Randy Ray

Watching 1980’s The Empire Strikes Back for the gazillionth time made me think about the golden years of animation, past and present. Frank Oz, puppeteer and future director, painstakingly created the original Yoda and helped move him within each scene, in the back-breaking old school way, making the classic fifth Star Wars film a rewarding trip. Yes, Lucasfilm later computer-generated the Jedi Master in the prequels and Clone Wars animated series, but it was Oz who first breathed life into the ancient peaceful warrior.

That, of course, would change. Why put your hand up a puppet’s ass if you can spin the light fantastic on a computer, creating whole new worlds like a Geek Demigod? Why, indeed. A few years after Empire, 1988 to be exact, along came a Japanese anime film that would become a classic in its own right. Akira, the manga-inspired gem, is still considered to be one of the elite of its genre, and it helped move cinema from a world of four-eyed dipshit cartoons into grand mythical landscapes with rich, legendary stories.

This week, we deal with a Hidden Flick within a trio of films. Memories, a 1995 anime compilation featured the work of Katsuhiro Otomo, the co-writer and director of Akira. The series of three films contains an anime masterpiece, and two lesser works that don’t hit the mark. The pearl is the initial film, Magnetic Rose; whereas the other two, Stink Bomb and Cannon Fodder, are visually intriguing, but not as artistically compelling.

READ ON for more on this week’s Hidden Flick…

In Quentin Tarantino’s World War II film Inglorious Basterds, Brad Pitt’s character wears the patch of a very special unit on his uniform. This unit is discussed and amplified in a much older film, and here is where we detail their history to a certain degree. It was the little American film that could. Placed at an inopportune time in the middle of the release schedule during the slow-rising anti-Vietnam war era of 1968, the slab of very old school celluloid still resonates with a…well, devil-may-care leer and assault.

Neither revolutionary, nor profoundly artistic, the film contains bits of hidden truths that are often forgotten, but not for very long. One of those is the little slice of wisdom stating that the universe is built upon a specific template, and progress is sometimes motivated by the actions of one’s polar opposite. And so we turn to this week’s Hidden Flick, a World War II film released in that anarchist flashpoint year, 1968, The Devil’s Brigade.

Based on a true story of the 1st Special Service Force, a unit essentially featuring the most misfit-laden, criminally-inclined, and dubious gang of rat bastards this side of either Attica, or San Quentin, depending upon which side of the switchblade one lives. At the beginning of the story, the outstanding American actor and iconic anti-hero William Holden is a Lt. Colonel assigned to an isolated outpost in the middle of Swinging Dick, Nowhere (Fort William Henry Harrison in Helena, Montana). The fort will serve as a makeshift training camp to a new squadron being prepared to fight in European campaigns in WWII. Yeah, good luck with that, Bill.

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Recently, along with 15 others, Sidney Poitier was awarded a Presidential Medal of Freedom by President Barack Obama as an “agent of change,” and so I went back to revisit his film canon and found an interesting surprise. Poitier’s great acting career reached its peak in the turbulent yet race-defining 1960s. However, he was at an artistic crossroads, a veritable career stalemate where his role as a strong African-American who defies societal norms while personifying the decent citizen led to creative atrophy.

How does one defy stereotypes, and lead a diverse career if one is trapped, forever pigeonholed as THAT straight cat who always makes the right move, always stands tall in the face of evil, and never drifts too far into anyone’s faulty plan? Poitier struggled with those issues throughout his career, but back in 1957 when this week’s Hidden Flick was filmed, he was just another bright star on the horizon, ready for his next big break.

What makes Edge of the City significant isn’t just the 30-year-old’s vigorously righteous performance, but that the film also features Ruby Dee, the dynamic actress/writer/activist, Jack Warden, who always appeared to be in every cleverly-written character role from the 60s to the 80s, and John Cassavetes who would go onto gritty acting and directorial triumphs later on in his career, while married to the brilliant actress, Gena Rowlands. In the end, however, it is Poitier’s soaring presence which towers over the film.

