdog/

That’s why you will not survive.”

Britt Daniel wrote that lyric.

And it’s the only song by his band Spoon which has even the most remote bit of soul in it.

Such a soulless band, Spoon…

The ultimate plastic hipsters.

A male supermodel and his gang of H&M monkeys behind him.

It would almost be artistic…in sort of an Andy Warhol/Factory sort of way.

Except there is no humor in it.

Spoon are dead serious.

The irony is (ATTN:  hipsters) there’s no irony here.

All that being said, Britt Daniel wrote one of the best songs I’ve ever heard.

And it’s the one I quoted above.

“The Underdog”

It doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter that my path crossed Britt’s path.

It doesn’t matter that I was invited to audition for his band Spoon as a keyboard player.

It doesn’t matter that he probably saw me in an outfit that wasn’t quite svelte enough and promptly canceled my audition before it ever happened.

Because he underestimated the underdog.

And that’s why he will not survive.

Last I heard, Spoon (or at least their godhead, Britt) relocated to Portland.

I suppose Austin wasn’t hip enough anymore.

Either that, or his shitty personality had shit off everyone in Austin and he needed a new lot of cunts to shit on.

But I digress…

Because, as stated, Britt had a point.

Once.

In one song.

[whether he learned the lesson he sang about or not is a different story]

But it is very much germane to OUR story–to this fantastic film:

Cuban Fury.

You almost always see Nick Frost in tow behind his partner in comedy Simon Pegg.

But not this time.

And so here we start a new investigation.

The test was simple:  could Nick Frost carry a film by himself (without the great talents of Simon Pegg)?

And the answer is a resounding YES!

We start all Billy Elliott (that one thing upon which Admiral General Aladeen and his presumptive torturer could agree).

Ass kicked.

Sequins eaten.

A future star quits mid-stride.

What could have been…

Have you ever had such a moment in your life?

I have.

LIFE beat me up.

In the span of a couple of months.

And now, instead of laying down tracks on 2-inch tape, I’m making songs solely with an iPhone.

You can feel the excitement.

It had to have been at least 20 years for Bruce (Nick Frost).

He gave up his passion.

Thought he would never cross paths again with salsa dancing.

He had been on the precipice of the youth national title in Britain.

Then his life went humdrum.

Works an office job for a company specializing in lathes.

The most nondescript industry possible.

But he gets a new boss.

Rashida Jones.

She is excellent here.

She hits just the right notes in her performance.

She is Bruce’s new boss.

But, as fortune would have it, she (an American in Britain) loves salsa.

Bruce is gobsmacked.

Enough so to turn his life around.

To attempt to reel in the years.

Equally brilliant as the first two players I’ve mentioned (Frost and Jones) is Ian McShane.

You might remember him as the head of MI6 in The Brothers Grimsby.

But ironically, his role here (as Bruce’s former dance teacher) is far heavier.

Think Burgess Meredith with an occasional lisping Spanish one would expect to hear in Madrid.

And McShane injects some Keith Richards pirate couture for good measure.

This is a HARD man.

Drinking tequila the whole film.

And he’s a fucking dance teacher.

A TOUGH dance teacher.

He’s tough because he sees the potential in his student.

And he won’t let his student half-ass this endeavor.

Either you go “all in”, or you go home.

Passion.

El corazón.

This film is truly a joy to watch.

…to see Nick Frost regain what truly makes him happy.

To dance.

It’s the story of someone reclaiming themselves.

Rewinding life…just enough to relive ones happiest former version of being (and relocate oneself).

But here’s the other part.

The ladies.

Or lady, here.

They just see Nick as a fat schlub.

No way this guy could dance salsa, right?

Every day suffering insults from a particularly nasty coworker.

Let me illustrate.

For me, supporting President Trump brings me daily grief.

Every day I am made aware (by “liberals”) that they hate me.

I am treated badly.

In person.

At work.

Online.

Simply trying to start my romantic life over and date.

I am very upfront.

Listed front and center:  “I voted for Trump.”

Kind of like an, “Abandon hope, ye who enter”.

But more like:  Let the Buyer Beware.

I lay it all out there.

“I live with my parents.”

etc.

