Podd: The 80s Movie Podcast

Collision Course

30 januari 2025 | 15 min

The 1980s Films of Susan Seidelman: Desperately Seeking Susan

11 juli 2024 | 15 min

Brats

21 juni 2024 | 12 min

The 1980s Films of Susan Seidelman: Smithereens

12 juni 2024 | 17 min

Crimewave

27 maj 2024 | 21 min

Smokey and the Bandit Part 3

13 maj 2024 | 24 min

Our first episode returning from paternity leave takes us back to 1983, and one of two sequel bombs Universal made with Jackie Gleason that year, Smokey and the Bandit Part 3.

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TRANSCRIPT

From Los Angeles, California, the Entertainment Capital of the World, it’s The 80s Movies Podcast. I am your host, Edward Havens. Thank you for listening today.

On this episode, we’ll be covering one of the oddest Part 3 movies to ever be made.

Smokey and the Bandit 3.

But before we do, I owe you, loyal listener an apology and an explanation.

Originally, this episode was supposed to be about the movies of H.B. “Toby” Halicki, who brought car chase films back to life in the mid-70s with his smash hit Gone in 60 Seconds. Part of the reason I wanted to do this episode was to highlight a filmmaker who doesn’t get much love from film aficionados anymore, and part because this was the movie that literally made me the person I became. My mom was dating Toby during the making of the movie, a spent a number of days on the set as a five year old, and I even got featured in a scene. And I thought it would be fun to get my mom to open up about a part of her life after my parents’ divorce that I don’t remember much of.

And it turned into the discussion that made me question everything I became. Much of which I will cover when I find the courage to revisit that topic, hopefully in time for the 50th anniversary this July.

So, for now, and to kind of stick with the car theme this episode was originally going to be about, we’re going to do a quick take on one of the most bizarre, and most altered, movies to ever come out of Hollywood.

As you may remember, Smokey and the Bandit was a 1977 hit film from stuntman turned director Hal Needham. Needham and Burt Reynolds has become friends in the early 1960s, and Needham would end up living in Reynolds’ pool house for nearly a dozen years in the 60s and 70s. Reynolds would talk director Robert Aldrich into hiring Needham to be the 2nd unit director and stunt coordinator for the car chase scene Aldrich’s 1974 classic The Longest Yard, and Reynolds would hire Needham to be his 2nd Unit Director on his own 1976 directorial debut, Gator. While on the set of Gator, the two men would talk about the movie Needham wanted to make his own directorial debut on, a low-budget B movie about a cat and mouse chase between a bootlegger and a sheriff as they tried to outwit each other across several state lines.

As a friend, Reynolds would ask Needham to read the script. The “script” was a series of hand-written notes on a legal pad. He had come up with the idea during the making of Gator, when the Teamster transportation captain brought some Coors beer to the production team. And, believe it or not, in 1975, it was illegal to sell or transport Coors beer out of states West of the Mississippi River, because the beer was not pasteurized and needed constant refrigeration.

Reynolds would read the “script,” which, according to Reynolds’ 1994 autobiography My Life, was one of the worst things he had ever read. But Reynolds promised his friend that if he could get a studio involved and get a proper budget and script for the film, he would make it.

Needham would hire a series of writers to try and flesh out the notes from the legal pad into a coherent screenplay, and with a verbal commitment from Reynolds to star in it, he would soon get Universal Studios to to agree to make Smokey and the Bandit, to the tune of $5.3m. After all, Reynolds was still one of the biggest box office stars at the time, and $5.3m was small potatoes at the time, especially when Universal was spending $6.7m on the Super Bowl assassin thriller Two-Minute Warning, $9m on a bio-pic of General Douglas MacArthur, and $22m on William Friedkin’s Sorcerer, an English-language version of the 1950 French novel The Wages of Fear.

Reynolds would take the lead as The Bandit, the driver of the chase car meant to distract the authorities from what the truck driver is hauling.

Jerry Reed, a country and western star, would get cast as The Snowman, the truck driver who would be hauling the Coors beer from Texarkana TX to Atlanta. Reed has only co-starred in two movies before, both starring Burt Reynolds, and even if they have almost no scenes together in the final film, their rapport on screen is obvious.

Sally Field, a television star who needed a big movie on her resume, would take the role of Carrie, the runaway bride who joins the Bandit in his chase car. Field had just completed Sybil, the dramatic television movie about a woman with multiple personality disorder, which would break Field out of the sitcom world she had been stuck in for the past decade.

Richard Boone, the star of the long-time television Western Have Gun - Will Travel, would be considered as the sheriff, Buford T. Justice, in pursuit of the Bandit throughout the movie, but Reynolds wanted some who was a bit more crazy, a bit more dangerous, and a heck of a lot funnier. And who wouldn’t think of comedy legend Jackie Gleason?

Shooting on the film would begin in Georgia on August 30th, 1976, but not before some pencil pusher from Universal Studios showed up two days before the start of production to inform Needham and Reynolds that they needed to cut $1m from the budget by any means necessary. And the guys did exactly that, reducing the number of shooting locations and speaking roles.

The film would finish shooting eights weeks later, on schedule and on budget… well, on reduced budget, and when it was released in May 1977, just six days before the initial release of Star Wars, it bombed.

For some reason, Universal Studios decided the best way to open a movie about a bunch of good old boys in the South was to give it a big push at the world famous Radio City Music Hall in the heart of Manhattan, along with an hour long Rockets stage spectacular between shows.

The Radio City Music Hall could accommodate 6,000 people per show. Tickets for the whole shebang, movie and stage show, were $5, when the average ticket price in Manhattan at the time was $3.50. And in its first six days, Smokey and the Bandit grossed $125,000, which sounds amazing, until your told the cost of running Radio City Music Hall for a week, stage show and all, was $186,000. And in its second week, the gross would fall to $102,000, and to $90,000 in week three. And Universal would be locked in to Radio City for several more weeks.

But it wouldn’t all bad news.

Universal quickly realized its error in opening in New York first, and rushed to book the film into 381 theatres in the South, including 70 in the Charlotte region, 78 in and around Jacksonville, 97 theatres between Oklahoma City and Dallas, another 57 between Memphis and New Orleans, and 79 in Atlanta, near many of the locations the film was shot. And in its first seven days in just those five regions, the film would gross a cool $3.8m. Along with the $102k from Radio City, the film’s $3.9m gross would be the second highest in the nation, behind Star Wars. And despite bigger weekends from new openers like The Deep, The Exorcist II and A Bridge Too Far, Smokey and the Bandit would keep going and going and going, sticking around in theatres for more than two years in some areas, grossing more than $126m.

Naturally, there would be a sequel. But here’s the funny part. Smokey and the Bandit II, a Universal movie, would be shot back to back with Cannonball Run, produced by the Hong Kong film company Golden Harvest as a vehicle to break their star Jackie Chan into the American market, which would also star Burt Reynolds and be directed by Hal Needham.

Filming on Smokey and the Bandit II was supposed to start in August 1979, but would be delayed until January 1980, because the film Reynolds was working on in the late summer of 1979, Rough Cut, went way over schedule.

While the budget for the sequel would be $10m, more than double the cost of the original film, the overall production was not a very pleasant experience for most involved. Needham was feeling the pressure of trying to finish the film ahead of schedule so he’d have some kind of break before starting on Cannonball Run in May 1980, because several of the other actors, including Roger Moore, were already locked into other movies after shooting completed on that film.

Burt Reynolds and Sally Field had started dating during the making of Smokey and the Bandit in 1976, and both of them signed their contracts to appear in the sequel in 1979, but by the time shooting started in 1980, the pair had broken up, and they were forced to pretend to be in love and be side by side in the Bandit’s Trans Am for a couple months.

One of the few things that would go right on the film was a complex chase scene that could only be shot one time, for the end of the sequence would be the destruction of a 64 year old rollercoaster in suburban Atlanta.

They got the shot.

Needham would get a few weeks between the end of shooting Smokey and the Bandit II and the start of Cannonball Run, but the production on the latter film would be put on hold a couple times for a few days each, as Needham would have to go back to Los Angeles to supervise the editing of the former film.

Smokey and the Bandit II would make its planned August 15th, 1980 release, and would have a spectacular opening weekend, $10.8m from 1196 theatres, but would soon drop off, barely grossing half of the first film’s box office take. That would still be profitable, but Needham, Reynolds and Field all nixed the idea of teaming up for a third film. Reynolds had been wanting to distance himself from his good old boy 1970s persona, Field was now an Oscar winning dramatic actress, and Needham wanted to try something different. We’ll talk about that movie, Megaforce, another time.

But despite losing the interest of the main principles of the first two movies, Universal was still keen on making a third film. The first mention would be a line item in the Los Angeles Times’ Calendar section on August 28th, 1981, when, within an article about the number of sequels that were about to gear up, including Grease 2 and Star Wars 3, aka Return of the Jedi, that Universal was considering a third Smokey movie as a cable television movie. In May 1982, Variety noted that the reduced budget of the film, estimated at under $5m, would not accommodate Reynolds’ asking price at that time, let alone the cost of the entire production, and that the studio was looking at Dukes of Hazzard star John Schneider as a possible replacement as The Bandit. In the end, it was decided that Jackie Gleason would return not only as Sheriff Buford T. Justice, but that he would also be, in several scenes, playing The Bandit as well.

Thus would begin the wild ride of the third film in the Smokey and the Bandit Cinematic Universe, Smokey IS the Bandit: Part 3.

It would take 11 different versions of the script written over the course of six months to get Gleason to sign off, because, somehow, he was given script approval before filming would begin.

Paul Williams and Pat McCormick would return for a third time as Little Enos and Big Enos, and the storyline would find the Burdette father and son making a bet with Sheriff Justice. Justice and his son Junior must deliver a big stuffed swordfish from Florida to a new seafood restaurant they are opening in Texas. If Justice can get the big stuffed swordfish from Point A to Point B in the time allotted, the Burdettes will give him $250,000, which Justice could use towards his impending retirement. If he doesn’t, however, Justice will have to surrender his badge to the Burdettes, and he’d retire in disgrace.

Dick Lowry, who had been directed episodic television and TV movies for several years, including three episodes of Buck Rogers in the 25th Century and the TV movie adaptation of Kenny Rogers’ hit song The Gambler, would make his feature directing debut on Smokey Is the Bandit Part 3.

Production on the film would begin in Florida on October 25, 1982, and lasted two months, ending two days after Christmas, mostly in Florida.

Lowry and his team would assemble the film over the course of the next three months, before Universal held its first test screening on the studio lot in March 1983.

To say the screening was a disaster would be an understatement.

The audience didn’t understand what the hell was going on here. They wondered how Justice, as The Bandit, could bed a character credited only as Blonde Bombshell, who looks at him the way women in 1982 would have looked at Burt Reynolds. They wondered why a plot twist in the very last scene was presented, that Dusty was really Big Enos’s daughter, when it affected nothing in the story before or after its reveal. But, mostly, they were confused as to how one actor could play both title characters at the same time. Like, is Justice seeing himself as The Bandit, seeing himself behind the wheel of the Bandit’s signature black and gold Pontiac Trans Am, and a beautiful country music DJ played by Colleen Camp as his companion, all while actually driving his signature sheriff’s car with his son Junior as his constant companion?

The studio had two choices…

One, pony up a few extra million dollars to rewrite the script, and try to lure Reynolds back to play The Bandit…

Or, two, bury the movie and take the tax write off.

The second choice was quickly ruled out, as a teaser trailer for the film had already been released to theatres several weeks earlier, and there seemed to be some interest in another Smokey and the Bandit movie, even though the trailer was just Gleason, as Justice, standing in a military-style uniform, standing in front of a large America flag, and giving a speech to the camera not unlike the one George C. Scott gave at the start of the 1970 Best Picture winner, Patton. You can find a link to the teaser trailer for Smokey is the Bandit Part 3 on our website, at The80sMoviePodcast.com.

So the studio goes down to Jupiter, FL, where Reynolds had been living for years, and made him a sizable offer to play The Bandit for literally a couple of scenes. Since Gleason as Bandit only had one line in the film, and since most of the shots of Gleason as Bandit were done with wide lenses to hide that it wasn’t Gleason doing any of the driving during the number of scenes involving the Trans Am and stunts, they could probably get everything they needed with Reynolds in just a day or two.

Reynolds would say “no” to that offer, but, strangely, he would agree to come back to the film, as The Bandit, for an extended sequence towards the end of the film. We’ll get to that in a moment.

So with Reynolds coming back, but not in the capacity they wanted him in, the next thought was to go to Jerry Reed, the country singer and actor who had played Bandit’s partner, The Snowman, in the first two films. Reed was amiable to coming aboard, but he wanted to play The Bandit. Or, more specifically, Cledus pretending to be The Bandit.

The film’s screenwriters, Stuart Birnbaum and David Dashev, were called back in to do yet another rewrite. They would have only three weeks, as there was only a short window in April for the production team to get back together to do the new scenes with Reed and Colleen Camp. Dusty would go from being a country radio station DJ to a car dealership employee who literally walks off the job and into Cledus as Bandit’s Trans Am. Reed’s role as Cledus as Bandit was greatly expanded, and Dusty’s dialogue would be altered to reflect both her new career and her time in the car with Cledus.

The reshoots would only last a few weeks, and Lowry would have a final cut ready for the film’s planned August 12th theatrical release.

It is often stated, on this podcast and other sources, that in the 1980s, August was mostly the dumping ground of the studio’s dogs, hoping to get a little bit of ticket sales before Labor Day, when families look at going on a vacation before the kids go back to school.

And the weekend of August 12th through 14th in 1983 was certainly one way to prove this argument.

Smokey and the Bandit Part 3 would be the second highest grossing new release that weekend, which is surprising in part because it would have a smaller percentage of prints out in the market compared to its competition, 498 prints, almost exclusively in the southern US. The bad news is that the film would barely make it into the Top Ten that weekend. Cujo, the adaptation of the 1981 Stephen King novel, would be the highest grossing new opener that weekend, grossing $6.11m, barely missing the top spot, which was held for a third week by the Chevy Chase film Vacation, which had earned $6.16m. Risky Business, which was making its young lead actor Tom Cruise a movie star, would take third place, with $4.58m. Then there was Return of the Jedi, which had been out three months by this point, the Sylvester Stallone-directed Saturday Night Fever sequel Staying Alive, the Eddie Murphy/Dan Aykroyd comedy Trading Places, the god-awful Jaws 3-D, WarGames and Krull, which all had been out for three to eleven weeks by now, all grossing more than Smokey and the Bandit 3, with $1.73m in ticket sales.

Having it much worse was The Curse of the Pink Panther, Blake Edwards’ attempt to reboot the Inspector Clouseau series with a new American character who may or may not have been the illegitimate son of Clouseau, which grossed an anemic $1.64m from 812 theatres. And then there was The Man Who Wasn’t

There, the 3-D comedy featuring Steve Guttenberg that was little more than a jumbled copy of Foul Play and North by Northwest that arrived too late in theatres to ride the now-dead stereoptic movie craze, which took in $1.38m from 980 theatres.

In its second week, Smokey and the Bandit Part 3 would only lose five screens, but lose 52% of its opening weekend audience, bringing in just $830k that weekend.

Week three would see the film lose nearly 300 screens, bringing in just $218k.

Week four was Labor Day weekend itself, with its extra day of ticket sales, and you’d think Universal would just cut and run since the film was not doing great with audiences or critics. Yet, they would expand the film back to 460 theatres, including 47 theatres in the greater Los Angeles metro area. The gambit worked a little bit, with the film bringing in $1.3m during the extended holiday weekend, bringing the film’s four week total gross to $5.02m.

And it would slowly limp along for a few more weeks, mostly in dollar houses, but Universal would stop tracking it after its fifth weekend in theatres, giving the film a final box office total of $5,678,950.

Oh, I almost forgot about Burt Reynolds. Burt did film his scene, a four minute or so cameo towards the end of the film, where Justice finally catches up to Cledus as The Bandit, but in Justice’s mind’s eye, he sees Cledus as Burt as The Bandit, where Burt as The Bandit does nothing more than half-ass read off his lines while sitting behind the wheel of the Trans Am.

I watched the movie on Paramount Plus back in January, when I originally planned on recording this episode. But it’s no longer available on Paramount Plus. Nor is it available on Peacock, which is owned and operated by Universal, and where the film was once available. In May 2024, the only way to see Smokey and the Bandit is on long out-of-print low quality DVDs and Blu-Rays. JustWatch.com says the film is available on Apple TVs Showtime channel, but I can’t find any Showtime channel on Apple TV, nor can I find the movie doing a simple search on Apple TV. The first two are on Apple TV, as part of the AMC+ channel. It’s all so darn complicated.

But like I said, I watched it for the first and probably last time earlier this year. And, truth be told, it’s not a totally painful film. It’s not a good film in any way, shape or form, but what little good there is in it, it’s thanks to Colleen Camp, who was not only gorgeous but had an amazing sense of comic timing. Anyway who saw her as Yvette the Maid in the 1985 comedy Clue already knows that.

Like a handful of film buffs and historians, I am still wildly interested in seeing the original cut of the film after more than forty years. If Universal can put out three different versions of Orson Welles’ Touch of Evil, including a preview cut that was taken away from Welles and re-edited without his consent, in the same set, certainly they can release both versions of Smokey and the Bandit Part 3. But let’s face facts. Dick Lowry is no Orson Welles, and there is practically zero calls for this kind of special treatment for the film.

I just find it odd that in this day and age, the only thing that’s escaped from the original version of the film after all this time is a single image of Gleason as The Bandit, which you can find on this episode’s page at our website.

Thank you for joining us. We’ll talk again soon.

Remember to visit this episode’s page on our website, The80sMoviePodcast.com, for extra materials about Smokey and the Bandit Part 3, including links to Smokey and the Bandit fan sites that have their own wealth of materials relating to the movie, and a video on YouTube that shows about 20mins of deleted and alternate scenes used in the television version of the movie, which may include an additional shot from the original movie that shows Dusty riding in the back of Big Enos’s red Cadillac convertible.

The 80s Movies Podcast has been researched, written, narrated and edited by Edward Havens for Idiosyncratic Entertainment.

Thank you again.

Good night.

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The Orphans 6

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Motion Picture Marketing

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Miramax Films - Part Five

15 september 2023 | 55 min

We finally complete our mini-series on the 1980s movies released by Miramax Films in 1989, a year that included sex, lies, and videotape, and My Left Foot.

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TRANSCRIPT

From Los Angeles, California, the Entertainment Capital of the World, it’s The 80s Movies Podcast. I am your host, Edward Havens. Thank you for listening today.

On this episode, we complete our look back at the 1980s theatrical releases for Miramax Films. And, for the final time, a reminder that we are not celebrating Bob and Harvey Weinstein, but reminiscing about the movies they had no involvement in making. We cannot talk about cinema in the 1980s without talking about Miramax, and I really wanted to get it out of the way, once and for all.

As we left Part 4, Miramax was on its way to winning its first Academy Award, Billie August’s Pelle the Conquerer, the Scandinavian film that would be second film in a row from Denmark that would win for Best Foreign Language Film.

In fact, the first two films Miramax would release in 1989, the Australian film Warm Night on a Slow Moving Train and the Anthony Perkins slasher film Edge of Sanity, would not arrive in theatres until the Friday after the Academy Awards ceremony that year, which was being held on the last Wednesday in March.

Warm Nights on a Slow Moving Train stars Wendy Hughes, the talented Australian actress who, sadly, is best remembered today as Lt. Commander Nella Daren, one of Captain Jean-Luc Picard’s few love interests, on a 1993 episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation, as Jenny, a prostitute working a weekend train to Sydney, who is seduced by a man on the train, unaware that he plans on tricking her to kill someone for him. Colin Friels, another great Aussie actor who unfortunately is best known for playing the corrupt head of Strack Industries in Sam Raimi’s Darkman, plays the unnamed man who will do anything to get what he wants.

Director Bob Ellis and his co-screenwriter Denny Lawrence came up with the idea for the film while they themselves were traveling on a weekend train to Sydney, with the idea that each client the call girl met on the train would represent some part of the Australian male.

Funding the $2.5m film was really simple… provided they cast Hughes in the lead role. Ellis and Lawrence weren’t against Hughes as an actress. Any film would be lucky to have her in the lead. They just felt she she didn’t have the right kind of sex appeal for this specific character.

Miramax would open the film in six theatres, including the Cineplex Beverly Center in Los Angeles and the Fashion Village 8 in Orlando, on March 31st. There were two versions of the movie prepared, one that ran 130 minutes and the other just 91. Miramax would go with the 91 minute version of the film for the American release, and most of the critics would note how clunky and confusing the film felt, although one critic for the Village Voice would have some kind words for Ms. Hughes’ performance.

Whether it was because moviegoers were too busy seeing the winners of the just announced Academy Awards, including Best Picture winner Rain Man, or because this weekend was also the opening weekend of the new Major League Baseball season, or just turned off by the reviews, attendance at the theatres playing Warm Nights on a Slow Moving Train was as empty as a train dining car at three in the morning. The Beverly Center alone would account for a third of the movie’s opening weekend gross of $19,268. After a second weekend at the same six theatres pocketing just $14,382, this train stalled out, never to arrive at another station.

