Times may have changed, but for years conversationalists who knew nothing about France except that french fries came from there always had a great fall back position: "You know, they worship Jerry Lewis movies." Cecil Adams of The Straight Dope analyzes the urban legend, while passing on some of his own notions regarding "highbrow critics (the only kind France has)".

When I was Paris once, I can remember reading the newspaper Le Figaro's review of "Allo Maman, C'est Moi Encore" (Hi Mom, It's Me Again better known as Look Who's Talking Too). The review began, as I recall, "What's more droll than a talking baby? Two of them!" Sheesh, that's more highbrow than Richard Roeper even! The Lewis libel is what is the novelist Gustave Flaubert called "a received idea," a bit of folk wisdom passed down uncritically from one ignoramus to another.

Ooo-wee, that Uwe makes good copy. Happily, those who have responded to the petition to get Uwe Boll to step away from the camera now have more than one force of opposition: a second petition to keep Dr. Uwe in his current line of work. Cinematical's Erik Davis caught the beleaguered Boll's plea for support on April 9, and yet another fan has responded: Lauren Brenner of Greyface Media is the sponsor behind this noble petition: "after all, he's better than that hack Scorsese." Boll couldn't have said it better. (In case you were wondering, the first pro-Boll petition is here, and so far there are almost 4,000 signatures.)

Oh wait, he did: he's not a bleeping retard like Michael Bay, and he isn't making the same bleeping movie again and again like Eli Roth, as the good doctor was saying ... So far, four cineastes have signed this (hopefully 100% on-the-level) petition. Now, are these four names going to count against the 194,000 so far who who have signed the Stop Dr. Uwe Boll Petition? I know those looking for a 2009 release of In the King's Name Again, Already will want to add their email addresses in hopes of being solicited by hapless Nigerian ex-ministers of finance and providers of natural sex herbs. Thanks to Glenn Creamer for this tip.

Which side are you on: Pro Boll or anti Boll?

As Jack Handey put it, "It takes a big man to laugh at himself, but it takes an even bigger man to laugh at that man." Crimewave is about that big kind of man, and his partner: two electrocutioners on a rampage. They prowl the streets in a truck with a hog-sized stuffed rat on top, with red light bulb eyes. The driver is Faron Crush, who looks like Paul Sorvino playing the Incredible Hulk. HIs sniggering partner Arthur (Brion "I'll tell you about my mother" James) wears a jumpsuit, fingerless leather gloves, and a flat leather cap the shape and color of a cow-chip. If you ever had a nightmare about Gallagher, that's what Arthur looks like. The two maniacs carry with them "a shocker," a killing-machine that has three settings: "Rat," "Man" and "Hero". And they have no motivation beside malice and sheer professionalism.

Noted in Dave Kehr's blog: commenting on the death of the great Heston, the long-memoried expert on pre Star Wars film writes "one of Heston's most influential roles remains one of his least known: that of Harry Steele. Dashing though cynical adventurer who wears a fedora and a leather jacket, as he searches for Incan treasure in a manner that distinctly suggests a certain later day hero created by Steven Spielberg and George Lucas. The film is Jerry Hopper's 1954 Secret of the Incas and Paramount has been strangely reluctant to release it to TV or DVD ... reportedly, Spielberg and Lucas screened it for members of the production team planning Raiders of the Lost Ark."

One Raiders of the Lost Ark fansite, theraider.net. has already commented: "the atmosphere of the story is so similar that any Indiana Jones fan will be smitten with this film."
Why doesn't Paramount fess up and re-release this? It'd be worth $20 to see Heston as Steele, searching for a jeweled relic in the Inca Temple of the Sun among real life locations in Machu Picchu (as visible above, but here's a better look at the poster). He's up against a first-rate villain (Thomas Mitchell, of Gone With the Wind, Stagecoach, and many other classics). And then there's the matter of the film's discovery, the debuting "bird girl of the Andes" Yma Sumac. Seen here at YouTube demonstrating her world-famous 5 octave pipes in one of her numbers from the film. Don't believe the horrible lie that Yma Sumac is really Amy Camus from Brooklyn!

Here stands a rebuke to the idea that in the digitized world everything is available. Well, if you strain a bit you can get this notoriously out of print movie. The Brazilian version of the semi-legal Chimes at Midnight aka Falstaff aka Campanadas a Medianoche can be bought for a cool $40, and all you do is turn off the Portuguese subtitles. However, thanks to the poor sound of this masterpiece, English subtitles might be necessary. The entire film was post-synced: "not a word in direct sound," said the co-star Keith Baxter, who played Prince Hal. Led by the obtuse Bosley Crowther of the New York Times, critics of 1967 put their finger on this very obvious button. Few of them considered how few viewers come out of a movie saying, "Boy, the picture, the script and the acting sucked, but wasn't the sound great?"