And I get some shitty shit.

Which is why, every once in awhile, I think God is looking out for me.

I think maybe that God sees what I go through.

I’m not mean.

I’m not rude.

I don’t proselytize in a political sense.

I try to show warmth to others.

I try to show God’s love with my actions.

And boy do I end up throwing my pearls before swine sometimes…

Often, perhaps.

Lots of swine.

And it gets me down.

But I thought today was gonna be better.

Since last night.

Things had been going really well for me.

And now, here at 4 in the morning, I find myself back in a similar spot.

But it’s ok.

Because God loves me.

And if a bunch of braindead bitches wanna ignore the underdog,

then we won’t be surprised why they didn’t find happiness.

So this is a love story.

Forbidden love.

Nick Frost is in love with his boss.

Because his boss is perfect…for him.

It’s FaTE.

God puts us in the position to win.

But true winning is not always capturing first place.

“You can’t always get what you want…

But if you try sometimes,

you might find,

you get what you need.”

Where have I heard that song these past four years?

Ah, yes.

She was never supposed to lose.

Hillary Clinton.

She underestimated the underdog.

That’s why she did not survive.

Before this goes totally off the rails.

Love is the greatest victory there is.

But love has to be reciprocated.

If you’re a superstar (and I know you are, my dear reader), then you deserve AT LEAST as much as you give.

When you give love, compliments, gifts, affection, etc.

If you find yourself always to be the giver…and never allowed to be the taker (because nothing is given to you), then you just might be in the wrong situation.

I know I was.

And, praise God, I am out of that for the time being.

Except for at least one catch.

The world, our world, is primarily composed of takers.

Ingrates.

People without manners.

Humans unfamiliar with common courtesy.

Unpracticed at recognizing fairness.

People who have very little conscience (if any whatsoever).

And they are either unaware that they are such assholes, or they are aware and they simply do not care.

So again, it’s just me on this computer here.

Sitting in the dark.

Typing.

But that’s ok.

Because in this movie, a fat guy gets a beautiful girl.

And he gets her because he’s good at something.

Do you feel me?

But we must be righteous too.

Let us not underestimate OUR personal underdogs.

Let us not defile the name of God by letting superficiality reign.

God will show us the way.

Let us do what is just.

I ask that all who read this may be helped.

That each of them may know that God loves them.

And I ask this in the name of the Son of God.

I ask this by the power that is in the name Jesus.

God works in mysterious ways.

Our loving God will not be mocked.

God will not lose in the end.

We are entrusted with great responsibility.

But we know who wins.

And we know that the ending is magnificent.

And we know that all are welcome in the Kingdom of Heaven.

God only asks that we have humility.

The humility to ask forgiveness.

And God does not demand perfection.

The coin which God accepts, for eternal life, is faith.

And God charges no interest on this coin.

It is given freely, yet it is the most valuable thing in the universe.

Praise be to His holy name.

Indictments = start.

 

-PD

Trainspotting [1996)

There’s something special about Scotland.

Several of my favorite bands are from there.

The Delgados.  Teenage Fanclub.  Primal Scream.

And it is this final band which really sums up this film.

The British really have never learned how to make films.

There are two major exceptions:

Chaplin and Hitchcock.

Why would they be exceptions?

Because they made their best films in America.  Hollywood.

It’s ironic.

Because Chaplin and Hitchcock are perhaps the two best.  Ever.

Hitchcock was the better director.  Perhaps the most important ever.

But Chaplin was the bigger genius.  His talent was limitless.

So my insult is not meant to imply that the British can’t make timeless films.

They can.

But perhaps not in Britain.

But this whole British blah blah blah.

This film is going in my new category:  Scotland.

Another of my favorite bands (Gorky’s Zygotic Mynci) is Welsh.

I hope to have that category someday.  Wales.

And last but not least:  Ireland.

Which is not to say I don’t have a fond place in my heart for England.

I do.

Manchester.  Liverpool.  Bristol.  Birmingham.  Newcastle.  I could go on.

But we’re here to talk about Scotland.  And this film.

Trainspotting is, at once, a great film and not a great film.  Simultaneously.

Let me explain.

7/7

Looks like as much of a false-flag synthetic terror…the state attacking its own people as.

