I don't give a shit about Netflix

And, obviously, they don't give a shit about me. But I am tired of all the consumer grousing about Netflix and their new and more expensive rental policy.

Either stream low-fi movies directly to your box or have superior quality DVDs and Blu-rays mailed to your house. Apparently, speed trumps quality because most people want to stream right now, instead of waiting for the disc. Netflix knows this so, basically, they're cutting off the disc arm of their business and placing DVD rental under something called Qwikster to add confusion to their newly adopted price raising policy. The streaming arm will be called Netflix. And it will win.

Netflix raised their rates but they don't owe me any convoluted explanations (like CEO Reed Hastings does here).

Just say it like it is: "We're basically the only game in town (Redbox is just an annoying gnat) - a corporation in it to make as much money from the consumer as we possibly can and the best way to do that is to double your monthy rates or give you half of your subscription for half the newly doubled price. Yes, we are fully aware that you, citizen consumer, are a sucker."

I'll stick with the disc option - quality trumps speed. But ultimately I'll probably acquiesce. Hopefully by the time I give in to streaming, the quality will be at disc levels (or, in the least, cable levels).

Or I'll just drop the service all together. It really doesn't matter much to me or Netflix.

And my favorite Cronenberg is...

There are at least two North American DVDs of David Cronenberg's 1976 film RABID floating around out there and its a tough call to say which disc is a "must own" because both have their flaws.

Hopefully, someday, we'll get the definitive version (Blu-ray) of this overlooked - yet great film - in the Cronenberg canon. But, until then, we have to make do with either the New Concorde Home Video DVD or the 2004 released Ventura Distribution disc.

The New Concorde Home Video version was released in October of 2000 (and was my first DVD purchase), is full screen with image cropped on the sides and includes hefty headspace. New Concorde's colors are slightly muted giving the film a greenish cold appearance, which works nicely within the film's chilly context. This version was part of a series of DVDs released under the auspices of "Roger Corman Presents." The New Concorde version runs 91 minutes, includes no extras except for a trailer and very limited bios - but it is out of print, making it desirable for DVD obsessives and collectors.

The Ventura Distribution (Sommerville House Releasing label) DVD is, for better or worse, presented in a matted widescreen format, which would be great except the image has headspace problems - it simply looks cropped - but you do get some nifty image information on the sides that are missing in the New Concorde edition. Coloration is brighter, autumnal but, at times, fuzzy. I'm not sure of the print's source material - but its almost certainly not the same as the New Concorde. Happily, the cloudy imagery gives the film a nice, sleazy vibe and accentuates its odd pacing. By no means definitive, the Ventura runs 88 minutes, three minutes shorter than the New Concorde.

The bonus of the Ventura release is the inclusion of a Cronenberg commentary, which is heady, deadpan and, mosty, serious. In fact, Cronenberg takes all of his works seriously. Each one of his films is a piece of a vast puzzle, addressing bodily dysfunction and its effect on the psyche (SPIDER probes the dissolution of the psyche and its effect on the body) - and RABID is prime bodily dysfunction despite its drive-in, B-movie roots, which (especially during the 70s) typically signified dopey teen sex flicks or nonsensical splatter films. Simply put, horror with brains was a rarity at the drive-in back "in the day." (If you were lucky, you saw RABID as a double feature with Larry Cohen's excellent GOD TOLD ME TO - another smart B-grader from the latter 1970s).

The Ventura DVD also includes a lengthy interview with Cronenberg about the film, which was actually included at the tail end of a Canadian VHS release of RABID probably dated from the late 80s or early 90s. Subsequently, the commentary and interview make the Ventura release preferred but, using image as a basis, fans of this film may be disappointed with its wonky presentation. Either way, both DVD versions are superior to any tape release of RABID, which are smeared and cropped.

Although the film follows Rose (Marilyn Chambers) from a motorcycle accident to a harrowing skin graft operation from an ethically dubious doctor that causes a vampiric infection that makes Rose crave blood and, subsequently, violently draw blood from victims with a protrusion from her armpit to the rapid spread of rabies that leaves her victims slobbering and on the attack like manic zombies, RABID is really about losing control of the body and the inevitable lonliness of a victim who's been termed a "monster" - a term Rose uses about herself when she realizes that it is her that is spreading a sort of venereal disease that devastates Montreal.