Their other March 31st release, Edge of Sanity, is notable for two things and only two things: it would be the first film Miramax would release under their genre specialty label, Millimeter Films, which would eventually evolve into Dimension Films in the next decade, and it would be the final feature film to star Anthony Perkins before his passing in 1992.

The film is yet another retelling of the classic 1886 Robert Louis Stevenson story The Strange Case of Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde, with the bonus story twist that Hyde was actually Jack the Ripper. As Jekyll, Perkins looks exactly as you’d expect a mid-fifties Norman Bates to look. As Hyde, Perkins is made to look like he’s a backup keyboardist for the first Nine Inch Nails tour. Head Like a Hole would have been an appropriate song for the end credits, had the song or Pretty Hate Machine been released by that time, with its lyrics about bowing down before the one you serve and getting what you deserve.

Edge of Sanity would open in Atlanta and Indianapolis on March 31st. And like so many other Miramax releases in the 1980s, they did not initially announce any grosses for the film. That is, until its fourth weekend of release, when the film’s theatre count had fallen to just six, down from the previous week’s previously unannounced 35, grossing just $9,832. Miramax would not release grosses for the film again, with a final total of just $102,219.

Now when I started this series, I said that none of the films Miramax released in the 1980s were made by Miramax, but this next film would become the closest they would get during the decade.

In July 1961, John Profumo was the Secretary of State for War in the conservative government of British Prime Minister Harold Macmillan, when the married Profumo began a sexual relationship with a nineteen-year-old model named Christine Keeler. The affair was very short-lived, either ending, depending on the source, in August 1961 or December 1961. Unbeknownst to Profumo, Keeler was also having an affair with Yevgeny Ivanov, a senior naval attache at the Soviet Embassy at the same time.

No one was the wiser on any of this until December 1962, when a shooting incident involving two other men Keeler had been involved with led the press to start looking into Keeler’s life. While it was never proven that his affair with Keeler was responsible for any breaches of national security, John Profumo was forced to resign from his position in June 1963, and the scandal would take down most of the Torie government with him. Prime Minister Macmillan would resign due to “health reasons” in October 1963, and the Labour Party would take control of the British government when the next elections were held in October 1964.

Scandal was originally planned in the mid-1980s as a three-part, five-hour miniseries by Australian screenwriter Michael Thomas and American music producer turned movie producer Joe Boyd. The BBC would commit to finance a two-part, three-hour miniseries, until someone at the network found an old memo from the time of the Profumo scandal that forbade them from making any productions about it. Channel 4, which had been producing quality shows and movies for several years since their start in 1982, was approached, but rejected the series on the grounds of taste.

Palace Pictures, a British production company who had already produced three films for Neil Jordan including Mona Lisa, was willing to finance the script, provided it could be whittled down to a two hour movie. Originally budgeted at 3.2m British pounds, the costs would rise as they started the casting process. John Hurt, twice Oscar-nominated for his roles in Midnight Express and The Elephant Man, would sign on to play Stephen Ward, a British osteopath who acted as Christine Keeler’s… well… pimp, for lack of a better word. Ian McKellen, a respected actor on British stages and screens but still years away from finding mainstream global success in the X-Men movies, would sign on to play John Profumo. Joanne Whaley, who had filmed the yet to be released at that time Willow with her soon to be husband Val Kilmer, would get her first starring role as Keeler, and Bridget Fonda, who was quickly making a name for herself in the film world after being featured in Aria, would play Mandy Rice-Davies, the best friend and co-worker of Keeler’s.

To save money, Palace Pictures would sign thirty-year-old Scottish filmmaker Michael Caton-Jones to direct, after seeing a short film he had made called The Riveter. But even with the neophyte feature filmmaker, Palace still needed about $2.35m to be able to fully finance the film. And they knew exactly who to go to.

Stephen Woolley, the co-founder of Palace Pictures and the main producer on the film, would fly from London to New York City to personally pitch Harvey and Bob Weinstein. Woolley felt that of all the independent distributors in America, they would be the ones most attracted to the sexual and controversial nature of the story. A day later, Woolley was back on a plane to London. The Weinsteins had agreed to purchase the American distribution rights to Scandal for $2.35m.

The film would spend two months shooting in the London area through the summer of 1988. Christine Keeler had no interest in the film, and refused to meet the now Joanne Whaley-Kilmer to talk about the affair, but Mandy Rice-Davies was more than happy to Bridget Fonda about her life, although the meetings between the two women were so secret, they would not come out until Woolley eulogized Rice-Davies after her 2014 death.

Although Harvey and Bob would be given co-executive producers on the film, Miramax was not a production company on the film. This, however, did not stop Harvey from flying to London multiple times, usually when he was made aware of some sexy scene that was going to shoot the following day, and try to insinuate himself into the film’s making. At one point, Woolley decided to take a weekend off from the production, and actually did put Harvey in charge. That weekend’s shoot would include a skinny-dipping scene featuring the Christine Keeler character, but when Whaley-Kilmer learned Harvey was going to be there, she told the director that she could not do the nudity in the scene. Her new husband was objecting to it, she told them. Harvey, not skipping a beat, found a lookalike for the actress who would be willing to bare all as a body double, and the scene would begin shooting a few hours later. Whaley-Kilmer watched the shoot from just behind the camera, and stopped the shoot a few minutes later. She was not happy that the body double’s posterior was notably larger than her own, and didn’t want audiences to think she had that much junk in her trunk. The body double was paid for her day, and Whaley-Kilmer finished the rest of the scene herself.

Caton-Jones and his editing team worked on shaping the film through the fall, and would screen his first edit of the film for Palace Pictures and the Weinsteins in November 1988. And while Harvey was very happy with the cut, he still asked the production team for a different edit for American audiences, noting that most Americans had no idea who Profumo or Keeler or Rice-Davies were, and that Americans would need to understand the story more right out of the first frame. Caton-Jones didn’t want to cut a single frame, but he would work with Harvey to build an American-friendly cut.

While he was in London in November 1988, he would meet with the producers of another British film that was in pre-production at the time that would become another important film to the growth of the company, but we’re not quite at that part of the story yet. We’ll circle around to that film soon.

One of the things Harvey was most looking forward to going in to 1989 was the expected battle with the MPAA ratings board over Scandal. Ever since he had seen the brouhaha over Angel Heart’s X rating two years earlier, he had been looking for a similar battle. He thought he had it with Aria in 1988, but he knew he definitely had it now.

And he’d be right.

In early March, just a few weeks before the film’s planned April 21st opening day, the MPAA slapped an X rating on Scandal. The MPAA usually does not tell filmmakers or distributors what needs to be cut, in order to avoid accusations of actual censorship, but according to Harvey, they told him exactly what needed to be cut to get an R: a two second shot during an orgy scene, where it appears two background characters are having unsimulated sex.

So what did Harvey do?

He spent weeks complaining to the press about MPAA censorship, generating millions in free publicity for the film, all the while already having a close-up shot of Joanne Whaley-Kilmer’s Christine Keeler watching the orgy but not participating in it, ready to replace the objectionable shot.

A few weeks later, Miramax screened the “edited” film to the MPAA and secured the R rating, and the film would open on 94 screens, including 28 each in the New York City and Los Angeles metro regions, on April 28th.

And while the reviews for the film were mostly great, audiences were drawn to the film for the Miramax-manufactured controversy as well as the key art for the film, a picture of a potentially naked Joanne Whaley-Kilmer sitting backwards in a chair, a mimic of a very famous photo Christine Keeler herself took to promote a movie about the Profumo affair she appeared in a few years after the events. I’ll have a picture of both the Scandal poster and the Christine Keeler photo on this episode’s page at The80sMoviePodcast.com

Five other movies would open that weekend, including the James Belushi comedy K-9 and the Kevin Bacon drama Criminal Law, and Scandal, with $658k worth of ticket sales, would have the second best per screen average of the five new openers, just a few hundred dollars below the new Holly Hunter movie Miss Firecracker, which only opened on six screens.

In its second weekend, Scandal would expand its run to 214 playdates, and make its debut in the national top ten, coming in tenth place with $981k. That would be more than the second week of the Patrick Dempsey rom-com Loverboy, even though Loverboy was playing on 5x as many screens.

In weekend number three, Scandal would have its best overall gross and top ten placement, coming in seventh with $1.22m from 346 screens. Scandal would start to slowly fade after that, falling back out of the top ten in its sixth week, but Miramax would wisely keep the screen count under 375, because Scandal wasn’t going to play well in all areas of the country. After nearly five months in theatres, Miramax would have its biggest film to date. Scandal would gross $8.8m.

The second release from Millimeter Films was The Return of the Swamp Thing. And if you needed a reason why the 1980s was not a good time for comic book movies, here you are. The Return of the Swamp Thing took most of what made the character interesting in his comic series, and most of what was good from the 1982 Wes Craven adaptation, and decided “Hey, you know what would bring the kids in? Camp! Camp unseen in a comic book adaptation since the 1960s Batman series. They loved it then, they’ll love it now!”

They did not love it now.

Heather Locklear, between her stints on T.J. Hooker and Melrose Place, plays the step-daughter of Louis Jourdan’s evil Dr. Arcane from the first film, who heads down to the Florida swaps to confront dear old once presumed dead stepdad. He in turns kidnaps his stepdaughter and decides to do some of his genetic experiments on her, until she is rescued by Swamp Thing, one of Dr. Arcane’s former co-workers who got turned into the gooey anti-hero in the first movie.

The film co-stars Sarah Douglas from Superman 1 and 2 as Dr. Arcane’s assistant, Dick Durock reprising his role as Swamp Thing from the first film, and 1980s B-movie goddess Monique Gabrielle as Miss Poinsettia.

For director Jim Wynorski, this was his sixth movie as a director, and at $3m, one of the highest budgeted movies he would ever make. He’s directed 107 movies since 1984, most of them low budget direct to video movies with titles like The Bare Wench Project and Alabama Jones and the Busty Crusade, although he does have one genuine horror classic under his belt, the 1986 sci-fi tinged Chopping Maul with Kelli Maroney and Barbara Crampton.

Wynorski suggested in a late 1990s DVD commentary for the film that he didn’t particularly enjoy making the film, and had a difficult time directing Louis Jourdan, to the point that outside of calling “action” and “cut,” the two didn’t speak to each other by the end of the shoot.

The Return of Swamp Thing would open in 123 theatres in the United States on May 12th, including 28 in the New York City metro region, 26 in the Los Angeles area, 15 in Detroit, and a handful of theatres in Phoenix, San Francisco. And, strangely, the newspaper ads would include an actual positive quote from none other than Roger Ebert, who said on Siskel & Ebert that he enjoyed himself, and that it was good to have Swamp Thing back. Siskel would not reciprocate his balcony partner’s thumb up. But Siskel was about the only person who was positive on the return of Swamp Thing, and that box office would suffer. In its first three days, the film would gross just $119,200. After a couple more dismal weeks in theatres, The Return of Swamp Thing would be pulled from distribution, with a final gross of just $275k.

Fun fact: The Return of Swamp Thing was produced by Michael E. Uslan, whose next production, another adaptation of a DC Comics character, would arrive in theatres not six weeks later and become the biggest film of the summer. In fact, Uslan has been a producer or executive producer on every Batman-related movie and television show since 1989, from Tim Burton to Christopher Nolan to Zack Snyder to Matt Reeves, and from LEGO movies to Joker. He also, because of his ownership of the movie rights to Swamp Thing, got the movie screen rights, but not the television screen rights, to John Constantine.

Miramax didn’t have too much time to worry about The Return of Swamp Thing’s release, as it was happening while the Brothers Weinstein were at the 1989 Cannes Film Festival. They had two primary goals at Cannes that year:

To buy American distribution rights to any movie that would increase their standing in the cinematic worldview, which they would achieve by picking up an Italian dramedy called, at the time, New Paradise Cinema, which was competing for the Palme D’Or with a Miramax pickup from Sundance back in January.
Promote that very film, which did end up winning the Palme D’Or.

Ever since he was a kid, Steven Soderbergh wanted to be a filmmaker. Growing up in Baton Rouge, LA in the late 1970s, he would enroll in the LSU film animation class, even though he was only 15 and not yet a high school graduate. After graduating high school, he decided to move to Hollywood to break into the film industry, renting an above-garage room from Stephen Gyllenhaal, the filmmaker best known as the father of Jake and Maggie, but after a few freelance editing jobs, Soderbergh packed up his things and headed home to Baton Rouge.

Someone at Atco Records saw one of Soderbergh’s short films, and hired him to direct a concert movie for one of their biggest bands at the time, Yes, who was enjoying a major comeback thanks to their 1983 triple platinum selling album, 90125. The concert film, called 9012Live, would premiere on MTV in late 1985, and it would be nominated for a Grammy Award for Best Long Form Music Video.

Soderbergh would use the money he earned from that project, $7,500, to make Winston, a 12 minute black and white short about sexual deception that he would, over the course of an eight day driving trip from Baton Rouge to Los Angeles, expand to a full length screen that he would call sex, lies and videotape. In later years, Soderbergh would admit that part of the story is autobiographical, but not the part you might think. Instead of the lead, Graham, an impotent but still sexually perverse late twentysomething who likes to tape women talking about their sexual fantasies for his own pleasure later, Soderbergh based the husband John, the unsophisticated lawyer who cheats on his wife with her sister, on himself, although there would be a bit of Graham that borrows from the filmmaker. Like his lead character, Soderbergh did sell off most of his possessions and hit the road to live a different life.

When he finished the script, he sent it out into the wilds of Hollywood. Morgan Mason, the son of actor James Mason and husband of Go-Go’s lead singer Belinda Carlisle, would read it and sign on as an executive producer. Soderbergh had wanted to shoot the film in black and white, like he had with the Winston short that lead to the creation of this screenplay, but he and Mason had trouble getting anyone to commit to the project, even with only a projected budget of $200,000. For a hot moment, it looked like Universal might sign on to make the film, but they would eventually pass.

Robert Newmyer, who had left his job as a vice president of production and acquisitions at Columbia Pictures to start his own production company, signed on as a producer, and helped to convince Soderbergh to shoot the film in color, and cast some name actors in the leading roles. Once he acquiesced, Richard Branson’s Virgin Vision agreed to put up $540k of the newly budgeted $1.2m film, while RCA/Columbia Home Video would put up the remaining $660k.

Soderbergh and his casting director, Deborah Aquila, would begin their casting search in New York, where they would meet with, amongst others, Andie MacDowell, who had already starred in two major Hollywood pictures, 1984’s Greystoke: The Legend of Tarzan, Lord of the Apes, and 1985’s St. Elmo’s Fire, but was still considered more of a top model than an actress, and Laura San Giacomo, who had recently graduated from the Carnegie Mellon School of Drama in Pittsburgh and would be making her feature debut. Moving on to Los Angeles, Soderbergh and Aquila would cast James Spader, who had made a name for himself as a mostly bad guy in 80s teen movies like Pretty in Pink and Less Than Zero, but had never been the lead in a drama like this. At Spader’s suggestion, the pair met with Peter Gallagher, who was supposed to become a star nearly a decade earlier from his starring role in Taylor Hackford’s The Idolmaker, but had mostly been playing supporting roles in television shows and movies for most of the decade.

In order to keep the budget down, Soderbergh, the producers, cinematographer Walt Lloyd and the four main cast members agreed to get paid their guild minimums in exchange for a 50/50 profit participation split with RCA/Columbia once the film recouped its costs.

The production would spend a week in rehearsals in Baton Rouge, before the thirty day shoot began on August 1st, 1988. On most days, the shoot was unbearable for many, as temperatures would reach as high as 110 degrees outside, but there were a couple days lost to what cinematographer Lloyd said was “biblical rains.” But the shoot completed as scheduled, and Soderbergh got to the task of editing right away. He knew he only had about eight weeks to get a cut ready if the film was going to be submitted to the 1989 U.S. Film Festival, now better known as Sundance. He did get a temporary cut of the film ready for submission, with a not quite final sound mix, and the film was accepted to the festival. It would make its world premiere on January 25th, 1989, in Park City UT, and as soon as the first screening was completed, the bids from distributors came rolling in. Larry Estes, the head of RCA/Columbia Home Video, would field more than a dozen submissions before the end of the night, but only one distributor was ready to make a deal right then and there.

Bob Weinstein wasn’t totally sold on the film, but he loved the ending, and he loved that the word “sex” not only was in the title but lead the title. He knew that title alone would sell the movie. Harvey, who was still in New York the next morning, called Estes to make an appointment to meet in 24 hours. When he and Estes met, he brought with him three poster mockups the marketing department had prepared, and told Estes he wasn’t going to go back to New York until he had a contract signed, and vowed to beat any other deal offered by $100,000. Island Pictures, who had made their name releasing movies like Stop Making Sense, Kiss of the Spider-Woman, The Trip to Bountiful and She’s Gotta Have It, offered $1m for the distribution rights, plus a 30% distribution fee and a guaranteed $1m prints and advertising budget. Estes called Harvey up and told him what it would take to make the deal. $1.1m for the distribution rights, which needed to paid up front, a $1m P&A budget, to be put in escrow upon the signing of the contract until the film was released, a 30% distribution fee, no cutting of the film whatsoever once Soderbergh turns in his final cut, they would need to provide financial information for the films costs and returns once a month because of the profit participation contracts, and the Weinsteins would have to hire Ira Deutchman, who had spent nearly 15 years in the independent film world, doing marketing for Cinema 5, co-founding United Artists Classics, and co-founding Cinecom Pictures before opening his own company to act as a producers rep and marketer. And the Weinsteins would not only have to do exactly what Deutchman wanted, they’d have to pay for his services too.

The contract was signed a few weeks later.

The first move Miramax would make was to get Soderbergh’s final cut of the film entered into the Cannes Film Festival, where it would be accepted to compete in the main competition. Which you kind of already know what happened, because that’s what I lead with. The film would win the Palme D’Or, and Spader would be awarded the festival’s award for Best Actor. It was very rare at the time, and really still is, for any film to be awarded more than one prize, so winning two was really a coup for the film and for Miramax, especially when many critics attending the festival felt Spike Lee’s Do the Right Thing was the better film.

In March, Miramax expected the film to make around $5-10m, which would net the company a small profit on the film. After Cannes, they were hopeful for a $15m gross.

They never expected what would happen next.

On August 4th, sex, lies, and videotape would open on four screens, at the Cinema Studio in New York City, and at the AMC Century 14, the Cineplex Beverly Center 13 and the Mann Westwood 4 in Los Angeles. Three prime theatres and the best they could do in one of the then most competitive zones in all America. Remember, it’s still the Summer 1989 movie season, filled with hits like Batman, Dead Poets Society, Ghostbusters 2, Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, Honey I Shrunk the Kids, Lethal Weapon 2, Parenthood, Turner & Hooch, and When Harry Met Sally. An independent distributor even getting one screen at the least attractive theatre in Westwood was a major get. And despite the fact that this movie wasn’t really a summertime movie per se, the film would gross an incredible $156k in its first weekend from just these four theatres. Its nearly $40k per screen average would be 5x higher than the next closest film, Parenthood.

In its second weekend, the film would expand to 28 theatres, and would bring in over $600k in ticket sales, its per screen average of $21,527 nearly triple its closest competitor, Parenthood again. The company would keep spending small, as it slowly expanded the film each successive week. Forty theatres in its third week, and 101 in its fourth. The numbers held strong, and in its fifth week, Labor Day weekend, the film would have its first big expansion, playing in 347 theatres. The film would enter the top ten for the first time, despite playing in 500 to 1500 fewer theatres than the other films in the top ten. In its ninth weekend, the film would expand to its biggest screen count, 534, before slowly drawing down as the other major Oscar contenders started their theatrical runs. The film would continue to play through the Oscar season of 1989, and when it finally left theatres in May 1989, its final gross would be an astounding $24.7m.

Now, remember a few moments ago when I said that Miramax needed to provide financial statements every month for the profit participation contracts of Soderbergh, the producers, the cinematographer and the four lead actors? The film was so profitable for everyone so quickly that RCA/Columbia made its first profit participation payouts on October 17th, barely ten weeks after the film’s opening.

That same week, Soderbergh also made what was at the time the largest deal with a book publisher for the writer/director’s annotated version of the screenplay, which would also include his notes created during the creation of the film. That $75,000 deal would be more than he got paid to make the movie as the writer and the director and the editor, not counting the profit participation checks.

During the awards season, sex, lies, and videotape was considered to be one of the Oscars front runners for Best Picture, Best Director, Best Screenplay and at least two acting nominations. The film would be nominated for Best Picture, Best Actress and Best Supporting Actress by the Golden Globes, and it would win the Spirit Awards for Best Picture, Soderbergh for Best Director, McDowell for Best Actress, and San Giacomo for Best Supporting Actress. But when the Academy Award nominations were announced, the film would only receive one nomination, for Best Original Screenplay. The same total and category as Spike Lee’s Do the Right Thing, which many people also felt had a chance for a Best Picture and Best Director nomination. Both films would lose out to Tom Shulman’s screenplay for Dead Poet’s Society.