9/11

Heroin addicts don’t know what day it is.  Not to mention the “date”.

Heroin addicts don’t know what month it is.  Even the year is a bit fuzzy.

They’re fairly sure that a new century has ticked over.

Ewan McGregor is pretty great here.  In his too-small shirt.  Accidentally shagging a minor.

Oops.

Ewen Bremner is good here.  Especially the job interview.

Beautiful to hear English which begs for subtitles.

Jonny Lee Miller has the best hair.  Like Thom Yorke once upon a time.

Bleach-blond chop.

But McGregor has the utilitarian buzz cut.  The sad skinhead.

Spud on the curb.  Talking up at Diane.

And Sick Boy always prattling on about James Bond movies.  [like me]

Kevin McKidd is classic rifling through his VHS collection.  Desperately.

Kelly Macdonald is a revelation.

But Robert Carlyle is really the only indispensable element of this entire film.

He’s not great.  And yet he’s better than great.

Danny Boyle’s direction is generally daft.

It’s good.  Then it’s great.  Then it sucks.

But I’ll say this:  this is an essential film.

You can’t know rock and roll without knowing this film.

Boyle lifted the DNA of rock (with the help of Irvine Welsh).

The story’s alright.  The direction is passable.

But Robert Carlyle is a goddamned miracle.

He’s not conveying anything sublime.

But he’s conveying Scotland.

To me.

King Tut’s Wah-Wah Hut.

Yeah, I know…Edinburgh.

But it’s just as applicable to Glasgow.

I hear it in the music of Primal Scream.

And it shows up in the music of another of my favorites:  Spiritualized.

And I hear it in the ravaging sounds of Nick Cave circa Grinderman.

The Anglophone world.

We Americans speak the weirdest.

Especially in my neck of the woods.  Texas.  The South.

But even New York.  The Northeast.

There’s one more essential element about this film:  Iggy Pop.

From “Lust For Life” to “Nightclubbing”, these tunes are moments of crystalized perfection.

Even Lou Reed is well-represented with “Perfect Day”.

If you wanna understand scumbag rock and roll, see this film.

Because the rockers are alive.

They have shite lives.

They live on nothing.

Unless they get lucky.

But there’s a vitality to their way of life.

See them in their natural habitat 🙂

 

-PD

O slavnosti a hostech [1966)

This is one of the strangest films I’ve ever seen.

Rarely have I seen such uneasiness conveyed through cinema.

The really terrifying part is.

How mundane all of the symbols are.

Is/are.

Insane.

For a moment.

Like the Czech version of Deliverance.

We see “party” in English (in the context of Czechoslovakia), and we think.

Communist Party.

But the slavnosti in question translates to “feast”.

Google tells us.

And Google is never wrong.

Right?

Which is to say.

Hell is a party.

A party from which you wish to flee.

Beggar’s banquet.

There is no leaving communist Romania.

And Czechoslovakia?

I can’t tell you, dear friend.

But we know of the boy who swam the Danube.

Symbolic.

To nonaligned Yugoslavia.

And from there to Italy and Toblerone.

That’s Cum mi-am petrecut sfârşitul lumii.

But what we have here is A Report on the Party and the Guests.

Report.

Also sounds very bureaucratic.  Quintessentially communist.

Let’s take the popular notion that Kafka sums up bureaucracy.

In which work?

The Trial? With Josef K.?

Yes.  This is most applicable to O slavnosti a hostech.

We must learn to speak every language.

Like Pope John Paul II (slight exaggeration).

Because Kafka wrote in German.

Der Process.

It’s a process of ablaut-ish metamorphosis.

Prozess –> Proceß –> Prozeß

swimswamswum

Kafka died in 1924.  Age 40.  My age in six months.

1948/1949 Czechoslovakia becomes part of Soviet bloc.

Comecon.

Not to be confused with Comic-Con.

And never any Poto and Cabengo in San Diego.

Though they be in their own backyard.

Grace and Virginia were superheroes without costumes.

And they had their own language, by golly.

Brings tears to my eyes.

To see them playing potato.

“What are they saying?”

This is the absurdity of blogging about the absurdity of a film inspired by the absurdity of Kafka.