Last Sunday, the local film archive showed Chimes at Midnight; me and 100 other people turned our back on a sunny afternoon, and treated ourselves to a rare 16mm screening of one of the most imaginative, stirring and beautifully composed Shakespeare films ever made. I mentioned it to Cinematical's Jeffrey Anderson and he pronounced Chimes at Midnight a better film than Citizen Kane. I don't have that kind of enthusiasm (Citizen Kane changes lives, and Chimes is a rougher sell). And still, everyone will tell you about Citizen Kane, whereas Chimes is not just a gem but a half-buried one.

Recently down for a week to pick up some kultcha in the "hateful megalopolis," as R. Crumb described Los Angeles, I caught a recurring cabaret night of bad cartoons titled Cartoon Dump! hosted by Jerry Beck, an internationally known authority on animation. Frank Conniff, best known as TV's Frank from Mystery Science Theater 3000, was on hand in costume as "Moodsy," a clinically depressed owl. The slim comedienne Erica Doering played Compost Brite! the cute, lisping dumpster-diving elf who had retrieved from the garbage a bunch of stinky cartoons that the world might be well without. Beck and Company dug up some real lulus. Hard to top was the opening from the 1950s, Paddy the Pelican.

You knew you were in for it right from the cackling theme song, seemingly a version of "The Irish Washerwoman" performed by a demented Canadian goose in duet with an electric organ. The graphics and apparently improvised dialog was like something a brain damaged-child might have come up with if you handed him a microphone and a crayon. You owe it to yourself to leave a few bars of that "Paddy" soundtrack on a friend's cellphone. They'll be looking over their shoulders for months afterwards to see if there's someone stalking them.

This will no doubt be an illegal movie forever. After seeing it at the UC Theater in the summer of '82, I recently found a copy on a bootleg VHS for $1 at a Friends of the Library sale, still burned with the Sundance Channel bug. In today's cinema, much is made of the nostalgia value of the 1980s soundtrack: a famous example being Tears for Fears' "Head Over Heels" during Donnie Darko's opening. You can have your MTV, though, since URGH! A Music War was the soundtrack to my 1980s. Hey, what a surprise, no Duran Duran, no INXS, no Soft Cell covering a Gloria Jones soul classic and convincing a history-impaired generation that they wrote it. And yet it's clear why this film failed.

As a business scheme URGH seems, in 2008 hindsight, a uniquely quick way to burn a fortune. The film documents second-wave punk and New Wave bands playing from LA to London, editing them together without any particular zeitgeisty event like a music festival. So: play it a little under a real kiss-of-death title, and then wait to be deafened by the wails of bands, managers and lawyers zooming in to fight over the non-existant money. The Police were the headliners, opening and closing the film. They wrap up the film, too; you can see drummer Miles Copeland wearing an URGH! T-shirt. Is this perhaps all he was paid for this film? There are mostly cinematic performances here, and we see how much was lost by the fact that the Industry couldn't figure out a way to use their talents in the movies. Here's a key to the best of the show, omitting slurs of forgotten bands who perished long years ago.

The great futurist now belongs to history; AP reports that Arthur C. Clarke was found dead in his home in Sri Lanka. Others can write about Clarke's contributions to technology ... for example his 1945 scientific paper "Extra-Terrestrial Relays" describing the possibilities of the communication satellite, which was as essential to modern living as electricity was to earlier generations. Let's talk about movies. 2001: A Space Odyssey is in some ways a collaboration between Clarke and Kubrick ... or as the author said, "the film should be credited to Kubrick and Clarke and the novel should be credited to Clarke and Kubrick."

This account from wikipedia notes the genesis of one of the ultimate science fiction films was a 1950 short story by Clarke, titled "The Sentinel." The classic spawned a 1984 sequel, 2010. Various short stories were adapted for television (unfortunately not enough of them from Tales From the White Hart, still waiting for its time on screen.) It's been announced that David Fincher will film Rendezvous With Rama, with Morgan Freeman in the lead; here's Jessica Barnes' item on it from 2007. The film concerns a close encounter of the third kind with an alien spacecraft. And John Hurt is definitely playing a Clarke figure in this Jodie Foster outer-space movie.