The success of sex, lies, and videotape would launch Steven Soderbergh into one of the quirkiest Hollywood careers ever seen, including becoming the first and only director ever to be nominated twice for Best Director in the same year by the Motion Picture Academy, the Golden Globes and the Directors Guild of America, in 2001 for directing Erin Brockovich and Traffic. He would win the Oscar for directing Traffic.

Lost in the excitement of sex, lies, and videotape was The Little Thief, a French movie that had an unfortunate start as the screenplay François Truffaut was working on when he passed away in 1984 at the age of just 52.

Directed by Claude Miller, whose principal mentor was Truffaut, The Little Thief starred seventeen year old Charlotte Gainsbourg as Janine, a young woman in post-World War II France who commits a series of larcenies to support her dreams of becoming wealthy.

The film was a modest success in France when it opened in December 1988, but its American release date of August 25th, 1989, was set months in advance. So when it was obvious sex, lies, and videotape was going to be a bigger hit than they originally anticipated, it was too late for Miramax to pause the release of The Little Thief.

Opening at the Lincoln Plaza Cinemas in New York City, and buoyed by favorable reviews from every major critic in town, The Little Thief would see $39,931 worth of ticket sales in its first seven days, setting a new house record at the theatre for the year. In its second week, the gross would only drop $47. For the entire week. And when it opened at the Royal Theatre in West Los Angeles, its opening week gross of $30,654 would also set a new house record for the year.

The film would expand slowly but surely over the next several weeks, often in single screen playdates in major markets, but it would never play on more than twenty-four screens in any given week. And after four months in theatres, The Little Thief, the last movie created one of the greatest film writers the world had ever seen, would only gross $1.056m in the United States.

The next three releases from Miramax were all sent out under the Millimeter Films banner.

The first, a supernatural erotic drama called The Girl in a Swing, was about an English antiques dealer who travels to Copenhagen where he meets and falls in love with a mysterious German-born secretary, whom he marries, only to discover a darker side to his new bride. Rupert Frazer, who played Christian Bale’s dad in Steven Spielberg’s Empire of the Sun, plays the antique dealer, while Meg Tilly the mysterious new bride.

Filmed over a five week schedule in London and Copenhagen during May and June 1988, some online sources say the film first opened somewhere in California in December 1988, but I cannot find a single theatre not only in California but anywhere in the United States that played the film before its September 29th, 1989 opening date.

Roger Ebert didn’t like the film, and wished Meg Tilly’s “genuinely original performance” was in a better movie. Opening in 26 theatres, including six theatres each in New York City and Los Angeles, and spurred on by an intriguing key art for the film that featured a presumed naked Tilly on a swing looking seductively at the camera while a notice underneath her warns that No One Under 18 Will Be Admitted To The Theatre, The Girl in a Swing would gross $102k, good enough for 35th place nationally that week. And that’s about the best it would do. The film would limp along, moving from market to market over the course of the next three months, and when its theatrical run was complete, it could only manage about $747k in ticket sales.

We’ll quickly burn through the next two Millimeter Films releases, which came out a week apart from each other and didn’t amount to much.

Animal Behavior was a rather unfunny comedy featuring some very good actors who probably signed on for a very different movie than the one that came to be. Karen Allen, Miss Marion Ravenwood herself, stars as Alex, a biologist who, like Dr. Jane Goodall, develops a “new” way to communicate with chimpanzees via sign language. Armand Assante plays a cellist who pursues the good doctor, and Holly Hunter plays the cellist’s neighbor, who Alex mistakes for his wife.

Animal Behavior was filmed in 1984, and 1985, and 1987, and 1988. The initial production was directed by Jenny Bowen with the assistance of Robert Redford and The Sundance Institute, thanks to her debut film, 1981’s Street Music featuring Elizabeth Daily. It’s unknown why Bowen and her cinematographer husband Richard Bowen left the project, but when filming resumed again and again and again, those scenes were directed by the film’s producer, Kjehl Rasmussen.

Because Bowen was not a member of the DGA at the time, she was not able to petition the guild for the use of the Alan Smithee pseudonym, a process that is automatically triggered whenever a director is let go of a project and filming continues with its producer taking the reigns as director. But she was able to get the production to use a pseudonym anyway for the director’s credit, H. Anne Riley, while also giving Richard Bowen a pseudonym of his own for his work on the film, David Spellvin.

Opening on 24 screens on October 27th, Animal Behavior would come in 50th place in its opening weekend, grossing just $20,361. The New York film critics ripped the film apart, and there wouldn’t be a second weekend for the film.

The following Friday, November 3rd, saw the release of The Stepfather II, a rushed together sequel to 1987’s The Stepfather, which itself wasn’t a big hit in theatres but found a very quick and receptive audience on cable.

Despite dying at the end of the first film, Terry O’Quinn’s Jerry is somehow still alive, and institutionalized in Northern Washington state. He escapes and heads down to Los Angeles, where he assumes the identity of a recently deceased publisher, Gene Clifford, but instead passes himself off as a psychiatrist. Jerry, now Gene, begins to court his neighbor Carol, and the whole crazy story plays out again. Meg Foster plays the neighbor Carol, and Jonathan Brandis is her son.

Director Jeff Burr had made a name for himself with his 1987 horror anthology film From a Whisper to a Scream, featuring Vincent Price, Clu Gulager and Terry Kiser, and from all accounts, had a very smooth shooting process with this film. The trouble began when he turned in his cut to the producers. The producers were happy with the film, but when they sent it to Miramax, the American distributors, they were rather unhappy with the almost bloodless slasher film. They demanded reshoots, which Burr and O’Quinn refused to participate in. They brought in a new director, Doug Campbell, to handle the reshoots, which are easy to spot in the final film because they look and feel completely different from the scenes they’re spliced into.

When it opened, The Stepfather II actually grossed slightly more than the first film did, earning $279k from 100 screens, compared to $260k for The Stepfather from 105 screens. But unlike the first film, which had some decent reviews when it opened, the sequel was a complete mess. To this day, it’s still one of the few films to have a 0% approval rating on Rotten Tomatoes, and The Stepfather II would limp its way through theatres during the Christmas holiday season, ending its run with a $1.5m gross.

But it would be their final film of the decade that would dictate their course for at least the first part of the 1990s.

Remember when I said earlier in the episode that Harvey Weinstein meant with the producers of another British film while in London for Scandal? We’re at that film now, a film you probably know.

My Left Foot.

By November 1988, actor Daniel Day-Lewis had starred in several movies including James Ivory’s A Room With a View and Philip Kaufman’s The Unbearable Lightness of Being. He had even been the lead in a major Hollywood studio film, Pat O’Connor’s Stars and Bars, a very good film that unfortunately got caught up in the brouhaha over the exit of the studio head who greenlit the film, David Puttnam.

The film’s director, Jim Sheridan, had never directed a movie before. He had become involved in stage production during his time at the University College in Dublin in the late 1960s, where he worked with future filmmaker Neil Jordan, and had spent nearly a decade after graduation doing stage work in Ireland and Canada, before settling in New York City in the early 1980s. Sheridan would go to New York University’s Tisch School of the Arts, where one of his classmates was Spike Lee, and return to Ireland after graduating. He was nearly forty, married with two pre-teen daughters, and he needed to make a statement with his first film.

He would find that story in the autobiography of Irish writer and painter Christy Brown, whose spirit and creativity could not be contained by his severe cerebral palsy. Along with Irish actor and writer Shane Connaughton, Sheridan wrote a screenplay that could be a powerhouse film made on a very tight budget of less than a million dollars.

Daniel Day-Lewis was sent a copy of the script, in the hopes he would be intrigued enough to take almost no money to play a physically demanding role. He read the opening pages, which had the adult Christy Brown putting a record on a record player and dropping the needle on to the record with his left foot, and thought to himself it would be impossible to film. That intrigued him, and he signed on. But during filming in January and February of 1989, most of the scenes were shot using mirrors, as Day-Lewis couldn’t do the scenes with his left foot. He could do them with his right foot, hence the mirrors.

As a method actor, Day-Lewis remained in character as Christy Brown for the entire two month shoot. From costume fittings and makeup in the morning, to getting the actor on set, to moving him around between shots, there were crew members assigned to assist the actor as if they were Christy Brown’s caretakers themselves, including feeding him during breaks in shooting. A rumor debunked by the actor years later said Day-Lewis had broken two ribs during production because of how hunched down he needed to be in his crude prop wheelchair to properly play the character.

The actor had done a lot of prep work to play the role, including spending time at the Sandymount School Clinic where the young Christy Brown got his education, and much of his performance was molded on those young people.

While Miramax had acquired the American distribution rights to the film before it went into production, and those funds went into the production of the film, the film was not produced by Miramax, nor were the Weinsteins given any kind of executive producer credit, as they were able to get themselves on Scandal.

My Left Foot would make its world premiere at the Montreal World Film Festival on September 4th, 1989, followed soon thereafter by screening at the Toronto International Film Festival on September 13th and the New York Film Festival on September 23rd. Across the board, critics and audiences were in love with the movie, and with Daniel Day-Lewis’s performance. Jim Sheridan would receive a special prize at the Montreal World Film Festival for his direction, and Day-Lewis would win the festival’s award for Best Actor. However, as the film played the festival circuit, another name would start to pop up. Brenda Fricker, a little known Irish actress who played Christy Brown’s supportive but long-suffering mother Bridget, would pile up as many positive notices and awards as Day-Lewis. Although there was no Best Supporting Actress Award at the Montreal Film Festival, the judges felt her performance was deserving of some kind of attention, so they would create a Special Mention of the Jury Award to honor her.

Now, some sources online will tell you the film made its world premiere in Dublin on February 24th, 1989, based on a passage in a biography about Daniel Day-Lewis, but that would be impossible as the film would still be in production for two more days, and wasn’t fully edited or scored by then.

I’m not sure when it first opened in the United Kingdom other than sometime in early 1990, but My Left Foot would have its commercial theatre debut in America on November 10th, when opened at the Lincoln Plaza Cinemas in New York City and the Century City 14 in Los Angeles. Sheila Benson of the Los Angeles Times would, in the very opening paragraph of her review, note that one shouldn’t see My Left Foot for some kind of moral uplift or spiritual merit badge, but because of your pure love of great moviemaking. Vincent Canby’s review in the New York Times spends most of his words praising Day-Lewis and Sheridan for making a film that is polite and non-judgmental.

Interestingly, Miramax went with an ad campaign that completely excluded any explanation of who Christy Brown was or why the film is titled the way it is. 70% of the ad space is taken from pull quotes from many of the top critics of the day, 20% with the title of the film, and 10% with a picture of Daniel Day-Lewis, clean shaven and full tooth smile, which I don’t recall happening once in the movie, next to an obviously added-in picture of one of his co-stars that is more camera-friendly than Brenda Fricker or Fiona Shaw.

Whatever reasons people went to see the film, they flocked to the two theatres playing the film that weekend. It’s $20,582 per screen average would be second only to Kenneth Branagh’s Henry V, which had opened two days earlier, earning slightly more than $1,000 per screen than My Left Foot.

In week two, My Left Foot would gross another $35,133 from those two theatres, and it would overtake Henry V for the highest per screen average. In week three, Thanksgiving weekend, both Henry V and My Left Foot saw a a double digit increase in grosses despite not adding any theatres, and the latter film would hold on to the highest per screen average again, although the difference would only be $302. And this would continue for weeks. In the film’s sixth week of release, it would get a boost in attention by being awarded Best Film of the Year by the New York Film Critics Circle. Daniel Day-Lewis would be named Best Actor that week by both the New York critics and the Los Angeles Film Critics Association, while Fricker would win the Best Supporting Actress award from the latter group.

But even then, Miramax refused to budge on expanding the film until its seventh week of release, Christmas weekend, when My Left Foot finally moved into cities like Chicago and San Francisco. Its $135k gross that weekend was good, but it was starting to lose ground to other Oscar hopefuls like Born on the Fourth of July, Driving Miss Daisy, Enemies: A Love Story, and Glory.

And even though the film continued to rack up award win after award win, nomination after nomination, from the Golden Globes and the Writers Guild and the National Society of Film Critics and the National Board of Review, Miramax still held firm on not expanding the film into more than 100 theatres nationwide until its 16th week in theatres, February 16th, 1990, two days after the announcement of the nominees for the 62nd Annual Academy Awards. While Daniel Day-Lewis’s nomination for Best Actor was virtually assured and Brenda Fricker was practically a given, the film would pick up three other nominations, including surprise nominations for Best Picture and Best Director. Jim Sheridan and co-writer Shane Connaughton would also get picked for Best Adapted Screenplay.

Miramax also picked up a nomination for Best Original Screenplay for sex, lies, and videotape, and a Best Foreign Language Film nod for the Italian movie Cinema Paradiso, which, thanks to the specific rules for that category, a film could get a nomination before actually opening in theatres in America, which Miramax would rush to do with Paradiso the week after its nomination was announced.

The 62nd Academy Awards ceremony would be best remembered today as being the first Oscar show to be hosted by Billy Crystal, and for being considerably better than the previous year’s ceremony, a mess of a show best remembered as being the one with a 12 minute opening musical segment that included Rob Lowe singing Proud Mary to an actress playing Snow White and another nine minute musical segment featuring a slew of expected future Oscar winners that, to date, feature exact zero Oscar nominees, both which rank as amongst the worst things to ever happen to the Oscars awards show.

The ceremony, held on March 26th, would see My Left Foot win two awards, Best Actor and Best Supporting Actress, as well as Cinema Paradiso for Best Foreign Film. The following weekend, March 30th, would see Miramax expand My Left Foot to 510 theatres, its widest point of release, and see the film made the national top ten and earn more than a million dollars for its one and only time during its eight month run.

The film would lose steam pretty quickly after its post-win bump, but it would eek out a modest run that ended with $14.75m in ticket sales just in the United States. Not bad for a little Irish movie with no major stars that cost less than a million dollars to make.

Of course, the early 90s would see Miramax fly to unimagined heights. In all of the 80s, Miramax would release 39 movies. They would release 30 films alone in 1991. They would release the first movies from Jean-Pierre Jeunet, Quentin Tarantino and Kevin Smith. They’d release some of the best films from some of the best filmmakers in the world, including Woody Allen, Pedro Almadovar, Robert Altman, Bernardo Bertolucci, Atom Egoyan, Steven Frears, Peter Greenaway, Peter Jackson, Neil Jordan, Chen Kaige, Krzysztof Kieślowski, Lars von Trier, and Zhang Yimou. In 1993, the Mexican dramedy Like Water for Chocolate would become the highest grossing foreign language film ever released in America, and it would play in some theatres, including my theatre, the NuWilshire in Santa Monica, continuously for more than a year.

If you’ve listened to the whole series on the 1980s movies of Miramax Films, there are two things I hope you take away. First, I hope you discovered at least one film you hadn’t heard of before and you might be interested in searching out. The second is the reminder that neither Bob nor Harvey Weinstein will profit in any way if you give any of the movies talked about in this series a chance. They sold Miramax to Disney in June 1993. They left Miramax in September 2005. Many of the contracts for the movies the company released in the 80s and 90s expired decades ago, with the rights reverting back to their original producers, none of whom made any deals with the Weinsteins once they got their rights back.

Harvey Weinstein is currently serving a 23 year prison sentence in upstate New York after being found guilty in 2020 of two sexual assaults. Once he completes that sentence, he’ll be spending another 16 years in prison in California, after he was convicted of three sexual assaults that happened in Los Angeles between 2004 and 2013. And if the 71 year old makes it to 107 years old, he may have to serve time in England for two sexual assaults that happened in August 1996. That case is still working its way through the British legal system.

Bob Weinstein has kept a low profile since his brother’s proclivities first became public knowledge in October 2017, although he would also be accused of sexual harassment by a show runner for the brothers’ Spike TV-aired adaptation of the Stephen King novel The Mist, several days after the bombshell articles came out about his brother. However, Bob’s lawyer, the powerful attorney to the stars Bert Fields, deny the allegations, and it appears nothing has occurred legally since the accusations were made.

A few weeks after the start of the MeToo movement that sparked up in the aftermath of the accusations of his brother’s actions, Bob Weinstein denied having any knowledge of the nearly thirty years of documented sexual abuse at the hands of his brother, but did allow to an interviewer for The Hollywood Reporter that he had barely spoken to Harvey over the previous five years, saying he could no longer take Harvey’s cheating, lying and general attitude towards everyone.

And with that, we conclude our journey with Miramax Films. While I am sure Bob and Harvey will likely pop up again in future episodes, they’ll be minor characters at best, and we’ll never have to focus on anything they did ever again.

Thank you for joining us. We’ll talk again soon, when Episode 119 is released.

Remember to visit this episode’s page on our website, The80sMoviePodcast.com, for extra materials about the movies we covered this episode.

The 80s Movies Podcast has been researched, written, narrated and edited by Edward Havens for Idiosyncratic Entertainment.

Thank you again.

Good night.

Miramax Films - Part Four

24 augusti 2023 | 42 min

We continue our miniseries on the 1980s movies distributed by Miramax Films, with a look at the films released in 1988.

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TRANSCRIPT

From Los Angeles, California, the Entertainment Capital of the World, it’s The 80s Movies Podcast. I am your host, Edward Havens. Thank you for listening today.

On this episode, we finally continue with the next part of our look back at the 1980s movies distributed by Miramax Films, specifically looking at 1988.

But before we get there, I must issue another mea culpa. In our episode on the 1987 movies from Miramax, I mentioned that a Kiefer Sutherland movie called Crazy Moon never played in another theatre after its disastrous one week Oscar qualifying run in Los Angeles in December 1987.

I was wrong.

While doing research on this episode, I found one New York City playdate for the film, in early February 1988. It grossed a very dismal $3200 at the 545 seat Festival Theatre during its first weekend, and would be gone after seven days.

Sorry for the misinformation.

1988 would be a watershed year for the company, as one of the movies they acquired for distribution would change the course of documentary filmmaking as we knew it, and another would give a much beloved actor his first Academy Award nomination while giving the company its first Oscar win.

But before we get to those two movies, there’s a whole bunch of others to talk about first.

Of the twelve movies Miramax would release in 1988, only four were from America. The rest would be a from a mixture of mostly Anglo-Saxon countries like the UK, Canada, France and Sweden, although there would be one Spanish film in there.

Their first release of the new year, Le Grand Chemin, told the story of a timid nine-year-old boy from Paris who spends one summer vacation in a small town in Brittany. His mother has lodged the boy with her friend and her friend’s husband while Mom has another baby. The boy makes friends with a slightly older girl next door, and learns about life from her.

Richard Bohringer, who plays the friend’s husband, and Anémone, who plays the pregnant mother, both won Cesars, the French equivalent to the Oscars, in their respective lead categories, and the film would be nominated for Best Foreign Language Film of 1987 by the National Board of Review. Miramax, who had picked up the film at Cannes several months earlier, waited until January 22nd, 1988, to release it in America, first at the Paris Theatre in midtown Manhattan, where it would gross a very impressive $41k in its first three days. In its second week, it would drop less than 25% of its opening weekend audience, bringing in another $31k. But shortly after that, the expected Oscar nomination for Best Foreign Language Film did not come, and business on the film slowed to a trickle. But it kept chugging on, and by the time the film finished its run in early June, it had grossed $541k.

A week later, on January 29th, Miramax would open another French film, Light Years. An animated science fiction film written and directed by René Laloux, best known for directing the 1973 animated head trip film Fantastic Planet, Light Years was the story of an evil force from a thousand years in the future who begins to destroy an idyllic paradise where the citizens are in perfect harmony with nature.

In its first three days at two screens in Los Angeles and five screens in the San Francisco Bay Area, Light Years would gross a decent $48,665. Miramax would print a self-congratulating ad in that week’s Variety touting the film’s success, and thanking Isaac Asimov, who helped to write the English translation, and many of the actors who lent their vocal talents to the new dub, including Glenn Close, Bridget Fonda, Jennifer Grey, Christopher Plummer, and Penn and Teller. Yes, Teller speaks. The ad was a message to both the theatre operators and the major players in the industry. Miramax was here. Get used to it.

But that ad may have been a bit premature.

While the film would do well in major markets during its initial week in theatres, audience interest would drop outside of its opening week in big cities, and be practically non-existent in college towns and other smaller cities. Its final box office total would be just over $370k.

March 18th saw the release of a truly unique film.

Imagine a film directed by Robert Altman and Bruce Beresford and Jean-Luc Godard and Derek Jarman and Franc Roddam and Nicolas Roeg and Ken Russell and Charles Sturridge and Julien Temple. Imagine a film that starred Beverly D’Angelo, Bridget Fonda in her first movie, Julie Hagerty, Buck Henry, Elizabeth Hurley and John Hurt and Theresa Russell and Tilda Swinton. Imagine a film that brought together ten of the most eclectic filmmakers in the world doing four to fourteen minute short films featuring the arias of some of the most famous and beloved operas ever written, often taken out of their original context and placed into strange new places. Like, for example, the aria for Verdi’s Rigoletto set at the kitschy Madonna Inn in San Luis Obispo, where a movie producer is cheating on his wife while she is in a nearby room with a hunky man who is not her husband. Imagine that there’s almost no dialogue in the film. Just the arias to set the moments.