But likely unconscious.

This genius (director Jan Němec) died only a few months ago.

But he gave the world a belly laugh.

And an unnerving masterpiece.

It is not as obviously magnificent as Closely Watched Trains.

But it is supremely subversive.

In a totalitarian state (like Amerika)…which is completely ruled by commodity relations.

This is our last recourse.

England swings.

Like a pendulum.

From the gallows.

Frexit (France leaves NATO…again).

Hexit (Hungary curses continental Europe from Buddhapesht to Bookarrest)

Crexit (Croatia invents new correction fluid for computer screens)

Spexit (Spain certifies that said correction fluid meets ISO standards)

Esexit (Estonia doubles GDP overnight with racy dating service app)

Slexit (a dual rush for the doors by Slovakia and Slovenia)

Rexit (Holy Roman Emperor reestablished in Romania, confined to Bookarrest)

Fexit (Finland engages in creative destruction)

Pexit (Poland and Portugal [in that order] gobble seed with bobbing avian head motion)

Irexit (being both hungry and anorexic [morbidly hangry], Ireland joins the Brits in bolting)

Everyone else stays.

Until the Czexit.  [ooh la la]

Serbia accedes and secedes in same day simply to give the world the thrill of Sexit.

[I know I know]

This is the rearrangement of guests.

So many not at the world table.

In such times.

Only art can explain.

 

-PD

 

#3 The Curse of Mr. Bean [1990)

Just who does Donald Trump think he is???

Answer:  Sam Walton.

It’s the big, goofy, mesh-backed baseball cap.  The ones with the plastic snaps and infinitesimally small corresponding holes.  And then the squishy, peaked frontispiece:  “Make America great again” –or– (alternately) “Wal-Mart”.

That is the Donald’s costume…out on the campaign trail.  It’s bold.  Comedic.  A bit like George H.W. Bush “shopping” for groceries out among the common folk and being dumbfounded by this whole newfangled barcode scanner.

Yes, Donald Trump:  man of the people.

And so who did Rowan Atkinson think he was with Mr. Bean?

Well, that one’s a whole lot harder to pinpoint.

We might know Chaplin.  And Sellers.

But then there’s all these other institutions which don’t quite translate outside of Britain…The Goon Show, Dudley Moore, The Goodies…

Just from whence was Atkinson pulling his stuff?

We want to think it’s all original.  And perhaps it is.

But influence is unavoidable.

And so with the third and final episode of 1990, Atkinson gave us The Curse of Mr. Bean.  [1991 would yield only one episode of the show.]

The curse…hmmm…certainly sounds like an allusion to Sellers’ Clouseau.

Whatever the case may be, Atkinson’s material is all tied together with a very cohesive theme this time:  fear.

Fear of the diving board (afraid of heights).

Fear of public nudity or embarrassment (lost his trunks in the pool).

And finally the orgiastic grand guignol of laughter:

fear of movies.

It sounds like a pretentious art school pop album.

For instance, the Talking Heads’ Eno-produced Fear of Music (1979).

But for Bean, the horror was more of the Freddy Krueger type.

Indeed, by December 30, 1990 (this show’s airdate), there had already been five (yes, 5ive) A Nightmare on Elm Street movies.

Churned out of the dream factory like diabolical cotton candy, they appeared in 1984, 1985, 1987, 1988, and 1989.  The series then would recommence in 1991.  Which begs the question, just what was Freddy Krueger up to in 1986?  Laying low?  Vacationing?  The Caribbean?

To wit, Bean is scared witless while on a date (yes, those things where aspiring romantics “go out”) with the absolutely adorable Matilda Ziegler.

For those of you (like me) who can’t live without pithy character names, Ziegler’s role (like my beloved Enid Coleslaw) is that of Irma Gobb.

And Bean, therefore, is the man-child…the everlasting Gobbstopper [sic].

[Which is to say, Ziegler’s character is a reoccurring one.]