But what I especially like about RABID is the film's sequence of events that lead to a totally expected conclusion, which, despite its predictability, still shocks even if you've seen the movie dozens of times (which I have). The beauty, of course, is the film's crazy-seeming logic but, in fact, events happen that make total sense (within this universe).
Spoilers ahead...

• Hart and Rose are involved in a firey motorcycle accident
• Rose is rushed to, not a hospital, but to the Kelloid Center for plastic surgery
• Dr. Dan Kelloid is about to embark on franchising his business yet is leary about becoming the "Colonel Sanders" of plastic surgery.
• The motorcycle accident interrupts his business decision.
• He operates on Rose using an untried technique where he grafts skin from her thighs to mend her extensive internal injuries.
• The operation is a success, only something happens inside of Rose and she grows a dual phallus/vaginal appendage under her arm, which is a piercing receptacle for blood - much like a stinger.
• Rose awakens confused, leaves the hospital and seduces and infects everybody she runs into.
• The infection leaves her victims rabid - they, in turn, attack other humans, leaving them infected, spreading the disease like "wildfire."
• Rose wanders the streets of Montreal, alienated and unaware that it is she who is spreading the disease even as sanitation trucks carrying lifeless and diseased corpses rumble by.
• When she realizes that she's the one passing the infection, she acknowledges she's a "monster."
• When she dies, she, too, is dumped into a garbage truck. Nobody knows she's the disease's "host" so there's little chance of finding a cure.

Terrifically bleak and intelligent, RABID is my favorite of all Cronenberg's films. From the bizarre static shots, the musical score (which is somber and eerie floating under images like a haunted Theramin), the bloodletting and green ooze, RABID plays as a sister film to Martin Scorsese's TAXI DRIVER, which also delves into the mind of someone who is fractured and alone. In fact, Rose, like Travis Bickle, wanders city streets looking to connect with someone - anyone - to sate an unquenchable thirst. Porno theaters provide, for Rose and Travis, a comfortable (for them, at least) environment to find that connection, although Travis never succeeds whereas Rose finds a willing victim.

Rene Verzier's desolate cinematography is chilly, autumnal and evokes a kind of longing in the viewer, a nostalgic creepiness that's both strange and beautiful. Freeze frame almost any shot from the film - Rose's lonely walk down a deserted, rain soaked country road - and you have an image that's nothing short of impressionistic.

Cronenberg's obsession with the dissolution of body and the mind's ability to comprehend the termination, stems from his father's lucidity while riddled with tissue eating cancer. Cronenberg watched - in horror-filled wonder - as his father's body changed into something else under the ravages of the disease.
Almost every one of Cronenberg's films deals in metamorphisis and many, including RABID, FAST COMPANY, SHIVERS, THE BROOD, eXistenZ, THE FLY, SPIDER, NAKED LUNCH, allude to insectile metamorphisis, referencing, of course, a Kafkaesque dilemma of nature where you, once of sound body and mind, wake up a starving insect looking for fuel (blood, flesh) to survive. Like cancer, the change comes quickly and, naturally, too late.

Video Daze

Back in the early 1980s I worked at a video rental store called National Video in St. Petersburg, Florida. Days and nights spent renting VHS tapes to people thrilled that they could actually bring home any movie they wanted, slide it into a machine and voila.

There was this customer named Jimmy who had a boat docked at the Isla Del Sol Yacht and Country Club located on Sun Boulevard between St. Pete proper and St. Pete Beach.

Jimmy was mostly into action flicks but had developed a penchant - thanks to me - for blaxploitation movies from the 1970s.

The first movie in this genre I suggested he rent was MEAN JOHNNY BARROWS, a 1976 actioner directed by and starring Fred "The Hammer" Williamson. It was a convoluted (if not uneasy) mix of blaxploitation and mafiasploitation (mafiasploitation films exploited the mob on the heels of Francis Ford Coppola's THE GODFATHER and started to peter out by the time BARROWS was released).