Clarke was born in England, and was a radar expert with the RAF during World War 2. Years of astronomical research gave way to a later-life interest in the ocean; hence his life in Sri Lanka, where he could scuba dive. He is remembered, among numerous accomplishments, for the fostering of Clarke's Three Laws: 1."When a distinguished but elderly scientist states that something is possible he is almost certainly right. When he states that something is impossible, he is very probably wrong." 2."The only way of discovering the limits of the possible is to venture a little way past them into the impossible." 3."Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic."

I hardly have to explain why I'd go fetch this one from the vaults, since it's the only known anecdote for 10,000 BC. Roland Emmerich certainly hasn't lost his delicate touch, has he? I feel the pain of people who had ten year old sons and thus were dragged into it. You get force marched through the tundra for what seems like hours only to arrive at the Pyramid of the Fancy Boys. And the only real diversion besides 3 minutes of saber-toothed tiger, are those devil-ostriches. After I got out, I couldn't wait to have a look at director/writer Carl Gottlieb's satire of the all-purpose caveman movie. Unfortunately, I never saw Caveman back in the day, despite the high-spirited tagline on the posters: "Back When You Had to Beat It Before You Could Eat It!" I think the reason I skipped it was because of all the genial oafs I knew who kept quoting the dinosaur poop joke in the film. They are there, alright, but happily it's only a tiny part of the comedic inanity set in "One Zillion Years BC...October 9."

When shivering to the sounds of Iron Maiden, one never dreamed that some day Bruce Dickinson, the lead singer would one day be swanking it with the stars at the Cannes Film Festival. The BBC announced Dickinson's coup, noting that he's flying to Cannes himself (he's a pilot) as well as playing on an American tour this year. Dickinson co-wrote the upcoming film Chemical Madness with director Julian Doyle, who directed the Maiden's 1988 video "Can I Play With Madness?" Principal photography wrapped in September 2007.

It's all not to be confused with Dickinson's 1998 album The Chemical Wedding which concerns such arcana as alchemy, Rosicrucian thought and William Blake's prophecies. Monstersagogo.com has the poster with a scary flaming pentagram on it, as well as a link to a Reuters interview that I couldn't open. We do know that Simon Callow -- a first-rate actor and author of an authoratative study on Orson Welles -- is going to be playing the reincarnation of Aleister Crowley (seen above in a pointy hat), the world's most intimidating asthmatic bisexual. Crowley has always put the scare into British populace in general and British musicians in particular. Jimmy Page, for one, took pride in owning Bolskine House, the address of the Beast.

And now for a classic movie tie-in: "The most evil man who ever lived" was personally known to Preston Sturges, whose mother was temporarily a disciple. Crowley referred to Sturges "the brat" in the book The Great Beast. In his autobiography Preston Sturges by Preston Sturges, the great comedy film director returned the insult, commented that Crowley's modified mohawk haircut was "nauseating," his fingers were fat, and he had the habit of cutting himself rather like a depressed female high school student. But Sturges didn't underestimate Crowley. "Reading about some of his subsequent exploits," Sturges concluded, "I realize my mother and I were lucky to escape with our lives. If I had been a little older, he might not have escaped with his."

How about this wild-eyed and enthusiastic photo of pretty much the most intelligent film critic in America? Unfortunately, Jonathan Rosenbaum has served notice that he's leaving his staff position at the Chicago Reader after 20 years, in favor of more occasional appearances in print and on the Internet, and the chance to write about other matters besides movies. It's a good time to retire; cinema, once the bravest of the popular arts, is now too often just a part of the entertainment bandwidth, sampling itself relentlessly, following trends like it used to set them.

The 65-year-old critic has been a long-time champion of foreign film, particularly when they're handled poorly by distributors, shelved or re-cut (as Miramax did so many times during the 1990s). His book Movie Wars is essential reading about how studios lead the critics and mislead the public; as he puts it in his 2007 top ten list, the problem is that "each film is supposed to be important when it comes out and is then forgotten soon afterwards." The books Placing Movies and Movies as Politics are two excellent introductions to Rosenbaum's well-informed polemics.

He is, perhaps, at his best when doing a minority report; his essay on Eyes Wide Shut, reprinted in Philip Lopate's collection American Movie Critics, needs to be read by anyone who feels Kubrick's last film is a neglected masterpiece. Rosenbaum dared to fight a lot of the accepted wisdom of his day, such as the suggestion that Woody Allen was better than Jerry Lewis or that Clint Eastwood's Bird is a masterpiece. An exit interview is visible on YouTube, with Rosenbaum describing his plans for the future, elevating the reputation of Ishtar and cutting There Will Be Blood down to size. It's the critic in me that makes me say that this two-part YouTube video goes on for a couple of minutes too long. ...