That is Aria.

If you are unfamiliar with opera in general, and these arias specifically, that’s not a problem. When I saw the film at the Nickelodeon Theatre in Santa Cruz in June 1988, I knew some Wagner, some Puccini, and some Verdi, through other movies that used the music as punctuation for a scene. I think the first time I had heard Nessun Dorma was in The Killing Fields. Vesti La Giubba in The Untouchables. But this would be the first time I would hear these arias as they were meant to be performed, even if they were out of context within their original stories. Certainly, Wagner didn’t intend the aria from Tristan und Isolde to be used to highlight a suicide pact between a young couple killing themselves in a Las Vegas hotel bathroom.

Aria definitely split critics when it premiered at the 1987 Cannes Film Festival, when it competed for the festival’s main prize, the Palme D’Or. Roger Ebert would call it the first MTV opera and felt the filmmakers were poking fun at their own styles, while Leonard Maltin felt most of the endeavor was a waste of time. In the review for the New York Times, Janet Maslin would also make a reference to MTV but not in a positive way, and would note the two best parts of the film were the photo montage that is seen over the end credits, and the clever licensing of Chuck Jones’s classic Bugs Bunny cartoon What’s Opera, Doc, to play with the film, at least during its New York run. In the Los Angeles Times, the newspaper chose one of its music critics to review the film. They too would compare the film to MTV, but also to Fantasia, neither reference meant to be positive.

It’s easy to see what might have attracted Harvey Weinstein to acquire the film.

Nudity.

And lots of it.

Including from a 21 year old Hurley, and a 22 year old Fonda.

Open at the 420 seat Ridgemont Theatre in Seattle on March 18th, 1988, Aria would gross a respectable $10,600. It would be the second highest grossing theatre in the city, only behind The Unbearable Lightness of Being, which grossed $16,600 in its fifth week at the 850 seat Cinerama Theatre, which was and still is the single best theatre in Seattle. It would continue to do well in Seattle, but it would not open until April 15th in Los Angeles and May 20th in New York City.

But despite some decent notices and the presence of some big name directors, Aria would stiff at the box office, grossing just $1.03m after seven months in theatres.

As we discussed on our previous episode, there was a Dennis Hopper movie called Riders on the Storm that supposedly opened in November 1987, but didn’t. It did open in theatres in May of 1988, and now we’re here to talk about it.

Riders on the Storm would open in eleven theatres in the New York City area on May 7th, including three theatres in Manhattan. Since Miramax did not screen the film for critics before release, never a good sign, the first reviews wouldn’t show up until the following day, since the critics would actually have to go see the film with a regular audience. Vincent Canby’s review for the New York Times would arrive first, and surprisingly, he didn’t completely hate the film. But audiences didn’t care. In its first weekend in New York City, Riders on the Storm would gross an anemic $25k. The following Friday, Miramax would open the film at two theatres in Baltimore, four theatres in Fort Worth TX (but surprisingly none in Dallas), one theatre in Los Angeles and one theatre in Springfield OH, while continuing on only one screen in New York. No reported grosses from Fort Worth, LA or Springfield, but the New York theatre reported ticket sales of $3k for the weekend, a 57% drop from its previous week, while the two in Baltimore combined for $5k.

There would be more single playdates for a few months. Tampa the same week as New York. Atlanta, Charlotte, Des Moines and Memphis in late May. Cincinnati in late June. Boston, Calgary, Ottawa and Philadelphia in early July. Greenville SC in late August. Evansville IL, Ithaca NY and San Francisco in early September. Chicago in late September. It just kept popping up in random places for months, always a one week playdate before heading off to the next location. And in all that time, Miramax never reported grosses. What little numbers we do have is from the theatres that Variety was tracking, and those numbers totaled up to less than $30k.

Another mostly lost and forgotten Miramax release from 1988 is Caribe, a Canadian production that shot in Belize about an amateur illegal arms trader to Central American terrorists who must go on the run after a deal goes down bad, because who wants to see a Canadian movie about an amateur illegal arms trader to Canadian terrorists who must go on the run in the Canadian tundra after a deal goes down bad?

Kara Glover would play Helen, the arms dealer, and John Savage as Jeff, a British intelligence agent who helps Helen.

Caribe would first open in Detroit on May 20th, 1988. Can you guess what I’m going to say next?

Yep.

No reported grosses, no theatres playing the film tracked by Variety.

The following week, Caribe opens in the San Francisco Bay Area, at the 300 seat United Artists Theatre in San Francisco, and three theatres in the South Bay. While Miramax once again did not report grosses, the combined gross for the four theatres, according to Variety, was a weak $3,700. Compare that to Aria, which was playing at the Opera Plaza Cinemas in its third week in San Francisco, in an auditorium 40% smaller than the United Artist, grossing $5,300 on its own.

On June 3rd, Caribe would open at the AMC Fountain Square 14 in Nashville. One show only on Friday and Saturday at 11:45pm. Miramax did not report grosses. Probably because people we going to see Willie Tyler and Lester at Zanie’s down the street.

And again, it kept cycling around the country, one or two new playdates in each city it played in. Philadelphia in mid-June. Indianapolis in mid-July. Jersey City in late August. Always for one week, grosses never reported.

Miramax’s first Swedish release of the year was called Mio, but this was truly an international production. The $4m film was co-produced by Swedish, Norwegian and Russian production companies, directed by a Russian, adapted from a Swedish book by an American screenwriter, scored by one of the members of ABBA, and starring actors from England, Finland, Norway, Russia, Sweden and the United States.

Mio tells the story of a boy from Stockholm who travels to an otherworldly fantasy realm and frees the land from an evil knight's oppression. What makes this movie memorable today is that Mio’s best friend is played by none other than Christian Bale, in his very first film.

The movie was shot in Moscow, Stockholm, the Crimea, Scotland, and outside Pripyat in the Northern part of what is now Ukraine, between March and July 1986. In fact, the cast and crew were shooting outside Pripyat on April 26th, when they got the call they needed to evacuate the area. It would be hours later when they would discover there had been a reactor core meltdown at the nearby Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant. They would have to scramble to shoot in other locations away from Ukraine for a month, and when they were finally allowed to return, the area they were shooting in deemed to have not been adversely affected by the worst nuclear power plant accident in human history,, Geiger counters would be placed all over the sets, and every meal served by craft services would need to be read to make sure it wasn’t contaminated.

After premiering at the Moscow Film Festival in July 1987 and the Norwegian Film Festival in August, Mio would open in Sweden on October 16th, 1987. The local critics would tear the film apart. They hated that the filmmakers had Anglicized the movie with British actors like Christopher Lee, Susannah York, Christian Bale and Nicholas Pickard, an eleven year old boy also making his film debut. They also hated how the filmmakers adapted the novel by the legendary Astrid Lindgren, whose Pippi Longstocking novels made her and her works world famous. Overall, they hated pretty much everything about it outside of Christopher Lee’s performance and the production’s design in the fantasy world.

Miramax most likely picked it up trying to emulate the success of The Neverending Story, which had opened to great success in most of the world in 1984. So it might seem kinda odd that when they would open the now titled The Land of Faraway in theatres, they wouldn’t go wide but instead open it on one screen in Atlanta GA on June 10th, 1988. And, once again, Miramax did not report grosses, and Variety did not track Atlanta theatres that week. Two weeks later, they would open the film in Miami. How many theatres? Can’t tell you. Miramax did not report grosses, and Variety was not tracking any of the theatres in Miami playing the film. But hey, Bull Durham did pretty good in Miami that week.

The film would next open in theatres in Los Angeles. This time, Miramax bought a quarter page ad in the Los Angeles Times on opening day to let people know the film existed. So we know it was playing on 18 screens that weekend. And, once again, Miramax did not report grosses for the film. But on the two screens it played on that Variety was tracking, the combined gross was just $2,500.

There’d be other playdates. Kansas City and Minneapolis in mid-September. Vancouver, BC in early October. Palm Beach FL in mid October. Calgary AB and Fort Lauderdale in late October. Phoenix in mid November. And never once did Miramax report any grosses for it.

One week after Mio, Miramax would release a comedy called Going Undercover.

Now, if you listened to our March 2021 episode on Some Kind of Wonderful, you may remember be mentioning Lea Thompson taking the role of Amanda Jones in that film, a role she had turned down twice before, the week after Howard the Duck opened, because she was afraid she’d never get cast in a movie again. And while Some Kind of Wonderful wasn’t as big a film as you’d expect from a John Hughes production, Thompson did indeed continue to work, and is still working to this day.

So if you were looking at a newspaper ad in several cities in June 1988 and saw her latest movie and wonder why she went back to making weird little movies.

She hadn’t.

This was a movie she had made just before Back to the Future, in August and September 1984.

Originally titled Yellow Pages, the film starred film legend Jean Simmons as Maxine, a rich woman who has hired Chris Lemmon’s private investigator Henry Brilliant to protect her stepdaughter Marigold during her trip to Copenhagen.

The director, James Clarke, had written the script specifically for Lemmon, tailoring his role to mimic various roles played by his famous father, Jack Lemmon, over the decades, and for Simmons. But Thompson was just one of a number of young actresses they looked at before making their casting choice.

Half of the $6m budget would come from a first-time British film producer, while the other half from a group of Danish investors wanting to lure more Hollywood productions to their area.

The shoot would be plagued by a number of problems. The shoot in Los Angeles coincided with the final days of the 1984 Summer Olympics, which would cut out using some of the best and most regularly used locations in the city, and a long-lasting heat wave that would make outdoor shoots unbearable for cast and crew. When they arrived in Copenhagen at the end of August, Denmark was going through an unusually heavy storm front that hung around for weeks.

Clarke would spend several months editing the film, longer than usual for a smaller production like this, but he in part was waiting to see how Back to the Future would do at the box office. If the film was a hit, and his leading actress was a major part of that, it could make it easier to sell his film to a distributor.

Or that was line of thinking.

Of course, Back to the Future was a hit, and Thompson received much praise for her comedic work on the film.

But that didn’t make it any easier to sell his film.

The producer would set the first screenings for the film at the February 1986 American Film Market in Santa Monica, which caters not only to foreign distributors looking to acquire American movies for their markets, but helps independent filmmakers get their movies seen by American distributors.

As these screenings were for buyers by invitation only, there would be no reviews from the screenings, but one could guess that no one would hear about the film again until Miramax bought the American distribution rights to it in March 1988 tells us that maybe those screenings didn’t go so well.

The film would get retitled Going Undercover, and would open in single screen playdates in Atlanta, Cincinnati, Dallas, Indianapolis, Los Angeles, Nashville, Orlando, St. Louis and Tampa on June 17th. And as I’ve said too many times already, no reported grosses from Miramax, and only one theatre playing the film was being tracked by Variety, with Going Undercover earning $3,000 during its one week at the Century City 14 in Los Angeles.

In the June 22nd, 1988 issue of Variety, there was an article about Miramax securing a $25m line of credit in order to start producing their own films. Going Undercover is mentioned in the article about being one of Miramax’s releases, without noting it had just been released that week or how well it did or did not do.

The Thin Blue Line would be Miramax’s first non-music based documentary, and one that would truly change how documentaries were made.

Errol Morris had already made two bizarre but entertaining documentaries in the late 70s and early 80s. Gates of Heaven was shot in 1977, about a man who operated a failing pet cemetery in Northern California’s Napa Valley. When Morris told his famous German filmmaking supporter Werner Herzog about the film, Herzog vowed to eat one of the shoes he was wearing that day if Morris could actually complete the film and have it shown in a public theatre. In April 1979, just before the documentary had its world premiere at UC Theatre in Berkeley, where Morris had studied philosophy, Herzog would spend the morning at Chez Pannise, the creators of the California Cuisine cooking style, boiling his shoes for five hours in garlic, herbs and stock. This event itself would be commemorated in a documentary short called, naturally, Werner Herzog Eats His Shoe, by Les Blank, which is a must watch on its own.

Because of the success of Gates of Heaven, Morris was able to quickly find financing for his next film, Nub City, which was originally supposed to be about the number of Vernon, Florida’s citizens who have “accidentally” cut off their limbs, in order to collect the insurance money. But after several of those citizens threatened to kill Morris, and one of them tried to run down his cinematographer with their truck, Morris would rework the documentary, dropping the limb angle, no pun intended, and focus on the numerous eccentric people in the town. It would premiere at the 1981 New York Film Festival, and become a hit, for a documentary, when it was released in theatres in 1982.

But it would take Morris another six years after completing Vernon, Florida, to make another film. Part of it was having trouble lining up full funding to work on his next proposed movie, about James Grigson, a Texas forensic psychiatrist whose was nicknamed Doctor Death for being an expert witness for the prosecution in death penalty cases in Texas. Morris had gotten seed money for the documentary from PBS and the Endowment for Public Arts, but there was little else coming in while he worked on the film. In fact, Morris would get a PI license in New York and work cases for two years, using every penny he earned that wasn’t going towards living expenses to keep the film afloat.

One of Morris’s major problems for the film was that Grigson would not sit on camera for an interview, but would meet with Morris face to face to talk about the cases. During that meeting, the good doctor suggested to the filmmaker that he should research the killers he helped put away. And during that research, Morris would come across the case of one Randall Dale Adams, who was convicted of killing Dallas police officer Robert Wood in 1976, even though another man, David Harris, was the police’s initial suspect. For two years, Morris would fly back and forth between New York City and Texas, talking to and filming interviews with Adams and more than two hundred other people connected to the shooting and the trial. Morris had become convinced Adams was indeed innocent, and dropped the idea about Dr. Grigson to solely focus on the Robert Wood murder.

After showing the producers of PBS’s American Playhouse some of the footage he had put together of the new direction of the film, they kicked in more funds so that Morris could shoot some re-enactment sequences outside New York City, as well as commission composer Phillip Glass to create a score for the film once it was completed. Documentaries at that time did not regularly use re-enactments, but Morris felt it was important to show how different personal accounts of the same moment can be misinterpreted or misremembered or outright manipulated to suppress the truth.

After the film completed its post-production in March 1988, The Thin Blue Line would have its world premiere at the San Francisco Film Festival on March 18th, and word quickly spread Morris had something truly unique and special on his hands. The critic for Variety would note in the very first paragraph of his write up that the film employed “strikingly original formal devices to pull together diverse interviews, film clips, photo collages, and” and this is where it broke ground, “recreations of the crime from many points of view.”

Miramax would put together a full court press in order to get the rights to the film, which was announced during the opening days of the 1988 Cannes Film Festival in early May. An early hint on how the company was going to sell the film was by calling it a “non-fiction feature” instead of a documentary.

Miramax would send Morris out on a cross-country press tour in the weeks leading up to the film’s August 26th opening date, but Morris, like many documentary filmmakers, was not used to being in the spotlight themselves, and was not as articulate about talking up his movies as the more seasoned directors and actors who’ve been on the promotion circuit for a while. After one interview, Harvey Weinstein would send Errol Morris a note.

“Heard your NPR interview and you were boring.”

Harvey would offer up several suggestions to help the filmmaker, including hyping the movie up as a real life mystery thriller rather than a documentary, and using shorter and clearer sentences when answering a question.

It was a clear gamble to release The Thin Blue Line in the final week of summer, and the film would need a lot of good will to stand out.

And it would get it.

The New York Times was so enthralled with the film, it would not only run a review from Janet Maslin, who would heap great praise on the film, but would also run a lengthy interview with Errol Morris right next to the review. The quarter page ad in the New York Times, several pages back, would tout positive quotes from Roger Ebert, J. Hoberman, who had left The Village Voice for the then-new Premiere Magazine, Peter Travers, writing for People Magazine instead of Rolling Stone, and critics from the San Francisco Chronicle and, interestingly enough, the Dallas Morning News. The top of the ad was tagged with an intriguing tease: solving this mystery is going to be murder, with a second tag line underneath the key art and title, which called the film “a new kind of movie mystery.” Of the 15 New York area-based film critics for local newspapers, television and national magazines, 14 of them gave favorable reviews, while 1, Stephen Schiff of Vanity Fair, was ambivalent about it. Not one critic gave it a bad review.

New York audiences were hooked.

Opening in the 240 seat main house at the Lincoln Plaza Cinemas, the movie grossed $30,945 its first three days. In its second weekend, the gross at the Lincoln Plaza would jump to $31k, and adding another $27,500 from its two theatre opening in Los Angeles and $15,800 from a single DC theatre that week. Third week in New York was a still good $21k, but the second week in Los Angeles fell to $10,500 and DC to $10k. And that’s how it rolled out for several months, mostly single screen bookings in major cities not called Los Angeles or New York City, racking up some of the best reviews Miramax would receive to date, but never breaking out much outside the major cities. When it looked like Santa Cruz wasn’t going to play the film, I drove to San Francisco to see it, just as my friends and I had for the opening day of Martin Scorsese’s The Last Temptation of Christ in mid-August. That’s 75 miles each way, plus parking in San Francisco, just to see a movie. That’s when you know you no longer just like movies but have developed a serious case of cinephilea. So when The Nickelodeon did open the film in late November, I did something I had never done with any documentary before.

I went and saw it again.

Second time around, I was still pissed off at the outrageous injustice heaped upon Randall Dale Adams for nothing more than being with and trusting the wrong person at the wrong time. But, thankfully, things would turn around for Adams in the coming weeks. On December 1st, it was reported that David Harris had recanted his testimony at Adams’ trial, admitting he was alone when Officer Wood stopped his car. And on March 1st, 1989, after more than 15,000 people had signed the film’s petition to revisit the decision, the Texas Court of Criminal Appeals overturned Adams’s conviction “based largely” on facts presented in the film.

The film would also find itself in several more controversies.

Despite being named The Best Documentary of the Year by a number of critics groups, the Documentary Branch of the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences would not nominate the film, due in large part to the numerous reenactments presented throughout the film. Filmmaker Michael Apted, a member of the Directors Branch of the Academy, noted that the failure to acknowledge The Thin Blue Line was “one of the most outrageous things in the modern history of the Academy,” while Roger Ebert added the slight was “the worst non-nomination of the year.” Despite the lack of a nomination, Errol Morris would attend the Oscars ceremony in March 1989, as a protest for his film being snubbed.

Morris would also, several months after Adams’ release, find himself being sued by Adams, but not because of how he was portrayed in the film. During the making of the film, Morris had Adams sign a contract giving Morris the exclusive right to tell Adams’s story, and Adams wanted, essentially, the right to tell his own story now that he was a free man. Morris and Adams would settle out of court, and Adams would regain his life rights.

Once the movie was played out in theatres, it had grossed $1.2m, which on the surface sounds like not a whole lot of money. Adjusted for inflation, that would only be $3.08m. But even unadjusted for inflation, it’s still one of the 100 highest grossing documentaries of the past forty years. And it is one of just a handful of documentaries to become a part of the National Film Registry, for being a culturally, historically or aesthetically significant film.”

Adams would live a quiet life after his release, working as an anti-death penalty advocate and marrying the sister of one of the death row inmates he was helping to exonerate. He would pass away from a brain tumor in October 2010 at a courthouse in Ohio not half an hour from where he was born and still lived, but he would so disappear from the spotlight after the movie was released that his passing wasn’t even reported until June 2011.

Errol Morris would become one of the most celebrated documentarians of his generation, finally getting nominated for, and winning, an Oscar in 2003, for The Fog of War, about the life and times of Robert McNamara, Richard Nixon’s Secretary of Defense during the Vietnam War era. The Fog of War would also be added to the National Film Registry in 2019. Morris would become only the third documentarian, after D.A. Pennebaker and Les Blank, to have two films on the Registry.

In 1973, the senseless killings of five members of the Alday family in Donalsonville GA made international headlines. Four years later, Canadian documentarian Tex Fuller made an award-winning documentary about the case, called Murder One. For years, Fuller shopped around a screenplay telling the same story, but it would take nearly a decade for it to finally be sold, in part because Fuller was insistent that he also be the director. A small Canadian production company would fund the $1m CAD production, which would star Henry Thomas of E.T. fame as the fifteen year old narrator of the story, Billy Isaacs.

The shoot began in early October 1987 outside Toronto, but after a week of shooting, Fuller was fired, and was replaced by Graeme Campbell, a young and energetic filmmaker for whom Murder One would be his fourth movie directing gig of the year. Details are sketchy as to why Fuller was fired, but Thomas and his mother Carolyn would voice concerns with the producers about the new direction the film was taking under its new director.

The film would premiere in Canada in May 1988. When the film did well up North, Miramax took notice and purchased the American distribution rights.

Murder One would first open in America on two screens in Los Angeles on September 9th, 1988. Michael Wilmington of the Los Angeles Times noted that while the film itself wasn’t very good, that it still sprung from the disturbing insight about the crazy reasons people cross of what should be impassable moral lines.