Perhaps we need to look further back to find a precedent for Rowan Atkinson’s Mr. Bean…perhaps out of the world of comedy proper.  Perhaps to the Dadaists?  I can certainly imagine Mr. Bean dressed as a sort of human tampon à la Hugo Ball…with lobster claw hands.  Or maybe Bean with a lobster telephone courtesy of Dalí.  Certainly Bean would have a pet lobster to take for walks in the Bois de Boulogne with a ribbon for a leash like Gérard de Nerval.

But we perhaps perhaps perhaps need to look further.  To the wry humor of Marcel Duchamp.  To the childlike fancy and brilliance of a René Magritte or an Erik Satie.  Even, god forbid, the humor of a Mauricio Kagel.

Conductors don’t have heart attacks mid-concert?  Not according to Kagel’s Ludwig Van.

Yet Bean never crosses that line of pretension.

He’s never Anthony Braxton’s Quartet for Amplified Shovels.

No, Bean always remains funny.

And so, perhaps, nothing is more revolutionary than comedy.

This kind of comedy.

Absolutely scripted, miniaturist-perfect comedy worthy of Jacques Tati.

In that sense, we might say that Mr. Bean is like Peter Sellers having Charlie-Chaplin-like total control over a production.  At least that’s the way it seems.

Perhaps we would be criminally neglecting the director of these first three Bean episodes:  John Howard Davies.

But in such comedies, the thing really does speak for itself.

Rowan Atkinson fills every moment of screen time in these gems with his thoroughly inimitable charm.

 

-PD

Enter the Dragon [1973)

Hollywood fail.  Yes.  Bruce Lee’s first three films are each better than this hunk of bejeweled shit.  Most notably, it shows how talented Lee was as a director (Way of the Dragon) compared to Robert Clouse.  But then we get the message that Lee was an “uncredited” director on this film.  Is it a reference to the fight scenes and their staging?  It seems, rather, that Lee merely directed the opening sequence of the film under consideration.

Back to Clouse then.  Perhaps his other films were better, but this one really misses the mark.  All of the special details which made The Big Boss, Fist of Fury, and Way of the Dragon such wonderful films are generally missing here.

Don’t get me wrong:  there are great moments within.  When dealing with a talent like Lee, there is always something salvageable.  Yet still, it is mind-boggling to me that the addition of major studio backing (Warner Bros.) only served to dilute the power of what Lee had been steadily building through his filmography.

But of course that would all end on July 20, 1973 when Lee died (just six days before Enter the Dragon premiered in Hong Kong).  Lee was in Hong Kong to dine with Lazenby.  George Lazenby.  The two intended to work together.  Lee met Raymond Chow at 2 p.m. to discuss his next film Game of Death.

Cerebral edema, they say.  Had occurred as recently as two months prior.  Seizures and headaches.  Mannitol.

A headache on the day of his death led to Equagesic (aspirin and meprobamate).  Analgesic/tranquilizer.

Swelling of the brain…  Was his death really an allergic reaction to the tranquilizer component of Equagesic?

A sad day.  Eleven days later his pallbearers included Steve McQueen, James Coburn, Chuck Norris, and George Lazenby.

Yes, there seems to be some dispute between the doctor in charge of autopsy (Donald Teare) and Lee’s doctor in Hong Kong.  It doesn’t really add confidence to the conclusion of the former to note that he (Teare) was recommended by Scotland Yard.  This was, of course, during the 156 years which Britain ruled Hong Kong as a colony (ending in 1997).

Had Lee eaten cannabis or hashish?  Was this the true cause of his death?  Some have claimed that Lee did this regularly to relieve the stress of fame.

Dr. Peter Wu, who had treated Lee two months prior to his death, called Dr. Teare “an expert on cannabis.”  Hmmm…

Teare’s conclusion was that the Equagesic had killed Lee.

I do find it suspicious that Lee died just six days prior to the Hong Kong release of this film.  The $850,000 film would go on to rake in $200 million by 1992.  Less than three weeks after his funeral in Seattle, the film premiered in the U.S.

Clouse would go on to cobble together footage of Lee and a couple of stand-ins for the 1978 release Game of Death.  It is interesting to note that the plot of Game of Death involves an international martial arts film star struggling against a racketeering syndicate.  What is more, this particular plot element seems to have not existed when shooting was done prior to Lee’s demise.  Perhaps Clouse redeemed himself in code???

-PD