Nevertheless, MEAN JOHNNY BARROWS was an economical and violent flick peppered with some A-List (at that time) actors - Elliot Gould and Roddy McDowall. Short, sharp with a cigar chomping Williamson, MEAN JOHNNY BARROWS was a quick punch to the solar plexus clocking in at around 75 minutes.

Jimmy loved MEAN JOHNNY BARROWS and when he returned the video, he said to me, "Anything you want. Anytime," and left the store. I opened the video case to make sure the tape was rewound and a half dozen joints tumbled to the floor. His way, I guess, of thanking me.

Since the National Video store I worked at had a pretty decent collection of blaxploitation, I handed Jimmy the father of all blaxploitation - Melvin Van Peebles' SWEET SWEETBACK'S BAADASSSSS SONG. I told him Van Peebles shot the movie over the course of 19 days with money loaned to him by Bill Cosby. I mentioned the music was a cacophony of Earth, Wind & Fire. I told him it was sloppy, edited like it went through a blender, but loud and infused with a relentless energy.

Jimmy returned the move a couple days later. It was so great he told me he watched it a half dozen times and that it was worth the late fees (which I waived).

Jimmy went on to tell me he had a make-shift theater on his boat - basically, a couple rows of plush La-Z-Boy chairs and a big screen TV (not like today but big for the early 80s, maybe 32-inches 4:3 square screen).

He told me about these weekend movie parties he'd have on his boat.

He then 'hired' me as his personal movie programmer.

What this meant was I would suggest a theme and hand over an armful of tapes that would keep his guests entertained. What was beloved about these parties was exposure to movies the guests never heard of and themes they had never thought of: Italian Crime Film Nite; Foxy Brown and Friends; Don't Go In The House Weekends; Teens Gone Wild; 48-Hour Women in Prison Lock Down...any subgenre theme that popped into my head was fair game and ended up blowing minds.

In turn, Jimmy spread the word about my "services."

The owner of National Video took notice of a Friday night trend. At most video stores (that is, when they existed), Friday night was usually the busiest night of the week. But this store was literally mobbed and by closing time there wasn't a tape left on the shelf. Even the weakest rentals went out due to my on the spot theme development (Pippi Longstockings vs. Italian Zombies anyone?).

Needless to say, I always worked Friday nights.

Alamo Drafthouse - my hero

I've never been to the Alamo Drafthouse Cinema in Austin, Texas. In fact, I've never been to Austin, Texas.


But I've always wanted to go to both and will someday. The Alamo shows a real appreciation for cinema, with an affection toward the finest grindhouse films. The Quentin Tarantino (QT) Film Fesival has been held at the Alamo.


But this bumper solidifies the Alamo as a really great theater.

Working hard or hardly working

While watching the film MARATHON MAN (1976), you can't help but think about the convergence of old school vs. new school (Laurence Olivier / Dustin Hoffman) acting styles. Olivier, who was 69 when MARATHON MAN was released, was into the latter phase of his career (although he continued to act for another 13 years until 1989, when he passed at age 82 - so "winding down" wasn't exactly in his vernacular) and Hoffman, who was 30 years Olivier's junior during the making of the film, was deeply in his stride.

I don't know this but you get the feeling Olivier barely tolerated Hoffman and vice versa. Hoffman's adoption of Lee Strasberg's "method" of acting was rumored to be a point of contention for Olivier, who was classically trained, honed on Shakespeare, and insisted that acting was pure technique.

John Schlesinger, who directed Hoffman in MARATHON MAN and MIDNIGHT COWBOY, seemed to lay the groundwork for the actor's emerging style based on Strasberg's theories of acting. Hoffman didn't shy away from exploring the dark psychological depths of COWBOY's Ratso Rizzo - an experience that certainly helped to sharpen his method.

Regarding Olivier, I always found him stuffy, staid and I may take heat for uttering such blasphemy. However, his work in the 1970s was interesting as he tended toward psychologically damaged - if not perverse - old men as found in MARATHON MAN, THE BOYS FROM BRAZIL and others. Playing these roles based, of course, on technique rather than a sort of total psychological immersion.

But then again, what's the difference as long as the acting gets done?

Anyway, the above photo of Hoffman and Olivier says it all. There's just no denying the connection between the two. Taken during the MARATHON MAN shoot (I found the pic via http://twitter.com/ebertchicago).