“No movie studio could have invented it!,” screamed the tagline on the poster and newspaper key art. “No writer could have imagined it! Because what happened that night became the most controversial in American history.”

That would draw limited interest from filmgoers in Tinseltown. The two theatres would gross a combined $7k in its first three days. Not great but far better than several other recent Miramax releases in the area.

Two weeks later, on September 23rd, Miramax would book Murder One into 20 theatres in the New York City metro region, as well as in Akron, Atlanta, Charlotte, Indianpolis, Nashville, and Tampa-St. Petersburg. In New York, the film would actually get some good reviews from the Times and the Post as well as Peter Travers of People Magazine, but once again, Miramax would not report grosses for the film. Variety would note the combined gross for the film in New York City was only $25k.

In early October, the film would fall out of Variety’s internal list of the 50 Top Grossing Films within the twenty markets they regularly tracked, with a final gross of just $87k. One market that Miramax deliberately did not book the film was anywhere near southwest Georgia, where the murders took place. The closest theatre that did play the film was more than 200 miles away.

Miramax would finish 1988 with two releases.

The first was Dakota, which would mark star Lou Diamond Phillips first time as a producer. He would star as a troubled teenager who takes a job on a Texas horse ranch to help pay of his debts, who becomes a sorta big brother to the ranch owner’s young son, who has recently lost a leg to cancer, as he also falls for the rancher’s daughter.

When the $1.1m budgeted film began production in Texas in June 1987, Phillips had already made La Bamba and Stand and Deliver, but neither had yet to be released into theatres. By the time filming ended five weeks later, La Bamba had just opened, and Phillips was on his way to becoming a star.

The main producers wanted director Fred Holmes to get the film through post-production as quickly as possible, to get it into theatres in the early part of 1988 to capitalize on the newfound success of their young star.

But that wouldn’t happen.

Holmes wouldn’t have the film ready until the end of February 1988, which was deemed acceptable because of the impending release of Stand and Deliver. In fact, the producers would schedule their first distributor screening of the film on March 14th, the Monday after Stand and Delivered opened, in the hopes that good box office for the film and good notices for Phillips would translate to higher distributor interest in their film, which sorta worked. None of the major studios would show for the screening, but a number of Indies would, including Miramax. Phillips would not attend the screening, as he was on location in New Mexico shooting Young Guns.

I can’t find any reason why Miramax waited nearly nine months after they acquired Dakota to get it into theatres. It certainly wasn’t Oscar bait, and screen availability would be scarce during the busy holiday movie season, which would see a number of popular, high profile releases like Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, Ernest Saves Christmas, The Naked Gun, Rain Man, Scrooged, Tequila Sunrise, Twins and Working Girl. Which might explain why, when Miramax released the film into 18 theatres in the New York City area on December 2nd, they could only get three screens in all of Manhattan, the best being the nice but hardly first-rate Embassy 4 at Broadway and 47th. Or of the 22 screens in Los Angeles opening the film the same day, the best would be the tiny Westwood 4 next to UCLA or the Paramount in Hollywood, whose best days were back in the Eisenhower administration.

And, yet again, Miramax did not report grosses, and none of the theatres playing the film was tracked by Variety that week. The film would be gone after just one week. The Paramount, which would open Dirty Rotten Scoundrels on the 14th, opted to instead play a double feature of Clara’s Heart, with Whoopi Goldberg and Neil Patrick Harris, and the River Phoenix drama Running on Empty, even though neither film had been much of a hit.

Miramax’s last film of the year would be the one that changed everything for them.

Pelle the Conquerer.

Adapted from a 1910 Danish book and directed by Billie August, whose previous film Twist and Shout had been released by Miramax in 1986, Pelle the Conquerer would be the first Danish or Swedish movie to star Max von Sydow in almost 15 years, having spent most of the 70s and 80s in Hollywood and London starring in a number of major movies including The Exorcist, Three Days of the Condor, Flash Gordon,Conan the Barbarian, Never Say Never Again, and David Lynch’s Dune. But because von Sydow would be making his return to his native cinema, August was able to secure $4.5m to make the film, one of the highest budgeted Scandinavian films to be made to date.

In the late 1850s, an elderly emigrant Lasse and his son Pelle leave their home in Sweden after the death of the boy’s mother, wanting to build a new life on the Danish island of Bornholm. Lasse finds it difficult to find work, given his age and his son's youth. The pair are forced to work at a large farm, where they are generally mistreated by the managers for being foreigners. The father falls into depression and alcoholism, the young boy befriends one of the bastard children of the farm owner as well as another Swedish farm worker, who dreams of conquering the world.

For the title character of Pelle, Billie August saw more than 3,000 Swedish boys before deciding to cast 11 year old Pelle Hvenegaard, who, like many boys in Sweden, had been named for the character he was now going to play on screen.

After six months of filming in the summer and fall of 1986, Billie August would finish editing Pelle the Conquerer in time for it to make its intended Christmas Day 1987 release date in Denmark and Sweden, where the film would be one of the biggest releases in either country for the entire decade. It would make its debut outside Scandinavia at the Cannes Film Festival in May 1988, where it had been invited to compete for the Palme D’Or. It would compete against a number of talented filmmakers who had come with some of the best films they would ever make, including Clint Eastwood with Bird, Claire Denis’ Chocolat, István Szabó’s Hanussen, Vincent Ward’s The Navigator, and A Short Film About Killing, an expanded movie version of the fifth episode in Krzysztof Kieślowski’s masterful miniseries Dekalog. Pelle would conquer them all, taking home the top prize from one of cinema’s most revered film festivals.

Reviews for the film out of Cannes were almost universally excellent. Vincent Canby, the lead film critic for the New York Times for nearly twenty years by this point, wouldn’t file his review until the end of the festival, in which he pointed out that a number of people at the festival were scandalized von Sydow had not also won the award for Best Actor.

Having previously worked with the company on his previous film’s American release, August felt that Miramax would have what it took to make the film a success in the States.

Their first moves would be to schedule the film for a late December release, while securing a slot at that September’s New York Film Festival. And once again, the critical consensus was highly positive, with only a small sampling of distractors.

The film would open first on two screens at the Lincoln Plaza Cinemas in midtown Manhattan on Wednesday, December 21st, following by exclusive engagements in nine other cities including Los Angeles, Philadelphia, San Francisco, Seattle and Washington DC, on the 23rd. But the opening week numbers weren’t very good, just $46k from ten screens. And you can’t really blame the film’s two hour and forty-five minute running time. Little Dorrit, the two-part, four hour adaptation of the Charles Dickens novel, had been out nine weeks at this point and was still making nearly 50% more per screen.

But after the new year, when more and more awards were hurled the film’s way, including the National Board of Review naming it one of the best foreign films of the year and the Golden Globes awarding it their Best Foreign Language trophy, ticket sales would pick up.

Well, for a foreign film.

The week after the Motion Picture Academy awarded Pelle their award for Best Foreign Language Film, business for the film would pick up 35%, and a third of its $2m American gross would come after that win.

One of the things that surprised me while doing the research for this episode was learning that Max von Sydow had never been nominated for an Oscar until he was nominated for Best Actor for Pelle the Conquerer. You look at his credits over the years, and it’s just mind blowing. The Seventh Seal. Wild Strawberries. The Virgin Spring. The Greatest Story Ever Told. The Emigrants. The Exorcist. The Three Days of the Condor. Surely there was one performance amongst those that deserved recognition.

I hate to keep going back to A24, but there’s something about a company’s first Oscar win that sends that company into the next level. A24 didn’t really become A24 until 2016, when three of their movies won Oscars, including Brie Larson for Best Actress in Room. And Miramax didn’t really become the Miramax we knew and once loved until its win for Pelle.

Thank you for joining us. We’ll talk again soon, when Episode 117, the fifth and final part of our miniseries on Miramax Films, is released.

Remember to visit this episode’s page on our website, The80sMoviePodcast.com, for extra materials about the movies we covered this episode.

The 80s Movies Podcast has been researched, written, narrated and edited by Edward Havens for Idiosyncratic Entertainment.

Thank you again.

Good night.

Rampage

12 augusti 2023 | 22 min

On this week's episode, we remember William Friedkin, who passed away this past Tuesday, looking back at one of his lesser known directing efforts, Rampage.

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From Los Angeles, California, the Entertainment Capital of the World, it’s The 80s Movies Podcast. I am your host, Edward Havens. Thank you for listening today.

Originally, this week was supposed to be the fourth episode of our continuing miniseries on the 1980s movies released by Miramax Films. I was fully committed to making it so, but then the world learned that Academy Award-winning filmmaker William Friedkin passed away on Tuesday. I had already done an episode on his best movie from the decade, 1985’s To Live and Die in L.A., so I decided I would cover another film Friedkin made in the 80s that isn’t as talked about or as well known as The French Connection or The Exorcist or To Live and Die in L.A.

Rampage.

Now, some of you who do know the film might try and point that the film was released in 1992, by Miramax Films of all companies, and you’d be correct. However, I did say I was going to cover another film of his MADE in the 80s, which is also true when it comes to Rampage.

So let’s get to the story, shall we?

Born in Chicago in 1935, William Friedkin was inspired to become a filmmaker after seeing Citizen Kane as a young man, and by 1962, he was already directing television movies. He’d make his feature directing debut with Good Times in 1967, a fluffy Sonny and Cher comedy which finds Sonny Bono having only ten days to rewrite the screenplay for their first movie, because the script to the movie they agreed to was an absolute stinker. Which, ironically, is a fairly good assessment of the final film. The film, which was essentially a bigger budget version of their weekly variety television series shot mostly on location at an African-themed amusement park in Northern California and the couple’s home in Encino, was not well received by either critics or audiences.

But by the time Good Times came out, Friedkin was already working on his next movie, The Night They Raided Minsky’s. A comedy co-written by future television legend Norman Lear, Minsky’s featured Swedish actress Britt Ekland, better known at the time as the wife of Peter Sellers, as a naive young Amish woman who leaves the farm in Pennsylvania looking to become an actress in religious stage plays in New York City. Instead, she becomes a dancer in a burlesque show and essentially ends up inventing the strip tease. The all-star cast included Dr. No himself, Joseph Wiseman, Elliott Gould, Jack Burns, Bert Lahr, and Jason Robards, Jr., who was a late replacement for Alan Alda, who himself was a replacement for Tony Curtis.

Friedkin was dreaming big for this movie, and was able to convince New York City mayor John V. Lindsay to delay the demolition of an entire period authentic block of 26th Street between First and Second Avenue for two months for the production to use as a major shooting location. There would be one non-production related tragedy during the filming of the movie. The seventy-two year old Lahr, best known as The Cowardly Lion in The Wizard of Oz, would pass away in early December 1967, two weeks before production was completed, and with several scenes still left to shoot with him. Lear, who was also a producer on the film, would tell a reporter for the New York Times that they would still be able to shoot the rest of the film so that performance would remain virtually intact, and with the help of some pre-production test footage and a body double, along with a sound-alike to dub the lines they couldn’t get on set, Lahr’s performance would be one of the highlights of the final film.

Friedkin and editor Ralph Rosenblum would spend three months working on their first cut, as Friedkin was due to England in late March to begin production on his next film, The Birthday Party. Shortly after Friedkin was on the plane to fly overseas, Rosenblum would represent the film for a screening with the executives at United Artists, who would be distributing the film. The screening was a disaster, and Rosenblum would be given carte blanche by the studio heads to save the film by any means necessary, since Friedkin was not available to supervise. Rosenblum would completely restructure the film, including creating a prologue for the story that would be retimed and printed on black and white film stock. The next screening would go over much better with the suits, and a mid-December 1968 release date was set up.

The Birthday Party was an adaptation of a Harold Pinter play, and featured Robert Shaw and Patrick Magee. Friedkin had seen the play in San Francisco in 1962, and was able to get the film produced in part because he would only need six actors and a handful of locations to shoot, keeping the budget low. Although the mystery/thriller was a uniquely British story, Harold Pinter liked how Friedkin wanted to tell the story, and although Pinter had written a number of plays that had been adapted into movies and had adapted a number of books into screenplay, this would be the first time Pinter would adapt one of his own stories to the silver screen. To keep the budget lower still, Friedkin, Pinter and lead actor Robert Shaw agreed to take the minimum possible payments for their positions in exchange for part ownership in the film.

The release of Minsky’s was so delayed because of the prolonged editing process that The Birthday Party would actually in theatres nine days before Minsky’s, which would put Friedkin in the rare position of having two movies released in such a short time frame. And while Minsky’s performed better at the box office than Birthday Party, the latter film would set the director up financially with enough in the bank where he could concentrate working on projects he felt passionate about.

That first film after The Birthday Party would make William Friedkin a name director. His second one would make him an Oscar winner. The third, a legend. And the fourth would break him.

The first film, The Boys in the Band, was an adaptation of a controversial off-Broadway play about a straight man who accidentally shows up to a party for gay men. Matt Crowley, the author of the play, would adapt it to the screen, produce the film himself with author Dominick Dunne, and select Friedkin, who Crowley felt best understood the material, to direct. Crowley would only make one demand on his director, that all of the actors from the original off-Broadway production be cast in the movie in the same roles. Friedkin had no problem with that.

When the film was released in March 1970, Friedkin would get almost universally excellent notices from film critics, except for Pauline Kael in the New York Times, who had already built up a dislike of the director after just three films. But March 1970 was a different time, and a film not only about gay men but a relatively positive movie about gay men who had the same confusions and conflicts as straight men, was probably never going to be well-received by a nation that still couldn’t talk openly about non-hetero relationships. But the film would still do about $7m worth of ticket sales, not enough to become profitable for its distributor, but enough for the director to be in the conversation for bigger movies.

His next film was an adaptation of a 1969 book about two narcotics detectives in the New York City Police Department who went after a wealthy French businessman who was helping bring heroin into the States. William Friedkin and his cinematographer Owen Roizman would shoot The French Connection as if it were a documentary, giving the film a gritty realism rarely seen in movies even in the New Hollywood era. The film would be named the Best Picture of 1971 by the Academy, and Friedkin and lead actor Gene Hackman would also win Oscars in their respective categories. And the impact of The French Connection on cinema as a whole can never be understated. Akira Kurosawa would cite the film as one of his favorites, as would David Fincher and Brad Pitt, who bonded over the making of Seven because of Fincher’s conscious choice to use the film as a template for the making of his own film. Steven Spielberg said during the promotion of his 2005 film Munich that he studied The French Connection to prepare for his film.

And, of course, after The French Connection came The Exorcist, which would, at the time of its release in December 1973, become Warner Brothers’ highest grossing film ever, legitimize the horror genre to audiences worldwide, and score Friedkin his second straight Oscar nomination for Best Director, although this time he and the film would lose to George Roy Hill and The Sting.

In 1977, Sorcerer, Friedkin’s American remake of the 1953 French movie The Wages of Fear, was expected to be the big hit film of the summer. The film originally started as a little $2.5m budgeted film Friedkin would make while waiting for script revisions on his next major movie, called The Devil’s Triangle, were being completed. By the time he finished filming Sorcerer, which reteamed Friedkin with his French Connection star Roy Scheider, now hot thanks to his starring role in Jaws, this little film became one of the most expensive movies of the decade, with a final budget over $22m. And it would have the unfortunate timing of being released one week after a movie released by Twentieth Century-Fox, Star Wars, sucked all the air out of the theatrical exhibition season. It would take decades for audiences to discover Sorcerer, and for Friedkin, who had gone some kind of mad during the making of the film, to accept it to be the taut and exciting thriller it was.

William Friedkin was a broken man, and his next film, The Brinks Job, showed it. A comedy about the infamous 1950 Brinks heist in Boston, the film was originally supposed to be directed by John Frankenheimer, with Friedkin coming in to replace the iconic filmmaker only a few months before production was set to begin. Despite a cast that included Peter Boyle, Peter Falk, Allen Garfield, Warren Oates, Gena Rowlands and Paul Sorvino, the film just didn’t work as well as it should have.

Friedkin’s first movie of the 1980s, Cruising, might have been better received in a later era, but an Al Pacino cop drama about his trying to find a killer of homosexual men in the New York City gay fetish underground dance club scene was, like The Boys in the Band a decade earlier, too early to cinemas. Like Sorcerer, audiences would finally find Cruising in a more forgiving era.

In 1983, Friedkin made what is easily his worst movie, Deal of the Century, an alleged comedy featuring Chevy Chase, Gregory Hines and Sigourney Weaver that attempted to satirize the military industrial complex in the age of Ronald Reagan, but somehow completely missed its very large and hard to miss target.

1985 would see a comeback for William Friedkin, with the release of To Live and Die in LA, in which two Secret Service agents played by William L. Petersen and John Pankow try to uncover a counterfeit money operation led by Willem Dafoe. Friedkin was drawn to the source material, a book by former Secret Service agent Gerald Petievich, because the agency was almost never portrayed on film, and even less as the good guys. Friedkin would adapt the book into a screenplay with Petievich, who would also serve as a technical consultant to ensure authenticity in how Petersen and Pankow acted. It would be only the second time Friedkin was credited as a screenwriter, but it would be a nine-minute chase sequence through the aqueducts of Los Angeles and a little used freeway in Wilmington that would be the most exciting chase sequence committed to film since the original Gone in 60 Seconds, The French Connection, or the San Francisco chase sequence in the 1967 Steve McQueen movie Bullitt. The sequence is impressive on Blu-ray, but on a big screen in a movie theatre in 1985, it was absolutely thrilling.

Which, at long last, brings us to Rampage.

Less than two months after To Live and Die in LA opened to critical raves and moderate box office in November 1985, Friedkin made a deal with Italian mega-producer Dino DeLaurentiis to direct Rampage, a crime drama based on a novel by William P. Wood. DeLaurentiis had hired Friedkin for The Brinks Job several years earlier, and the two liked working for each other. DeLaurentiis had just started his own distribution company, the DeLaurentiis Entertainment Group, which we’ll shorten to DEG for the remainder of this episode, and needed some big movies to fill his pipeline. We did an episode on DEG back in 2020, and if you haven’t listened to it yet, you should after you finish this episode.

At this time, DEG was still months away from releasing its first group of films, which would include Maximum Overdrive, the first film directed by horror author Stephen King, and Blue Velvet, the latest from David Lynch, both of which would shoot at the same time at DEG’s newly built studio facilities in Wilmington, North Carolina. But Friedkin was writing the screenplay adaptation himself, and would need several months to get the script into production shape, so the film would not be able to begin production until late 1986.

The novel Rampage was based on the real life story of serial killer Richard Chase, dubbed The Vampire Killer by the press when he went on a four day killing spree in January 1978. Chase murdered six people, including a pregnant woman and a 22 month old child, and drank their blood as part of some kind of ritual. Wood would change some aspects of Chase’s story for his book, naming his killer Charles Reece, changing some of the ages and sexes of the murder victims, and how the murderer died. But most of the book was about Reece’s trial, with a specific focus on Reece’s prosecutor, Anthony Fraser, who had once been against capital punishment, but would be seeking the death penalty in this case after meeting one of the victims’ grieving family members.

William L. Petersen, Friedkin’s lead star in To Live and Die in LA, was initially announced to star as Fraser, but as the production got closer to its start date, Petersen had to drop out of the project, due to a conflict with another project that would be shooting at the same time. Michael Biehn, the star of James Cameron’s The Terminator and the then recently released Aliens, would sign on as the prosecutor. Alex McArthur, best known at the time as Madonna’s baby daddy in her Papa Don’t Preach music video, would score his first major starring role as the serial killer Reece. The cast would also include a number of recognizable character actors, recognizable if not by name but by face once they appeared on screen, including Nicholas Campbell, Deborah Van Valkenberg, Art LaFleur, Billy Greenbush and Grace Zabriskie.

Friedkin would shoot the $7.5m completely on location in Stockton, CA from late October 1986 to just before Christmas, and Friedkin would begin post-production on the film after the first of the new year.

In early May 1987, DEG announced a number of upcoming releases for their films, including a September 11th release for Rampage. But by August 1987, many of their first fifteen releases over their first twelve months being outright bombs, quietly pulled Rampage off their release calendar. When asked by one press reporter about the delay, a representative from DEG would claim the film would need to be delayed because Italian composer Ennio Morricone had not delivered his score yet, which infuriated Friedkin, as he had turned in his final cut of the film, complete with Morricone’s score, more than a month earlier. The DEG rep was forced to issue a mea culpa, acknowledging the previous answer had been quote unquote incorrect, and stated they were looking at release dates between November 1987 and February 1988.

The first public screening of Rampage outside of an unofficial premiere in Stockton in August 1987 happened on September 11th, 1987, at the Boston Film Festival, but just a couple days after that screening, DEG would be forced into bankruptcy by one of his creditors in, of all places, Boston, and the film would be stuck in limbo for several years.