READ ON for more on this week’s Hidden Flick, Edge of the City…

Alejandro Jodorowsky is many strange things to many outraged people, so it makes sense that clarity of purpose doesn’t appear to rank high on his artistic agenda. And that’s the hook right there. With the advent of this third season, 3.0 if you like, we drift away from the essence of what is known, and move further towards a more obscure angle—if that is actually possible when one is trying to focus on a rational discussion of film.

Well, that was all hoity toity and the usual heaping of pretension mixed in with foggy dissonance, but what does it mean? Indeed. What does anything mean? As we head out on a third voyage into the Great Cinematic Unknown with more than a little bit of tongue in cheek, and a heady nod towards experimental versus populist films, the nail on the head in this discussion becomes obvious, especially in light of this week’s Hidden Flick.

Before tripping on to the path of Jodorowsky’s scandalous The Holy Mountain, let’s continue our brief look at the definition of our little idea of a Hidden Flick column. These remnants of celluloid which we study and admire aren’t so much “hidden flicks” as they are films about “hidden knowledge” masked in eternally weird riddles: what is the protagonist after? What is the director trying to say? Is this a truly unique film, and does it challenge the viewer, thereby forcing the issue that to be questioning obscure ideas means that one’s audience is far smaller, but more in tune with the creative process? Ahhh…we have the answer: the Spinal Tap factor. Our audience is more “selective,” which is always the initial step towards delusion and self-indulgence, but it’s also far more honest. Let us build our 3 foot high monuments to Stonehenge, shall we?

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[Originally Published: 06/02/2009] The Death of the American Dream has been laid out for quite some time. If anything, the definition has seemed to change from generation to generation and, ultimately, one is left to interpret the hallowed Dream as one see fits. As it should be, it is, I suppose.

However, some never really had that chance to pursue their ambitions, never really had an opportunity to find out what they could do if given the right passage to success. Yes, but many, if not all, see who they have become, and what they have done with their lives. It is those points on the road through existence that we see clearly demarcated in this week’s Hidden Flick, a tale of a destiny bound and buried, American Me.

Directed in his debut at the helm by Edward James Olmos, the film was inspired by a true story, but is essentially a heavily fictionalized characterization of life as a Mexican on the streets of Los Angeles in the 1950s-70s, detailing the racism of the dominating white populace, the early gang warfare in the city, and then, inevitably, life behind the walls of various California prisons where the Mexican Mafia solidified its formidable reputation.

READ ON for more on this week’s Hidden Flick – American Me and be sure to check HT in two weeks for the first edition of Hidden Flick’s Season 3…

[Originally Published: March 10, 2009]

When I first saw Danny Boyle’s 28 Days Later, his epic out-of-nowhere British zombie/uber cannibalistic/virus outbreak/mutant apocalypse mind-blowingly violent death mental film, I immediately had the same reaction I have with any incredibly talented director. Give the bastard some serious coin to spin the celluloid fantastic into hyperspace. See what they can do. Give them enough rope to either jump across the whole psychedelic lake and swing back with their sanity intact and talents furthered, OR the rope tangles around their artistic neck, strangling themselves on their own self-indulgence.

Boyle reached his total mass creative potential in a completely unexpected way with the unpredictable critical and commercial success of Slumdog Millionaire. However, Boyle’s film before the East Indian tempest in a tea pot, is an intense and visually stunning piece of work that just seemed to come and go under the cultural radar in the 2007 theatrical night like so many other obscure gems. Indeed, this week’s Hidden Flick is Sunshine.

The science fiction film helmed by Boyle, and written by Alex Garland, tells the tale of a ship in 2057 sent from Earth to detonate a nuclear weapon “the size of Manhattan” within our dying Sol in a desperate attempt to reinvigorate and give new life to a dying star. The international cast is surrounded by ingenious CGI effect shots, and the usual Boyle setups which neither foreshadow, nor echo anything that has really come before in the film.

