Note: Despite what the byline says, this article is actually by Ryan Morini.
If you’re not familiar with the entire oeuvre of Cuneyt Arkin, it’s probably because he’s been in more movies than I ever thought existed. Seriously, if you want to see what’s probably a relatively complete filmography, check out tr.wikipedia.org. In the ’70s, he averaged more movies per year than a Pro-Bowl running back averages yards per carry. The man was a movie-making machine. So I decided to gather up as many of his zany costume drama action films as I can find this winter. Lion Man (Kiliç Aslan) is perhaps the most famous of these films in the ‘States, but in Turkey he’s famous for the longer series like Battal Gazi, Malkocoglu, and Kara Murat, each of which seem to have at least five or six films.
Continue reading “Kara Murat: Olum Emri”
Owing to his tendency to wear bland trousers, a bland blazer, and a bland, too-billowy white shirt with no tie, I have often referred to Timothy Dalton’s two turns as James Bond as “the Casual Friday Bond.” Because Roger Moore explored the questionable sartorial indulgences of the 1970s, he is often cited as one of the worst-dressed Bonds, but at least his safari suits and flairs had a certain memorable boldness to them which, if not the equal of Connery’s timeless style, at least stood out from the crowd without looking like a clown (relative to the style around him). Dalton’s Bond — as well as Brosnan’s — commits the sin of being terribly, terribly boring in his dress. I would not have wanted James Bond to indulge the extremes of 80s fashion — no one needs James Bond to don a pastel t-shirt and parachute pants — but I do want him to look like something other than a mid-level bank manager on casual Friday.
Continue reading “007 in the Age of Casual Friday”
As is my way, I have returned to The Cultural Gutter for my monthly science fiction article. In honor of the 50th anniversary of Doctor Who, The Dandy Doctor celebrates the sartorial choices of the Doctor’s many incarnations Continue reading Cultural Gutter: The Dandy Doctor
A seasonal Frolic Afield on Alcohol Professor celebrating both Krampusnacht and Repeal Day! Toasting Santa’s Devil showcases two beers, one American and one Italian, and one very special Krampus cocktail that will help you toast the repeal of Prohibition and … Continue reading Alcohol Professor: Toasting Santa’s Devil
The Tillamook Indians call him “Yi’ dyi’tay” or “Wild Man.” The Spokane Indians referred to him as Sc’wen’ey’ti – roughly translated: “Tall Burnt Hair.” To the Colville these strange beasts were known as Skanicum (“The Stick People”) and to the Wenatchee they were Choanito (“The Night People”). The Nisqually people dubbed him “Steta’l” — the Spirit Spear — and to the Chinook he was simply Skookum – The Evil God of the Woods. The Yakama Indians, apparently seeing a quintet of such beasts, referred to them as Qui yihahs — The Five Brothers. From one tribe to the next, he had many names: Big God, Trickster, Brushman, Devil of the Forest, The Frightener, and Hairy Savage. His names ranged from the poetic (Misinghalikun to the Lenne Lenapi Indians — “Living Solid Face”) to the terrifying (the Zuni call him Atahsaia, The Cannibal Demon) to the just plain weird (The Nelchina Plateau Indians saddled him with the monicker Gilyuk, or “Big Man with a Little Hat”). There are names reverent (The Hoopa thought of him as Oh Mah, The Boss of the Woods), quaint (to the Pacific coastal Salish Indians he is See’atco: “the one who runs and hides”), and kind of chummy (the Lakota tribes called him Chiya tanka, or “Big Elder Brother”).
Continue reading “Creature from Black Lake”
It’s time for a Jean-luc Godard review, but where as I struggled with exactly what I should say in regards to Breathless, partially because it seems one of the most written-about films this side of Zombie Lake (which seems to be one of the most reviewed movies on the internet), when it comes to Band of Outsiders, my problem is with having too much to say. So we’ll start with the so-called general consensus: Band of Outsiders is Godard for people who don’t much care for Godard. Considered by some to be one of Godard’s lighter films because it is more accessible and less maverick in its approach, Band of Outsiders still offers up a fine example of the French maverick at his best, and the fact that he doesn’t imitate himself should be an example of Band of Outsiders‘ inventiveness rather than the other way around. Missing from the film, for the most part, are Godard’s signature jump cuts and unsteady camera. In their place is one of his more conventional and straight-forward narratives. But don’t let the surface simplicity of the film trick you. This is still Godard, and this is still the French New Wave. There’s a lot boiling under the surface even if it’s not as expressly obvious as in Breathless and the director’s other, better known, and more celebrated works.
Continue reading “Band of Outsiders”
There are a lot of directors who work with that special someone of an actor forging a partnership that becomes legendary within the cinematic world. Martin Scorsese had Robert DeNiro. ohn Ford had John Wayne. And German director Werner Herzog had Klaus Kinski. If you know anything about Klaus Kinski, this may seem a bit of a raw deal for Herzog. After all, as far as anyone knows, John Wayne never tried to knife Jon Ford to death on the set of a movie, and Robert DeNiro never insisted to Marty that he was the reincarnation of Jesus or the famed violin virtuoso Paganini. On the other hand, it’s equally unlikely that Scorsese has ever returned a knife fight with his own conspiracies to murder his favorite leading man. Although one has to question the authenticity of some of the wilder tales about the working relationship between Herzog and Kinski, there’s no doubt that some of it was indeed true and they had the sort of relationship that could be described, if one wanted to be tactful about it, as “dynamic.” The defining factor in the relationship between Herzog and Kinski was that Kinski was, to use a scientific term, bat-shit crazy while Herzog, in turn, was crazy as a shithouse bat. Yet somehow, you throw the two together, and the result was sheer brilliance etched from utter lunacy.
Continue reading “Aguirre, The Wrath of God”