The double-role has been a favorite for movie audiences for a long time. Actors as different as Lon Chaney and Ronald Colman have indulged in the two-actors-for-the-price-of-one roles. In The Dark Knight, Aaron Eckhart will get to do a two-fer, playing a character who didn't get nearly enough to do in that Joel Schumacher fiasco. (Though I did very much enjoy the bifurcated Tommy Lee Jones' use of the pluralis majestatis, the royal "we.") Few double-roles, however, are as roundly a good time as Brian De Palma's Raising Cain, a reviled but rich melodrama derived in equal parts from Psycho and the equally scandalous Peeping Tom. Preposterous, invigoratingly silly, and done to a technical turn by Hitchcock's most devoted fan, this forgotten thriller gives John Lithgow -- kindly actor and easy-going TV star of Third Rock from the Sun --a chance to show his hulking, evil side.

I

Ordinary movie producers get to shag top-drawer hotties, shine their shoes with tongues of fans, and get shopping carts loads of honorary awards when they're too old to be players anymore. But Christian movie producers get all of the above, plus a free pass to heaven when they croak. Thanks to Richard Mavers for the tip on the news that the writers of Turn Me On Deadman are auctioning the rights to their script on eBay. The hope is that someone will buy it and produce it. Writer Nathyn Brendan Masters notes: "While this wouldn't take a huge amount of money to produce there would be a bit more involved to do it as well as we would like. If you or someone you know has been looking for this type of project then please feel free to place a bid."

Bidding starts at a measly dollar. We learn that the story is of haunted backward-masking on a popular CD, which destroys the life of a student who tampered with the occult. The talents involved previously did the evil Ouija board flick The Wages of Sin (above). "Decent!" raves DVDverdict.com about this earlier effort, but a less glowing review is here at moviecynics.com. We get a lot of mainstream Christian horror in The Reaping and The Exorcism of Emily Rose (here's an interview with Emily Rose's director Scott Derrickson, claiming that horror is the perfect venue for the Christian evangelical.) Not only is this the first time we've seen a script-bidding auction on eBay, it's the first time we've heard that there's a direct horror market for religious viewers.

Let's imagine Tony Soprano in one of his 3 am near-comas. Rich food and stress is keeping him awake, as the rest of his family sleeps soundly in their Jersey mini-mansion. Having just loaded an extra-extra large hot fudge sundae into his gut, he's half-awake on the sofa, watching television. This is a scene that happened repeatedly during The Sopranos, when Tony would sometimes see an old movie that would cut him to the quick, or else plant a seed of doubt in him, tipping him off to some unsuspected treachery in his world. Tonight's screening is a weird, weird film from 1968...so damned weird that the next day, Tony wouldn't be sure if he didn't doze off during it, adding plot details from his own dream-life.

Skidoo by Otto Preminger--a resounding, loathed failure in its time--has a cult, like almost all failures do. It includes the first appearance by the reliable character actor and acting teacher Austin Pendleton. Also making her debut was the famed pioneer African-American model and Warhol star Donyale Luna (memorable from this photograph you've seen in every beauty salon, in which Luna's leanness and sinew is visually contrasted with a line of elephants). (here's a famous photo of her) Unique casting compliments a really one-of-a-kind musical/satire that shows how beyond "good" and "bad" some films are.

The Juno phenom has got all due analysis from every possible angle. Cinematical's Ryan Stewart tried to calm us Juno-haters by insisting that Juno was certainly a little movie; perhaps that will be some consolation when Juno wins that Best Original Screenplay Oscar a week from Sunday (the safest Oscar prediction you could make). Despite the charm of Ms. Page, and the arguable indie cred, there's still holdouts. I still think Juno was a sustained onslaught of alterna-cuteness so pitiless that it makes the very follicles of the hair ache.

Revenge is sweet, and few internet commentaries have been sweeter than this one by Bob "BobServo" Mackey at somethingawful.com. It's purportedly the first three pages of Quotey, the new Diablo Cody script about "a brilliant yet spunky screenwriter who says what we all think." Like all great satires, it looks exactly like the real thing: a culture-vulture's breakfast of dropped references and a Love Story plot, illustrated with ink margin drawings, in the manner of a bored sophomore doodling while listening to a lecture on Tennyson. The vintage National Lampoon meanness is really delightful. Interestingly, the phrasing in this imaginary disease-of-the-week script turns out to be not that horrendously different than the purportedly leaked script of Cody's new horror film script Jennifer's Body, as annotated by "Big Ross" of CC2K. Read and compare...