During DEG’s bankruptcy, some European companies would be allowed to buy individual country rights for the film, to help pay back some of the creditors, but the American rights to the film would not be sold until Miramax Films purchased the film, and the 300 already created 35mm prints of the film in March 1992, with a planned national release of the film the following month. But that release had to be scrapped, along with the original 300 prints of the film, when Friedkin, who kept revising the film over the ensuing five years, turned in to the Weinsteins a new edit of the film, ten minutes shorter than the version shown in Stockton and Boston in 1987. He had completely eliminated a subplot involving the failing marriage of the prosecutor, since it had nothing to do with the core idea of the story, and reversed the ending, which originally had Reece committing suicide in his cell not unlike Richard Chase. Now, the ending had Reece, several years into the future, alive and about to be considered for parole.

Rampage would finally be released into 172 theatres on October 30th, 1992, including 57 theatres in Los Angeles, and four in New York City. Most reviews for the film were mixed, finding the film unnecessarily gruesome at times, but also praising how Friedkin took the time for audiences to learn more about the victims from the friends and family left behind. But the lack of pre-release advertising on television or through trailers in theatres would cause the film to perform quite poorly in its opening weekend, grossing just $322,500 in its first three days. After a second and third weekend where both the grosses and the number of theatres playing the film would fall more than 50%, Miramax would stop tracking the film, with a final reported gross of just less than $800k.

Between the release of his thriller The Guardian in 1990 and the release of Rampage in 1992, William Friedkin would marry fellow Chicago native Sherry Lansing, who at the time had been a successful producer at Paramount Pictures, having made such films as The Accused, which won Jodie Foster her first Academy Award, and Fatal Attraction. Shortly after they married, Lansing would be named the Chairman of Paramount Pictures, where she would green light such films as Forrest Gump, Braveheart and Titanic. She would also hire her husband to make four films for the studio between 1994 and 2003, including the basketball drama Blue Chips and the thriller Jade.

Friedkin’s directing career would slow down after 2003’s The Hunted, making only two films over the next two decades. 2006’s Bug was a psychological thriller with Michael Shannon and Ashley Judd, and 2012’s Killer Joe, a mixture of black comedy and psychological thriller featuring Matthew McConaughey and Emile Hirsch, was one of few movies to be theatrically released with an NC-17 rating. Neither were financially successful, but were highly regarded by critics.

But there was still one more movie in him. In January 2023, Friedkin would direct his own adaptation of the Herman Wouk’s novel The Caine Mutiny Court-Martial for the Paramount+ streaming service. Updating the setting from the book’s World War II timeline to the more modern Persian Gulf conflict, this new film starred Keifer Sutherland as Lieutenant Commander Queeg, alongside Jason Clark, Jake Lacy, Jay Duplass, Dale Dye, and in his final role before his death in March, Lance Reddick. That film will premiere at the Venice Film Festival in Italy next month, although Paramount+ has not announced a premiere date on their service.

William Friedkin had been married four times in his life, including a two year marriage to legendary French actress Jean Moreau in the late 70s and a two year marriage to British actress Lesley-Anne Downe in the early 80s. But Friedkin and Lansing would remain married for thirty-two years until his death from heart failure and pneumonia this past Tuesday.

I remember when Rampage was supposed to come out in 1987. My theatre in Santa Cruz was sent a poster for it about a month before it was supposed to be released. A pixelated image of Reece ran down one side of the poster, while the movie’s tagline and credits down the other. I thought the poster looked amazing, and after the release was cancelled, I took the poster home and hung it on one of the walls in my place at the time. The 1992 poster from Miramax was far blander, basically either a entirely white or an entirely red background, with a teared center revealing the eyes of Reece, which really doesn’t tell you anything about the movie.

Like with many of his box office failures, Friedkin would initially be flippant about the film, although in the years preceding his death, he would acknowledge the film was decent enough despite all of its post-production problems.

I’d love to be able to suggest to you to watch Rampage as soon as you can, but as of August 2023, one can only rent or buy the film from Amazon, $5.89 for a two day rental or $14.99 to purchase. It is not available on any other streaming service as of the writing and recording of this episode.

Thank you for joining us. We’ll talk again soon, when I expect to release the fourth part of the Miramax miniseries, unless something unexpected happens in the near future.

Remember to visit this episode’s page on our website, The80sMoviePodcast.com, for extra materials about Rampage and the career of William Friedkin.

The 80s Movies Podcast has been researched, written, narrated and edited by Edward Havens for Idiosyncratic Entertainment.

Thank you again.

Good night.

Miramax Films: Part Three

4 augusti 2023 | 30 min

This week, we continue out look back at the films released by Miramax in the 1980s, focusing on 1987.

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TRANSCRIPT

From Los Angeles, California. The Entertainment Capital of the World. It’s the 80s Movie Podcast. I am your host, Edward Havens. Thank you for listening today.

On this episode, we are continuing our miniseries on the movies released by Miramax Films in the 1980s, concentrating on their releases from 1987, the year Miramax would begin its climb towards the top of the independent distribution mountain.

The first film Miramax would release in 1987 was Lizzie Borden’s Working Girls.

And yes, Lizzie Borden is her birth name. Sort of. Her name was originally Linda Elizabeth Borden, and at the age of eleven, when she learned about the infamous accused double murderer, she told her parents she wanted to only be addressed as Lizzie. At the age of 18, after graduating high school and heading off to the private women’s liberal arts college Wellesley, she would legally change her name to Lizzie Borden.

After graduating with a fine arts degree, Borden would move to New York City, where she held a variety of jobs, including being both a painter and an art critic for the influential Artforum magazine, until she attended a retrospective of Jean-Luc Godard movies, when she was inspired to become a filmmaker herself.

Her first film, shot in 1974, was a documentary, Regrouping, about four female artists who were part of a collective that incorporated avant-garde techniques borrowed from performance art, as the collective slowly breaks apart. One of the four artists was a twenty-three year old painter who would later make film history herself as the first female director to win the Academy Award for Best Director, Kathryn Bigelow.

But Regrouping didn’t get much attention when it was released in 1976, and it would take Borden five years to make her first dramatic narrative, Born in Flames, another movie which would also feature Ms. Bigelow in a supporting role. Borden would not only write, produce and direct this film about two different groups of feminists who operate pirate radio stations in New York City which ends with the bombing of the broadcast antenna atop the World Trade Center, she would also edit the film and act as one of the cinematographers. The film would become one of the first instances of Afrofuturism in film, and would become a cultural touchstone in 2016 when a restored print of the film screened around the world to great critical acclaim, and would tie for 243rd place in the 2022 Sight and Sound poll of The Greatest Films Ever Made. Other films that tied with include Preston Sturges’ Sullivan’s Travels, Woody Allen’s Annie Hall, David Cronenberg’s Videodrome, and Stanley Kubrick’s A Clockwork Orange. A

Yes, it’s that good, and it would cost only $30k to produce.

But while Born in Flames wasn’t recognized as revolutionary in 1983, it would help her raise $300k for her next movie, about the lives of sex workers in New York City. The idea would come to her while working on Born in Flames, as she became intrigued about prostitution after meeting some well-educated women on the film who worked a few shifts a week at a brothel to earn extra money or to pay for their education. Like many, her perception of prostitution were women who worked the streets, when in truth streetwalkers only accounted for about 15% of the business. During the writing of the script, she began visiting brothels in New York City and learned about the rituals involved in the business of selling sex, especially intrigued how many of the sex workers looked out for each other mentally, physically and hygienically.

Along with Sandra Kay, who would play one of the ladies of the night in the film, Borden worked up a script that didn’t glamorize or grossly exaggerate the sex industry, avoiding such storytelling tropes as the hooker with a heart of gold or girls forced into prostitution due to extraordinary circumstances. Most of the ladies playing prostitutes were played by unknown actresses working off-Broadway, while the johns were non-actors recruited through word of mouth between Borden’s friends and the occasional ad in one of the city’s sex magazines.

Production on Working Girls would begin in March 1985, with many of the sets being built in Borden’s loft in Manhattan, with moveable walls to accommodate whatever needed to be shot on any given day. While $300k would be ten times what she had on Born in Flames, Borden would stretch her budget to the max by still shooting in 16mm, in the hopes that the footage would look good enough should the finished film be purchased by a distributor and blown up to 35mm for theatrical exhibition.

After a month of shooting, which involved copious amounts of both male and female nudity, Borden would spend six months editing her film. By early 1986, she had a 91 minute cut ready to go, and she and her producer would submit the film to play at that year’s Cannes Film Festival. While the film would not be selected to compete for the coveted Palme D’Or, it would be selected for the Directors’ Fortnight, a parallel program that would also include Spike Lee’s She’s Gotta Have It, Alex Cox’s Sid and Nancy, Denys Arcand’s The Decline of the American Empire, and Chantel Akerman’s Golden Eighties.

The film would get into some trouble when it was invited to screen at the Toronto Film Festival a few months later. The movie would have to be approved by the Ontario Film and Video Review Board before being allowed to show at the festival. However, the board would not approve the film without two cuts, including one scene which depicted the quote unquote graphic manipulation of a man’s genitalia by a woman. The festival, which had a long standing policy of not showing any movie that had been cut for censorship, would appeal the decision on behalf of the filmmakers. The Review Board denied the appeal, and the festival left the decision of whether to cut the two offending scenes to Borden. Of all the things I’ve researched about the film, one of the few things I could not find was whether or not Borden made the trims, but the film would play at the festival as scheduled.

After Toronto, Borden would field some offers from some of the smaller art house distributors, but none of the bigger independents or studio-affiliated “classics” divisions. For many, it was too sexual to be a straight art house film, while it wasn’t graphic enough to be porn. The one person who did seem to best understand what Borden was going for was, no surprise in hindsight, Harvey Weinstein. Miramax would pick the film up for distribution in late 1986, and planned a February 1987 release.

What might be surprising to most who know about Harvey Weinstein, who would pick up the derisive nickname Harvey Scissorhands in a few years for his constant meddling in already completed films, actually suggested Borden add back in a few minutes of footage to balance out the sex with some lighter non-sex scenes. She would, along with making some last minute dialogue changes, before the film opened on February 5th, not in New York City or Los Angeles, the traditional launching pads for art house films, but at the Opera Plaza Cinema in San Francisco, where the film would do a decent $8k in its first three days.

Three weeks after opening at the Opera Plaza, Miramax would open the film at the 57th Street Playhouse in midtown Manhattan. Buoyed by some amazing reviews from the likes of Siskel and Ebert, Vincent Canby of the New York Times, and J. Hoberman of The Village Voice, Working Girls would gross an astounding $42k during its opening weekend. Two weeks later, it would open at the Samuel Goldwyn Westside Pavilion Cinemas, where it would bring in $17k its first weekend. It would continue to perform well in its major market exclusive runs. An ad in the April 8th, 1987 issue of Variety shows a new house record of $13,492 in its first week at the Ellis Cinema in Atlanta. $140k after five weeks in New York. $40k after three weeks at the Nickelodeon in Boston. $30k after three weeks at the Fine Arts in Chicago. $10k in its first week at the Guild in San Diego. $11k in just three days at the TLA in Philly.

Now, there’s different numbers floating around about how much Working Girls made during its total theatrical run. Box Office Mojo says $1.77m, which is really good for a low budget independent film with no stars and featuring a subject still taboo to many in American today, let alone 37 years ago, but a late June 1987 issue of Billboard Magazine about some of the early film successes of the year, puts the gross for Working Girls at $3m.

If you want to check out Working Girls, the Criterion Collection put out an exceptional DVD and Blu-ray release in 2021, which includes a brand new 4K transfer of the film, and a commentary track featuring Borden, cinematographer Judy Irola, and actress Amanda Goodwin, amongst many bonus features. Highly recommended.

I’ve already spoken some about their next film, Ghost Fever, on our episode last year about the fake movie director Alan Smithee and all of his bad movies. For those who haven’t listened to that episode yet and are unaware of who Alan Smithee wasn’t, Alan Smithee was a pseudonym created by the Directors Guild in the late 1960s who could be assigned the directing credit of a movie whose real director felt the final cut of the film did not represent his or her vision. By the time Ghost Fever came around in 1987, it would be the 12th movie to be credited to Alan Smithee.

If you have listened to the Alan Smithee episode, you can go ahead and skip forward a couple minutes, but be forewarned, I am going to be offering up a different elaboration on the film than I did on that episode.

And away we go…

Those of us born in the 1960s and before remember a show called All in the Family, and we remember Archie Bunker’s neighbors, George and Louise Jefferson, who were eventually spun off onto their own hit show, The Jeffersons. Sherman Hemsley played George Jefferson on All in the Family and The Jeffersons for 12 years, but despite the show being a hit for a number of years, placing as high as #3 during the 1981-1982 television season, roles for Hemsley and his co-star Isabel Sanford outside the show were few and far between. During the eleven seasons The Jeffersons ran on television, from 1975 to 1985, Sherman Hemsley would only make one movie, 1979’s Love at First Bite, where he played a small role as a reverend. He appeared on the poster, but his name was not listed amongst the other actors on the poster.

So when the producers of the then-titled Benny and Beaufor approached Hemsley in the spring of 1984 to play one of the title roles, he was more than happy to accept. The Jeffersons was about to start its summer hiatus, and here was the chance to not only make a movie but to be the number one listed actor on the call sheet. He might not ever get that chance again.

The film, by now titled Benny and Buford Meet the Bigoted Ghost, would shoot in Mexico City at Estudios America in the summer of 1984, before Hemsley was due back in Los Angeles to shoot the eleventh and what would be the final season of his show. But it would not be a normal shoot. In fact, there would be two different versions of the movie shot back to back. One, in English, would be directed by Lee Madden, which would hinge its comedy on the bumbling antics of its Black police officer, Buford, and his Hispanic partner, Benny. The other version would be shot in Spanish by Mexican director Miguel Rico, where the comedy would satirize class and social differences rather than racial differences. Hemsley would speak his lines in English, and would be dubbed by a Spanish-speaking actor in post production. Luis Ávalos, best known as Doctor Doolots on the PBS children’s show The Electric Company, would play Benny. The only other name in the cast was boxing legend Smokin’ Joe Frazier, who was making his proper acting debut on the film as, not too surprisingly, a boxer.

The film would have a four week shooting schedule, and Hemsley was back to work on The Jeffersons on time. Madden would get the film edited together rather quick, and the producers would have a screening for potential distributors in early October.

The screening did not go well.

Madden would be fired from the production, the script rewritten, and a new director named Herbert Strock would be hired to shoot more footage once Hemsley was done with his commitments to The Jeffersons in the spring of 1985. This is when Madden contacted the Directors Guild to request the Smithee pseudonym. But since the film was still in production, the DGA could not issue a judgment until the producers provided the Guild with a completed copy of the film.

That would happen in the late fall of 1985, and Madden was able to successfully show that he had directly a majority of the completed film but it did not represent his vision.

The film was not good, but Miramax still needed product to fill their distribution pipeline. They announced in mid-March of 1987 that they had acquired the film for distribution, and that the film would be opening in Atlanta, Dallas, Houston, Miami, Nashville, St. Louis, and Tampa-St. Petersburg FL the following week.

Miramax did not release how many theatres the film was playing in in those markets, and the only market Variety did track of those that week was St. Louis, where the film did $7k from the four theatres they were tracking that week. Best as I can tell from limited newspaper archives of the day, Ghost Fever played on nine screens in Atlanta, 4 in Dallas/Fort Worth, 25 screens in Miami, and 12 in Tampa-St. Pete on top of the four I can find in St. Louis. By the following week, every theatre that was playing Ghost Fever had dropped it.

The film would not open in any other markets until it opened on 16 screens in the greater Los Angeles metro region on September 11th. No theatres in Hollywood. No theatres in Westwood. No theatres in Beverly Hills or Santa Monica or any major theatre around, outside of the Palace Theatre downtown, a once stately theatre that had fallen into disrepair over the previous three decades. Once again, Miramax didn’t release grosses for the run, none of the theatres playing the film were tracked by Variety that week, and all the playdates were gone after one week.

Today, you can find two slightly different copies of the film on a very popular video sharing website, one the theatrical cut, the other the home video cut. The home video cut is preceded by a quick history of the film, including a tidbit that Hemsley bankrolled $3m of the production himself, and that the film’s failure almost made him bankrupt. I could not find any source to verify this, but there is possibly specious evidence to back up this claim. The producers of the film were able to make back the budget selling the film to home video company and cable movie channels around the world, and Hemsley would sue them in December 1987 for $3m claiming he was owed this amount from the profits and interest. It would take nine years to work its way through the court system, but a jury in March 1996 would award Hemsley $2.8m. The producers appealed, and an appellate court would uphold the verdict in April 1998.

One of the biggest indie film success stories of 1987 was Patricia Rozema’s I’ve Heard the Mermaids Singing.

In the early 1980s, Rozema was working as an assistant producer on a Canadian Broadcasting Corporation current affairs television show called The Journal. Although she enjoyed her work, she, like many of us, wanted to be a filmmaker. While working on The Journal, she started to write screenplays while taking a classes at a Toronto Polytechnic Institute on 16mm film production.

Now, one of the nicer things about the Canadian film industry is that there are a number of government-funded arts councils that help young independent Canadian filmmakers get their low budget films financed. But Rozema was having trouble getting her earliest ideas funded. Finally, in 1984, she was able to secure funding for Passion, a short film she had written about a documentary filmmaker who writes an extremely intimate letter to an unknown lover. Linda Griffiths, the star of John Sayles’ 1983 film Lianna, plays the filmmaker, and Passion would go on to be nominated for Gold Hugo for Best Short Film at the 1985 Chicago Film Festival.

However, a negative review of the short film in The Globe and Mail, often called Canada’s Newspaper of Record, would anger Rozema, and she would use that anger to write a new script, Polly, which would be a polemic against the Toronto elitist high art milieu and its merciless negative judgements towards newer artists. Polly, the lead character and narrator of the film, lives alone, has no friends, rides her bike around Toronto to take photographs of whatever strikes her fancy, and regularly indulges herself in whimsical fantasies. An employee for a temporary secretarial agency, Polly gets placed in a private art gallery. The gallery owner is having an off-again, on-again relationship with one her clients, a painter who has misgivings she is too young for the gallery owner and the owner too old for her.

Inspired by the young painter, Polly anonymously submits some of her photographs to the gallery, in the hopes of getting featured, but becomes depressed when the gallery owner, who does not know who took the photos, dismisses them in front of Polly, calling them “simple minded.” Polly quits the gallery and retreats to her apartment. When the painter sees the photographs, she presents herself as the photographer of them, and the pair start to pass them off as the younger artist’s work, even after the gallery owner learns they are not of the painter’s work. When Polly finds out about the fraud, she confronts the gallery owner, eventually throwing a cup of tea at the owner.

Soon thereafter, the gallery owner and the painter go to check up on Polly at her flat, where they discover more photos undeniable beauty, and the story ends with the three women in one of Polly’s fantasies.

Rozema would work on the screenplay for Polly while she was working as a third assistant director on David Cronenberg’s The Fly. During the writing process, which took about a year, Rozema would change the title from Polly to Polly’s Progress to Polly’s Interior Mind. When she would submit the script in June 1986 to the various Canadian arts foundations for funding, it would sent out with yet another new title, Oh, The Things I’ve Seen.

The first agency to come aboard the film was the Ontario Film Development Corporation, and soon thereafter, the National Film Board of Canada, the Ontario Arts Council, and the Canada Council would also join the funding operation, but the one council they desperately needed to fund the gap was Telefilm Canada, the Canadian government's principal instrument for supporting Canada's audiovisual industry. Telefilm Canada, at the time, had a reputation for being philosophically averse to low-budget, auteur-driven films, a point driven home directly by the administrator of the group at the time, who reportedly stomped out of a meeting concerning the making of this very film, purportedly declaring that Telefilm should not be financing these kind of minimalist, student films. Telefilm would reverse course when Rozema and her producer, Alexandra Raffé, agreed to bring on Don Haig, called “The Godfather of Canadian Cinema,” as an executive producer.

Side note: several months after the film completed shooting, Haig would win an Academy Award for producing a documentary about musician Artie Shaw.

Once they had their $350k budget, Rozema and Raffé got to work on pre-production. Money was tight on such an ambitious first feature. They had only $500 to help their casting agent identify potential actors for the film, although most of the cast would come from Rozema’s friendships with them. They would cast thirty-year-old Sheila McCarthy, a first time film actress with only one television credit to her name, as Polly.

Shooting would begin in Toronto on September 24th, 1986 and go for four weeks, shooting completely in 16mm because they could not afford to shoot on 35mm. Once filming was completed, the National Film Board of Canada allowed Rozema use of their editing studio for free. When Rozema struggled with editing the film, the Film Board offered to pay for the consulting services of Ron Sanders, who had edited five of David Cronenberg’s movies, including Scanners, Videodrome and The Fly, which Rozema gladly accepted.

After New Years 1987, Rozema has a rough cut of the film ready to show the various funding agencies. That edit of the film was only 65 minutes long, but went over very well with the viewers. So much so that the President of Cinephile Films, the Canadian movie distributor who also helped to fund the film, suggested that Rozema not only add another 15mins or so to the film wherever she could, but submit the film to the be entered in the Directors' Fortnight program at the Cannes Film Festival. Rozema still needed to add that requested footage in, and finish the sound mix, but she agreed as long as she was able to complete the film by the time the Cannes programmers met in mid-March. She wouldn’t quite make her self-imposed deadline, but the film would get selected for Cannes anyway. This time, she had an absolute deadline. The film had to be completed in time for Cannes.