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Welcome to the final installment of the second season of Randy Ray’s stellar Hidden Flick column which clues you in on films that may have slipped past your radar. But don’t fret, season three kicks off on August 4 and we’ll feature the best of season two every other Tuesday until season three begins. Here’s a Special Edition of Hidden Flick to close the season properly…

It was an old amphitheatre that was going to be torn down and replaced with…well, the owner just couldn’t say. “I had a few offers to do something with the place, but I couldn’t part with her. She’s special,” said…well, the owner just prefers to remain anonymous, almost like the Stranger, aka the Cowboy Narrator, played by Sam Elliott, in the Coen Brothers’ The Big Lebowski. “Sarsaparilla for all my friends,” as Elliott channels Barfly’s Mickey Rourke in another cinematic dimension.

He seemed to get misty eyed when he spoke of how long he had owned the tiny outdoor venue—it had been used for concerts by no name acts for years, with seats up front, and then a lawn which stretched out far and wide in the back, all leading up to a lot where patrons could park, walk through the entrance booth, and go find a seat, a seat on this night, not to catch a concert, or hear any music whatsoever from any band, but to see a series of films in what is now known as “my little Hidden Theatre at the end of the road,” according to the owner, a gracious chap on this refreshingly mild pre-summer eve. READ ON for more of this week’s Hidden Flick…

Going too far carries a gravitas that came to fruition in the excesses of 20th century rock. Hell, some of our favorite musicians have long straddled the line between life and death. Some, to such a degree (far too many great icons from Hendrix to Cobain), have died when that line was finally crossed. But this Rimbaud type tendency to burn across the poetic sky as some sort of mythical druggy superman before crashing down to earth as a lowly mortal dates back to the Dawn of Man (or the Dawn of Tripped-Out Man as I recently wrote, in reference to a heady band of new psychedelic warriors).

Johnny Depp has played many characters that willfully blur the line between life and death on a daily basis—characters as twisted and deformed as Raoul Duke aka Hunter S. Thompson, or the actor’s recent musical romp through the evil world of Sweeney Todd. But his characterization of John Wilmot, the 2nd Earl of Rochester, a 17th century poet, sex fiend and scoundrel, gave film buffs a real taste of pure pirate-like behavior that far overshadowed his work as the loveable rogue in the Disney Caribbean trilogy. Yes, but I prefer the Bad Guy on film (Vader over Kenobi) as the bent mind seems more human.

Indeed, Depp behaves like a man on his last waltz through Dante’s Inferno. Every Day. Every Footstep. Every Drink from the Bottle. Every Leer and Sneer. He has contempt for ordinary society, and in his cavalier way, Depp’s character towers above the film that documents his sordid life in this week’s Hidden Flick, The Libertine.

READ ON for more on this week’s Hidden Flick – The Libertine…

…a powerfully eerie sound erupts out of the darkness, and the magician twirls his hands up, down, and side to side, before waving his digits in a fast flurry through the low-lit air. The young sorcerer walks away from his own electronic creation, slashing his arms in a bird-like fashion, until the arcing cries transcend shape, slowly fading into the demonic distance, neither appearing nor disappearing by the physical touch of a human hand.

Jimmy Page is done with his bit of sinister audio, and returns to attacking his Les Paul. Robert Plant howls at the devil on his trail and yelps for a whole lotta love, while John Paul Jones and John Bonham beat the drums en route to Valhalla without any pretension towards mercy and restraint. This ain’t your daddy’s Chicago blues, mate. This is chaos.

My initial exposure to the strange surreal sounds of the theremin was on many trips to a little midnight movie by the world’s biggest band, Led Zeppelin. The Song Remains the Same was a sledge-hammered cranium-opener for my sane and sober teenaged mind. Flash forward a few years, and one comes across a documentary based on the inventor of the instrument and this week’s Hidden Flick, Theremin – An Electronic Odyssey.

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