Which would include needing to make a 35mm blow up of the 16mm print, and the production didn’t have the money. Rozema and Raffé asked Telefilm Canada if they could have $40k for the print, but they were turned down.

Twice.

Someone suggested they speak with the foreign sales agent who acquired the rights to sell the film at Cannes. The sales agent not only agreed to the fund the cost from sales of the film to various territories that would be returned to the the various arts councils, but he would also create a press kit, translate the English-language script into French, make sure the print showing at Cannes would have French subtitles, and create the key art for the posters and other ads. Rozema would actually help to create the key art, a picture of Sheila McCarthy’s head floating over a body of water, an image that approximately 80% of all buyers would use for their own posters and ads around the world.

By the time the film premiered in Cannes on May 10th, 1987, Rozema had changed the title once again, to I’ve Heard the Mermaids Singing. The title would be taken from a line in the T.S. Eliot poem The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, which she felt best represented the film.

But whatever it was titled, the two thousand people inside the theatre were mesmerized, and gave the film a six minute standing ovation. The festival quickly added four more screenings of the film, all of which sold out.

While a number of territories around the world had purchased the film before the premiere, the filmmakers bet big on themselves by waiting until after the world premiere to entertain offers from American distributors. Following the premiere, a number of companies made offers for the film. Miramax would be the highest, at $100,000, but the filmmakers said “no.” They kept the bidding going, until they got Miramax up to $350k, the full budget for the film. By the time the festival was done, the sales agent had booked more than $1.1m worth of sales. The film had earned back more than triple its cost before it ever opened on a single commercial screen.

Oh, and it also won Rozema the Prix de la Jeunesse (Pree do la Jza-naise), the Prize of the Youth, from the Directors Fortnight judges.

Miramax would schedule I’ve Heard the Mermaids Singing to open at the 68th Street Playhouse in New York City on September 11th, after screening at the Toronto Film Festival, then called The Festival of Festivals, the night before, and at the Telluride Film Festival the previous week. Miramax was so keen on the potential success of the film that they would buy their first ever full page newspaper, in the Sunday, September 6th New York Times Arts and Leisure section, which cost them $25k.

The critical and audience reactions in Toronto and Telluride matched the enthusiasm on the Croisette, which would translate to big box office its opening weekend. $40k, the best single screen gross in all Manhattan. While it would lose that crown to My Life as a Dog the following week, its $32k second weekend gross was still one of the best in the city. After three weekends in New York City, the film would have already grossed $100k. That weekend, the film would open at the Samuel Goldwyn West Pavilion Cinemas, where a $9,500 opening weekend gross was considered nice. Good word of mouth kept the grosses respectable for months, and after eight months in theatres, never playing in more than 27 theatres in any given week, the film would gross $1.4m in American theatres.

Ironically, the film did not go over as well in Rozema’s home country, where it grossed a little less than half a million Canadian dollars, and didn’t even play in the director’s hometown due to a lack of theatres that were willing to play a “queer” movie, but once all was said and done, I’ve Heard the Mermaids Singing would end up with a worldwide gross of more than CAD$10m, a nearly 2500% return on the initial investment. Not only would part of those profits go back to the arts councils that helped fund the film, those profits would help fund the next group of independent Canadian filmmakers. And the film would become one of a growing number of films with LGBTQ lead characters whose success would break down the barriers some exhibitors had about playing non-straight movies.

The impact of this film on queer cinema and on Canadian cinema cannot be understated. In 1993, author Michael Posner spent the first twenty pages of his 250 plus page book Canadian Dreams discussing the history of the film, under the subtitle “The Little Film That Did.” And in 2014, author Julia Mendenhall wrote a 160 page book about the movie, with the subtitle “A Queer Film Classic.” You can find copies of both books on a popular web archive website, if you want to learn more.

Amazingly, for a company that would regularly take up to fourteen months between releases, Miramax would end 1987 with not one, not two, but three new titles in just the last six weeks of the year. Well, one that I can definitely place in theatres.

And here is where you just can’t always trust the IMDb or Wikipedia by themselves.

The first alleged release of the three according to both sources, Riders on the Storm, was a wacky comedy featuring Dennis Hopper and Michael J. Polland, and supposedly opened in theatres on November 13th. Except it didn’t. It did open in new York City on May 7th, 1988, in Los Angeles the following Friday. But we’ll talk more about that movie on our next episode.

The second film of the alleged trifecta was Crazy Moon, a romantic comedy/drama from Canada that featured Keifer Sutherland as Brooks, a young man who finds love with Anne, a deaf girl working at a clothing store where Brooks and his brother are trying to steal a mannequin. Like I’ve Heard the Mermaids Singing, Crazy Moon would benefit from the support of several Canadian arts foundations including Telefilm Canada and the National Film Board of Canada.

In an unusual move, Miramax would release Crazy Moon on 18 screens in Los Angeles on December 11th, as part of an Oscar qualifying run. I say “unusual” because although in the 1980s, a movie that wanted to qualify for awards consideration had to play in at least one commercial movie theatre in Los Angeles for seven consecutive days before the end of the year, most distributors did just that: one movie theatre. They normally didn’t do 18 screens including cities like Long Beach, Irvine and Upland.

It would, however, definitely be a one week run.

Despite a number of decent reviews, Los Angeles audiences were too busy doing plenty of other things to see Crazy Moon. Miramax, once again, didn’t report grosses, but six of the eighteen theatres playing the film were being tracked by Variety, and the combined gross for those six theatres was $2,500.

It would not get any award nominations, and it would never open at another movie theatre.

The third film allegedly released by Miramax during the 1987 holiday season, The Magic Snowman, has a reported theatrical release date of December 22, 1987, according to the IMDb, which is also the date listed on the Wikipedia page for the list of movies Miramax released in the 1980s. I suspect this is a direct to video release for several reasons, the two most important ones being that December 22nd was a Tuesday, and back in the 1980s, most home video titles came out on Tuesdays, and that I cannot find a single playdate anywhere in the country around this date, even in the Weinstein’s home town of Buffalo. In fact, the only mention of the words “magic snowman” together I can find for all of 1987 is a live performance of a show called The Magic Snowman in Peterborough, England in November 1987.

So now we are eight years into the history of Miramax, and they are starting to pick up some steam. Granted, Working Girls and I’ve Heard the Mermaids Singing wasn’t going to get the company a major line of credit to start making films of their own, but it would help them with visibility amongst the independent and global film communities. These guys can open your films in America.

Thank you for joining us. We’ll talk again next week, when we continue with story of Miramax Films, from 1988.

Remember to visit this episode’s page on our website, The80sMoviePodcast.com, for extra materials about the movies we covered this episode.

The 80s Movies Podcast has been researched, written, narrated and edited by Edward Havens for Idiosyncratic Entertainment.

Thank you again.

Good night.

Oklahoma Smugglers

27 juli 2023 | 15 min

On this episode, your intrepid host falls down a rabbit hole while doing research for one thing, and ends up discovering something "new" that must be investigated further, the 1987 action/comedy Oklahoma Smugglers.

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TRANSCRIPT

From Los Angeles, California, the Entertainment Capital of the World, it’s The 80s Movies Podcast. I am your host, Edward Havens. Thank you for listening today.

You were probably expecting the third part of the Miramax Films in the 1980s series, and we will get to that one the next episode. But as often happens while I’m researching, I’ll fall down a rabbit hole that piques my interest, and this time, it was not only discovering a film I had never heard of, but it fits within a larger discussion about disappearing media.

But before we get started, I need to send out a thank you to Matthew Martin, who contacted me via email after our previous episode. I had mentioned I couldn’t find any American playdates for the Brian Trenchard-Smith movie The Quest around the time of its supposed release date of May 1st, 1986. Matthew sent me an ad from the local Spokane newspaper The Spokesman-Review dated July 18th, 1986, which shows the movie playing on two screens in Spokane, including a drive-in where it shared a screen with “co-hit” Young Sherlock Holmes. With that help, I was also able to find The Quest playing on five screens in the Seattle/Tacoma area and two in Spokane on July 11th, where it grossed a not very impressive $14,200. In its second week in the region, it would drop down to just three screens, and the gross would fall to just $2800, before disappearing at the end of that second week. Thank you to Matthew for that find, which gave me an idea.

On a lark, I tried searching for the movie again, this time using the director’s last name and any day in 1986, and ended up finding 35 playdates for The Quest in Los Angeles, matinees only on Saturday, October 25th and Sunday, October 26th, one to three shows each day on just those two days.

Miramax did not report grosses.

And this is probably the most anyone has talked about The Quest and its lack of American box office. And with that, we’re done with it. For now.

On this episode, we’re going to talk about one of the many movies from the 1980s that has literally disappeared from the landscape. What I mean by that is that it was an independently made film that was given a Southern regional release in the South in 1987, has never been released on video since its sole VHS release in 1988, and isn’t available on any currently widely used video platform, physical or streaming.

I’ll try to talk about this movie, Oklahoma Smugglers, as much as I can in a moment, but this problem of disappearing movies has been a problem for nearly a century. I highlight this as there has been a number of announcements recently about streaming-only shows and movies being removed from their exclusive streaming platform, some just seven weeks after their premieres.

This is a problem.

Let me throw some statistics at you.

Film Foundation, a non-profit organization co-founded by Martin Scorsese in 1990 that is dedicated to film preservation and the exhibition of restored and classic cinema, has estimated that half of all the films ever made before 1950 no longer exist in any form, and that only 10% of the films produced before the dawn of the sound era of films are gone forever. The Deutsche Kinemathek, a major film archive founded in Berlin in 1963, also estimates that 80-90% of all silent films ever have been lost, a number that’s a bit higher than the US Library of Congress’s estimation that 75% of all silent film are gone. That includes more than 300 of Georges Méliès’ 500 movies, a 1926 film, The Mountain Eagle, that was the second film directed by Alfred Hitchcock, and London After Midnight, considered by many film historians to be “the holy grail” of lost films. A number of films from directors like Michael Curtiz, Allan Dwan, and Leo McCarey are gone. And The Betrayal, the final film from pioneering Black filmmaker Oscar Micheaux, is no longer with us.

There are a number of reasons why many of these early movies are gone. Until the early 1950s, movies were often shot and printed on nitrate film, a highly flammable substance that can continue to burn even if completely submersed in water. During the earlier years of Hollywood, there were a number of fires on studio lots and in film vaults were original negatives of films were stored. Sometimes, studios would purposely incinerate old prints of films to salvage the silver particles within the nitrate film. Occasionally, a studio would destroy an older film when they remade that film with a new cast and director. And sometimes films, like Orson Welles’ original cut of The Magnificent Ambersons, would be dumped into the ocean off the Southern California coast, when studios no longer wanted to pay to store these elements.

Except Oklahoma Smugglers does not fit into any of those scenarios. It’s less than forty years old, in color, with a synchronized soundtrack. It’s crime was being a small budgeted independently distributed movie from an independent production company that was only released in a small section of the United States, and never got any traction outside of that region.

Not that this alone is why it disappeared.

You may recall hearing about David Zaslav, the head of the mega entertainment conglomerate Warner Brothers Discovery, cancelling the release of two completed films, a Batgirl movie that would have featured Michael Keaton’s return as Batman a full year before The Flash, and a sequel to a fairly successful Scooby Doo animated movie. Warner Brothers had spent more than $200m between the two films. They were shot, edited and scored, and ready for release. Then Zaslav decided these were of the quality he expected for Warner Brothers movies, and wrote them off for the tax break. Unless someone at Warners somewhere down the line decides to pay back the tax incentive to the Fed, these two movies will never legally be allowed to be shown, effectively making them lost films.

Again, there are many ways for a film to become lost.

In our case, it seems that Oklahoma Smugglers is an unfortunate victim of being the one and only film to be produced by Cambridge Entertainment Corporation, based in Needham MA. The company was founded on September 10th, 1986 and went into involuntary dissolution on December 31st, 1990, so it’s very likely that the company went bankrupt and no company was interested in picking up the assets of a small independent production company with only one tangible asset, this movie.

So here is what I could find about Oklahoma Smugglers.

The film was produced and directed by Ota Richter, whose only previous film work was writing, producing a directing a horror comedy called Skullduggery in 1982. The film has its fans, but they are few and far between. Three years later, in 1985, Richter would work with a first time screenwriter named Sven Simon to come up with the story for Oklahoma Smugglers. When the script was completed, Richter would raise the money he would need to shoot the movie in Toronto with a no-name cast lead by George Buzz and John Novak, and a four week production schedule between February 24th and March 21st, 1986. One can presume the film was locked before September 10th, 1986, when Cambridge Entertainment Corporation was founded, with Ota Rickter as its treasurer. The other two members of the Cambridge board, company President Neil T. Evans, and company Secretary Robert G. Parks, appear to have not had any involvement with the making of the movie, and according to the Open Corporates database, the men had never worked together before and never worked together again after this company.

But what Neil Evans did have, amongst the six companies he was operating in and around the Boston area at the time, was a independent distribution company called Sharp Features, which he had founded in April of 1981, and had already distributed five other movies, including the Dick Shawn comedy Good-bye Cruel World, which apparently only played in Nashville TN in September 1982, and a 1985 documentary about The Beach Boys.

So after a year of shopping the film around the major studios and bigger independent distributors, the Cambridge team decided to just release it themselves through Sharp Features. They would place an ad in the September 16th, 1987 issue of Variety, announcing the film, quote unquote, opens the Southeast on September 18th, just two days later.

Now, you’ll notice I was able to find a lot of information about the people behind the film. About the companies they created or had already created to push the film out into the market. The dates it filmed, and where it filmed. I have a lot of sources both online and in my office with more data about almost every film ever released. But what I can’t tell you is if the film actually did open on September 18th, 1987. Or how many theatres it played in. Or how much it grossed that first weekend. Or if any theatres retained it for a second week. Or any reviews of the movie from any contemporary newspaper or magazine. Outside of the same one single sentence synopsis of the movie, I had to turn to a Finnish VHS release of the film for a more detailed synopsis, which roughly translates back into English as such:

“Former Marines Hugo and Skip are living the best days of their lives. Hugo is a real country boy and Skip again from a "better family." Together they are a perfect pair: where Skip throws, Hugo hurls his fists. Mr. Milk, who offers security services, takes them on. Mr. Milk's biggest dream is to get hold of his nemesis "Oklahoma Smuggler" Taip's most cherished asset - a lucrative casino. Mr. Taip is not only a casino owner, but he handles everything possible, from arms smuggling to drugs. The fight for the ownership of the Oklahoma Smuggler casino is a humorous mix of fistfights, intrigues and dynamite where Hugo and Skip get the hero's part. What happens to the casino is another matter.”

Okay, that sounds like absolute crap.

But here’s the thing.

I actually enjoy checking out low budget movies that might not be very good but are at least trying to be something.

I would be very interested in seeing a movie like Oklahoma Smugglers. But I can’t the darn thing anywhere. It’s not posted to YouTube or Vimeo or any video sharing service I know of. It’s not on The Internet Archive. It’s not on any of the Russian video sites that I occasionally find otherwise hard to find movies.

There’s no entry for the film on Wikipedia or on Rotten Tomatoes. There is an IMDb page for the film, with a grand total of one user rating and one user review, both from the same person. There’s also only one rating and mini-review of it on Letterboxd, also from the same person. There is a page for the film on the Plex website, but no one has the actual film.

This film has, for all intents and purposes, vanished.

Is that a good thing?

Absolutely not.

While it’s highly likely Oklahoma Smugglers is not a very good movie, there’s also a chance it might actually be stupid, goofy fun, and even if its a low quality dupe off a VHS tape, it should be available for viewing. There should be some kind of movie repository that has every movie still around that is in the public domain be available for viewing. Or if the owners of a movie with a still enforceable copyright have basically abandoned said copyright by not making the film available for consumption after a certain amount of time or for a certain amount of time, it also become available. This would not only help films like Oklahoma Smugglers be discovered, but it would also give film lovers the chance to see many movies they’ve heard about but have never had the opportunity to see. Even the original theatrical version of the first three Star Wars movies are no longer available commercially. Outside of a transfer of the early 1990s laserdisc to DVD in 2004, no one has been able to see the original versions in nearly twenty years. The closest one can get now are fan created “Despecialized” editions on the internet.

Film fans tend to think of film as a forever medium, but it’s becoming ever increasingly clear that it far from that. And we’re not just talking about American movies either. When I said it is estimated that half the films ever made are considered lost, that includes movies from all corners of the globe, across several generations. From Angola and Australia to the former Yugoslavia and Zambia. Gone forever.

But every once in a while, a forgotten film can come back to life. Case in point, The Exiles, a 1958 film written, produced and directed by Kent Mackenzie, about a group of Native Americans who have left their reservation in search of a new life in Los Angeles’ Bunker Hill neighborhood. After premiering at the 1961 Venice Film Festival, the film was never picked up for theatrical distribution, and for many years, the only way to see it was the occasional screening of the film as some college film society screening of the one 16mm print of the film that was still around. Cinephiles were aware of the film, but it wouldn’t be until the exceptional 2004 video essay Los Angeles Plays Itself by Thom Anderson that many, including myself, even learned of the film’s existence. It would take another four years of legal maneuvering for Milestone Films to finally give The Exiles a proper theatrical and home video release. The following year, in 2009, with new public exposure to the film, the Library of Congress included The Exiles on their National Film Registry, for being of culturally, historically or aesthetically" significance. In the case of The Exiles, much of Bunker Hill was torn down shortly after the making of the film, so in many ways, The Exiles is a living visual history of an area of Los Angeles that no longer exists in that way. It’s a good film regardless, but as a native Angelino, I find The Exiles to be fascinating for all these places that disappeared in just a few short years before my own birth.

So, that’s the episode for this week.

Thank you for joining us. We’ll talk again next week, when we continue our miniseries on Miramax Films in the 1980s.

Remember to visit this episode’s page on our website, The80sMoviePodcast.com, for extra materials about Oklahoma Smugglers.

The 80s Movies Podcast has been researched, written, narrated and edited by Edward Havens for Idiosyncratic Entertainment.

Thank you again.

Good night.

Miramax Films - Part Two

14 juli 2023 | 33 min

On this episode, we are continuing our miniseries on the movies released by Miramax Films in the 1980s, specifically looking at the films they released between 1984 and 1986.

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TRANSCRIPT

From Los Angeles, California. The Entertainment Capital of the World. It’s the 80s Movie Podcast. I am your host, Edward Havens. Thank you for listening today.

On this episode, we are continuing our miniseries on the movies released by Miramax Films in the 1980s.

And, in case you did not listen to Part 1 yet, let me reiterate that the focus here will be on the films and the creatives, not the Weinsteins. The Weinsteins did not have a hand in the production of any of the movies Miramax released in the 1980s, and that Miramax logo and the names associated with it should not stop anyone from enjoying some very well made movies because they now have an unfortunate association with two spineless chucklenuts who proclivities would not be known by the outside world for decades to come.

Well, there is one movie this episode where we must talk about the Weinsteins as the creatives, but when talking about that film, “creatives” is a derisive pejorative.

We ended our previous episode at the end of 1983. Miramax had one minor hit film in The Secret Policeman’s Other Ball, thanks in large part to the film’s association with members of the still beloved Monty Python comedy troupe, who hadn’t released any material since The Life of Brian in 1979.

1984 would be the start of year five of the company, and they were still in need of something to make their name. Being a truly independent film company in 1984 was not easy. There were fewer than 20,000 movie screens in the entire country back then, compared to nearly 40,000 today. National video store chains like Blockbuster did not exist, and the few cable channels that did exist played mostly Hollywood films. There was no social media for images and clips to go viral.

For comparison’s sake, in A24’s first five years, from its founding in August 2012 to July 2017, the company would have a number of hit films, including The Bling Ring, The Lobster, Spring Breakers, and The Witch, release movies from some of indie cinema’s most respected names, including Andrea Arnold, Robert Eggers, Atom Egoyan, Daniel Kwan and Daniel Scheinert, Lynn Shelton, Trey Edward Shults, Gus Van Sant, and Denis Villeneuve, and released several Academy Award winning movies, including the Amy Winehouse documentary Amy, Alex Garland’s Ex Machina, Lenny Abrahamson’s Room and Barry Jenkins’ Moonlight, which would upset front runner La La Land for the Best Picture of 2016.

But instead of leaning into the American independent cinema world the way Cinecom and Island were doing with the likes of Jonathan Demme and John Sayles, Miramax would dip their toes further into the world of international cinema.

Their first release for 1984 would be Ruy Guerra’s Eréndira. The screenplay by Nobel Prize winner Gabriel García Márquez was based on his 1972 novella The Incredible and Sad Tale of Innocent Eréndira and Her Heartless Grandmother, which itself was based off a screenplay Márquez had written in the early 1960s, which, when he couldn’t get it made at the time, he reduced down to a page and a half for a sequence in his 1967 magnum opus One Hundred Years of Solitude. Between the early 1960s and the early 1980s, Márquez would lose the original draft of Eréndira, and would write a new script based off what he remembered writing twenty years earlier.

In the story, a young woman named Eréndira lives in a near mansion situation in an otherwise empty desert with her grandmother, who had collected a number of paper flowers and assorted tchotchkes over the years. One night, Eréndira forgets to put out some candles used to illuminate the house, and the house and all of its contents burn to the ground. With everything lost, Eréndira’s grandmother forces her into a life of prostitution. The young woman quickly becomes the courtesan of choice in the region. With every new journey, an ever growing caravan starts to follow them, until it becomes for all intents and purposes a carnival, with food vendors, snake charmers, musicians and games of chance.

Márquez’s writing style, known as “magic realism,” was very cinematic on the page, and it’s little wonder that many of his stories have been made into movies and television miniseries around the globe for more than a half century. Yet no movie came as close to capturing that Marquezian prose quite the way Guerra did with Eréndira. Featuring Greek goddess Irene Papas as the Grandmother, Brazilian actress Cláudia Ohana, who happened to be married to Guerra at the time, as the titular character, and former Bond villain Michael Lonsdale in a small but important role as a Senator who tries to help Eréndira get out of her life as a slave, the movie would be Mexico’s entry into the 1983 Academy Award race for Best Foreign Language Film.

After acquiring the film for American distribution, Miramax would score a coup by getting the film accepted to that year’s New York Film Festival, alongside such films as Robert Altman’s Streamers, Jean Lucy Godard’s Passion, Lawrence Kasdan’s The Big Chill, Francis Ford Coppola’s Rumble Fish, and Andrzej Wajda’s Danton.

But despite some stellar reviews from many of the New York City film critics, Eréndira would not get nominated for Best Foreign Language Film, and Miramax would wait until April 27th, 1984, to open the film at the Lincoln Plaza Cinemas, one of the most important theatres in New York City at the time to launch a foreign film. A quarter page ad in the New York Times included quotes from the Village Voice, New York Magazine, Vincent Canby of the Times and Roger Ebert, the movie would gross an impressive $25,500 in its first three days. Word of mouth in the city would be strong, with its second weekend gross actually increasing nearly 20% to $30,500. Its third weekend would fall slightly, but with $27k in the till would still be better than its first weekend.

It wouldn’t be until Week 5 that Eréndira would expand into Los Angeles and Chicago, where it would continue to gross nearly $20k per screen for several more weeks. The film would continue to play across the nation for more than half a year, and despite never making more than four prints of the film, Eréndira would gross more than $600k in America, one of the best non-English language releases for all of 1984.

In their quickest turnaround from one film to another to date, Miramax would release Claude Lelouch’s Edith and Marcel not five weeks after Eréndira.

If you’re not familiar with the name Claude Chabrol, I would highly suggest becoming so. Chabrol was a part of the French New Wave filmmakers alongside Jean-Luc Godard, Jacques Rivette, Éric Rohmer, and François Truffaut who came up as film critics for the influential French magazine Cahiers [ka-yay] du Cinéma in the 1950s, who would go on to change the direction of French Cinema and how film fans appreciated films and filmmakers through the concept of The Auteur Theory, although the theory itself would be given a name by American film critic Andrew Sarris in 1962.

Of these five critics turned filmmakers, Chabrol would be considered the most prolific and commercial. Chabrol would be the first of them to make a film, Le Beau Serge, and between 1957 and his death in 2010, he would make 58 movies. That’s more than one new movie every year on average, not counting shorts and television projects he also made on the side.

American audiences knew him best for his 1966 global hit A Man and a Woman, which would sell more than $14m in tickets in the US and would be one of the few foreign language films to earn Academy Award nominations outside of the Best Foreign Language Film race. Lead actress Anouk Aimee would get a nod, and Chabrol would earn two on the film, for Best Director, which he would lose to Fred Zimmerman and A Man for All Seasons, and Best Original Screenplay, which he would win alongside his co-writer Pierre Uytterhoeven.

Edith and Marcel would tell the story of the love affair between the iconic French singer Edith Piaf and Marcel Cerdan, the French boxer who was the Middleweight Champion of the World during their affair in 1948 and 1949. Both were famous in their own right, but together, they were the Brangelina of post-World War II France. Despite the fact that Cerdan was married with three kids, their affair helped lift the spirits of the French people, until his death in October 1949, while he was flying from Paris to New York to see Piaf.

Fans of Raging Bull are somewhat familiar with Marcel Cerdan already, as Cerdan’s last fight before his death would find Cerdan losing his middleweight title to Jake LaMotta.

In a weird twist of fate, Patrick Dewaere, the actor Chabrol cast as Cerdan, committed suicide just after the start of production, and while Chabrol considered shutting down the film in respect, it would be none other than Marcel Cerdan, Jr. who would step in to the role of his own father, despite never having acted before, and being six years older than his father was when he died.

When it was released in France in April 1983, it was an immediate hit, become the second highest French film of the year, and the sixth highest grosser of all films released in the country that year. However, it would not be the film France submitted to that year’s Academy Award race. That would be Diane Kurys’ Entre Nous, which wasn’t as big a hit in France but was considered a stronger contender for the nomination, in part because of Isabelle Hupert’s amazing performance but also because Entre Nous, as 110 minutes, was 50 minutes shorter than Edith and Marcel.

Harvey Weinstein would cut twenty minutes out of the film without Chabrol’s consent or assistance, and when the film was released at the 57th Street Playhouse in New York City on Sunday, June 3rd, the gushing reviews in the New York Times ad would actually be for Chabrol’s original cut, and they would help the film gross $15,300 in its first five days. But once the other New York critics who didn’t get to see the original cut of the film saw this new cut, the critical consensus started to fall. Things felt off to them, and they would be, as a number of short trims made by Weinstein would remove important context for the film for the sake of streamlining the film. Audiences would pick up on the changes, and in its first full weekend of release, the film would only gross $12k. After two more weeks of grosses of under $4k each week, the film would close in New York City. Edith and Marcel would never play in another theatre in the United States.

And then there would be another year plus long gap before their next release, but we’ll get into the reason why in a few moments.

Many people today know Rubén Blades as Daniel Salazar in Fear the Walking Dead, or from his appearances in The Milagro Beanfield War, Once Upon a Time in Mexico, or Predator 2, amongst his 40 plus acting appearances over the years, but in the early 1980s, he was a salsa and Latin Jazz musician and singer who had yet to break out of the New Yorican market. With an idea for a movie about a singer and musician not unlike himself trying to attempt a crossover success into mainstream music, he would approach his friend, director Leon Icasho, about teaming up to get the idea fleshed out into a real movie. Although Blades was at best a cult music star, and Icasho had only made one movie before, they were able to raise $6m from a series of local investors including Jack Rollins, who produced every Woody Allen movie from 1969’s Take the Money and Run to 2015’s Irrational Man, to make their movie, which they would start shooting in the Spanish Harlem section of New York City in December 1982.

Despite the luxury of a large budget for an independent Latino production, the shooting schedule was very tight, less than five weeks. There would be a number of large musical segments to show Blades’ character Rudy’s talents as a musician and singer, with hundreds of extras on hand in each scene. Icasho would stick to his 28 day schedule, and the film would wrap up shortly after the New Year.

Even though the director would have his final cut of the movie ready by the start of summer 1983, it would take nearly a year and a half for any distributor to nibble. It wasn’t that the film was tedious. Quite the opposite. Many distributors enjoyed the film, but worried about, ironically, the ability of the film to crossover out of the Latino market into the mainstream. So when Miramax came along with a lower than hoped for offer to release the film, the filmmakers took the deal, because they just wanted the film out there.

Things would start to pick up for the film when Miramax submitted the film to be entered into the 1985 Cannes Film Festival, and it would be submitted to run in the prestigious Directors Fortnight program, alongside Mike Newell’s breakthrough film, Dance with a Stranger, Victor Nunez’s breakthrough film, A Flash of Green, and Wayne Wang’s breakthrough film Dim Sum: A Little Bit of Heart. While they were waiting for Cannes to get back to them, they would also learn the film had been selected to be a part of The Lincoln Center’s New Directors/New Films program, where the film would earn raves from local critics and audiences, especially for Blades, who many felt was a screen natural.

After more praise from critics and audiences on the French Riviera, Miramax would open Crossover Dreams at the Cinema Studio theatre in midtown Manhattan on August 23rd, 1985. Originally booked into the smaller 180 seat auditorium, since John Huston’s Prizzi’s Honor was still doing good business in the 300 seat house in its fourth week, the theatre would swap houses for the films when it became clear early on Crossover Dreams’ first day that it would be the more popular title that weekend. And it would. While Prizzi would gross a still solid $10k that weekend, Crossover Dreams would gross $35k. In its second weekend, the film would again gross $35k. And in its third weekend, another $35k. They were basically selling out every seat at every show those first three weeks. Clearly, the film was indeed doing some crossover business.

But, strangely, Miramax would wait seven weeks after opening the film in New York to open it in Los Angeles. With a new ad campaign that de-emphasized Blades and played up the dreamer dreaming big aspect of the film, Miramax would open the movie at two of the more upscale theatres in the area, the Cineplex Beverly Center on the outskirts of Beverly Hills, and the Cineplex Brentwood Twin, on the west side where many of Hollywood’s tastemakers called home. Even with a plethora of good reviews from the local press, and playing at two theatres with a capacity of more than double the one theatre playing the film in New York, Crossover Dreams could only manage a neat $13k opening weekend.

Slowly but surely, Miramax would add a few more prints in additional major markets, but never really gave the film the chance to score with Latino audiences who may have been craving a salsa-infused musical/drama, even if it was entirely in English. Looking back, thirty-eight years later, that seems to have been a mistake, but it seems that the film’s final gross of just $250k after just ten weeks of release was leaving a lot of money on the table. At awards time, Blades would be nominated for an Independent Spirit Award for Best Actor, but otherwise, the film would be shut out of any further consideration.

But for all intents and purposes, the film did kinda complete its mission of turning Blades into a star. He continues to be one of the busiest Latino actors in Hollywood over the last forty years, and it would help get one of his co-stars, Elizabeth Peña, a major job in a major Hollywood film the following year, as the live-in maid at Richard Dreyfuss and Bette Midler’s house in Paul Mazursky’s Down and Out in Beverly Hills, which would give her a steady career until her passing in 2014. And Icasho himself would have a successful directing career both on movie screens and on television, working on such projects as Miami Vice, Crime Story, The Equalizer, Criminal Minds, and Queen of the South, until his passing this past May.

I’m going to briefly mention a Canadian drama called The Dog Who Stopped the War that Miramax released on three screens in their home town of Buffalo on October 25th, 1985.

A children’s film about two groups of children in a small town in Quebec during their winter break who get involved in an ever-escalating snowball fight. It would be the highest grossing local film in Canada in 1984, and would become the first in a series of 25 family films under a Tales For All banner made by a company called Party Productions, which will be releasing their newest film in the series later this year. The film may have huge in Canada, but in Buffalo in the late fall, the film would only gross $15k in its first, and only, week in theatres. The film would eventually develop a cult following thanks to repeated cable screenings during the holidays every year.

We’ll also give a brief mention to an Australian action movie called Cool Change, directed by George Miller. No, not the George Miller who created the Mad Max series, but the other Australian director named George Miller, who had to start going by George T. Miller to differentiate himself from the other George Miller, even though this George Miller was directing before the other George Miller, and even had a bigger local and global hit in 1982 with The Man From Snowy River than the other George Miller had with Mad Max II, aka The Road Warrior. It would also be the second movie released by Miramax in a year starring a young Australian ingenue named Deborra-Lee Furness, who was also featured in Crossover Dreams. Today, most people know her as Mrs. Hugh Jackman.

The internet and several book sources say the movie opened in America on March 14th, 1986, but damn if I can find any playdate anywhere in the country, period. Not even in the Weinsteins’ home territory of Buffalo. A critic from the Sydney Morning Herald would call the film, which opened in Australia four weeks after it allegedly opened in America, a spectacularly simplistic propaganda piece for the cattle farmers of the Victorian high plains,” and in its home country, it would barely gross 2% of its $3.5m budget.

And sticking with brief mentions of Australian movies Miramax allegedly released in American in the spring of 1986, we move over to one of three movies directed by Brian Trenchard-Smith that would be released during that year. In Australia, it was titled Frog Dreaming, but for America, the title was changed to The Quest. The film stars Henry Thomas from E.T. as an American boy who has moved to Australia to be with his guardian after his parents die, who finds himself caught up in the magic of a local Aboriginal myth that might be more real than anyone realizes.

And like Cool Change, I cannot find any American playdates for the film anywhere near its alleged May 1st, 1986 release date. I even contacted Mr. Trenchard-Smith asking him if he remembers anything about the American release of his film, knowing full well it’s 37 years later, but while being very polite in his response, he was unable to help.

Finally, we get back to the movies we actually can talk about with some certainty. I know our next movie was actually released in American theatres, because I saw it in America at a cinema.

Twist and Shout tells the story of two best friends, Bjørn and Erik, growing up in suburbs of Copenhagen, Denmark in 1963. The music of The Beatles, who are just exploding in Europe, help provide a welcome respite from the harsh realities of their lives.

Directed by Billie August, Twist and Shout would become the first of several August films to be released by Miramax over the next decade, including his follow-up, which would end up become Miramax’s first Oscar-winning release, but we’ll be talking about that movie on our next episode.

August was often seen as a spiritual successor to Ingmar Bergman within Scandinavian cinema, so much so that Bergman would handpick August to direct a semi-autobiographical screenplay of his, The Best Intentions, in the early 1990s, when it became clear to Bergman that he would not be able to make it himself. Bergman’s only stipulation was that August would need to cast one of his actresses from Fanny and Alexander, Pernilla Wallgren, as his stand-in character’s mother. August and Wallgren had never met until they started filming. By the end of shooting, Pernilla Wallgren would be Pernilla August, but that’s another story for another time.

In a rare twist, Twist and Shout would open in Los Angeles before New York City, at the Cineplex Beverly Center August 22nd, 1986, more than two years after it opened across Denmark. Loaded with accolades including a Best Picture Award from the European Film Festival and positive reviews from the likes of Gene Siskel and Michael Wilmington, the movie would gross, according to Variety, a “crisp” $14k in its first three days. In its second weekend, the Beverly Center would add a second screen for the film, and the gross would increase to $17k. And by week four, one of those prints at the Beverly Center would move to the Laemmle Monica 4, so those on the West Side who didn’t want to go east of the 405 could watch it. But the combined $13k gross would not be as good as the previous week’s $14k from the two screens at the Beverly Center.

It wouldn’t be until Twist and Shout’s sixth week of release they would finally add a screen in New York City, the 68th Street Playhouse, where it would gross $25k in its first weekend there. But after nine weeks, never playing in more than five theatres in any given weekend, Twist and Shout was down and out, with only $204k in ticket sales. But it was good enough for Miramax to acquire August’s next movie, and actually get it into American theatres within a year of its release in Denmark and Sweden. Join us next episode for that story.

Earlier, I teased about why Miramax took more than a year off from releasing movies in 1984 and 1985. And we’ve reached that point in the timeline to tell that story.

After writing and producing The Burning in 1981, Bob and Harvey had decided what they really wanted to do was direct. But it would take years for them to come up with an idea and flesh that story out to a full length screenplay. They’d return to their roots as rock show promoters, borrowing heavily from one of Harvey’s first forays into that field, when he and a partner, Corky Burger, purchased an aging movie theatre in Buffalo in 1974 and turned it into a rock and roll hall for a few years, until they gutted and demolished the theatre, so they could sell the land, with Harvey’s half of the proceeds becoming much of the seed money to start Miramax up.

After graduating high school, three best friends from New York get the opportunity of a lifetime when they inherit an old run down hotel upstate, with dreams of turning it into a rock and roll hotel. But when they get to the hotel, they realize the place is going to need a lot more work than they initially realized, and they realize they are not going to get any help from any of the locals, who don’t want them or their silly rock and roll hotel in their quaint and quiet town.

With a budget of only $5m, and a story that would need to be filmed entirely on location, the cast would not include very many well known actors.

For the lead role of Danny, the young man who inherits the hotel, they would cast Daniel Jordano, whose previous acting work had been nameless characters in movies like Death Wish 3 and Streetwalkin’. This would be his first leading role.

Danny’s two best friends, Silk and Spikes, would be played by Leon W. Grant and Matthew Penn, respectively. Like Jordano, both Grant and Penn had also worked in small supporting roles, although Grant would actually play characters with actual names like Boo Boo and Chollie. Penn, the son of Bonnie and Clyde director Arthur Penn, would ironically have his first acting role in a 1983 musical called Rock and Roll Hotel, about a young trio of musicians who enter a Battle of the Bands at an old hotel called The Rock and Roll Hotel. This would also be their first leading roles.

Today, there are two reasons to watch Playing For Keeps.

One of them is to see just how truly awful Bob and Harvey Weinstein were as directors. 80% of the movie is master shots without any kind of coverage, 15% is wannabe MTV music video if those videos were directed by space aliens handed video cameras and not told what to do with them, and 5% Jordano mimicking Kevin Bacon in Footloose but with the heaviest New Yawk accent this side of Bensonhurst.

The other reason is to watch a young actress in her first major screen role, who is still mesmerizing and hypnotic despite the crapfest she is surrounded by. Nineteen year old Marisa Tomei wouldn’t become a star because of this movie, but it was clear very early on she was going to become one, someday.

Mostly shot in and around the grounds of the Bethany Colony Resort in Bethany PA, the film would spend six weeks in production during June and July of 1984, and they would spend more than a year and a half putting the film together. As music men, they knew a movie about a rock and roll hotel for younger people who need to have a lot of hip, cool, teen-friendly music on the soundtrack. So, naturally, the Weinsteins would recruit such hip, cool, teen-friendly musicians like Pete Townshend of The Who, Phil Collins, Peter Frampton, Sister Sledge, already defunct Duran Duran side project Arcadia, and Hinton Battle, who had originated the role of The Scarecrow in the Broadway production of The Wiz. They would spend nearly $500k to acquire B-sides and tossed away songs that weren’t good enough to appear on the artists’ regular albums.

Once again light on money, Miramax would sent the completed film out to the major studios to see if they’d be willing to release the movie. A sale would bring some much needed capital back into the company immediately, and creating a working relationship with a major studio could be advantageous in the long run. Universal Pictures would buy the movie from Miramax for an undisclosed sum, and set an October 3rd release.

Playing For Keeps would open on 1148 screens that day, including 56 screens in the greater Los Angeles region and 80 in the New York City metropolitan area. But it wasn’t the best week to open this film. Crocodile Dundee had opened the week before and was a surprise hit, spending a second week firmly atop the box office charts with $8.2m in ticket sales. Its nearest competitor, the Burt Lancaster/Kirk Douglas comedy Tough Guys, would be the week’s highest grossing new film, with $4.6m. Number three was Top Gun, earning $2.405m in its 21st week in theatres, and Stand By Me was in fourth in its ninth week with $2.396m. In fifth place, playing in only 215 theatres, would be another new opener, Children of a Lesser God, with $1.9m. And all the way down in sixth place, with only $1.4m in ticket sales, was Playing for Keeps.

The reviews were fairly brutal, and by that, I mean they were fair in their brutality, although you’ll have to do some work to find those reviews. No one has ever bothered to link their reviews for Playing For Keeps at Rotten Tomatoes or Metacritic.

After a second weekend, where the film would lose a quarter of its screens and 61% of its opening weekend business, Universal would cut its losses and dump the film into dollar houses. The final reported box office gross on the film would be $2.67m.

Bob Weinstein would never write or direct another film, and Harvey Weinstein would only have one other directing credit to his name, an animated movie called The Gnomes’ Great Adventure, which wasn’t really a directing effort so much as buying the American rights to a 1985 Spanish animated series called The World of David the Gnome, creating new English language dubs with actors like Tom Bosley, Frank Gorshin, Christopher Plummer, and Tony Randall, and selling the new versions to Nickelodeon.

Sadly, we would learn in October 2017 that one of the earliest known episodes of sexual harassment by Harvey Weinstein happened during the pre-production of Playing for Keeps.

In 1984, a twenty year old college junior Tomi-Ann Roberts was waiting tables in New York City, hoping to start an acting career. Weinstein, who one of her customers at this restaurant, urged Ms. Roberts to audition for a movie that he and his brother were planning to direct. He sent her the script and asked her to meet him where he was staying so they could discuss the film. When she arrived at his hotel room, the door was left slightly ajar, and he called on her to come in and close the door behind her. She would find Weinstein nude in the bathtub, where he told her she would give a much better audition if she were comfortable getting naked in front of him too, because the character she might play would have a topless scene. If she could not bare her breasts in private, she would not be able to do it on film. She was horrified and rushed out of the room, after telling Weinstein that she was too prudish to go along. She felt he had manipulated her by feigning professional interest in her, and doubted she had ever been under serious consideration. That incident would send her life in a different direction. In 2017, Roberts was a psychology professor at Colorado College, researching sexual objectification, an interest she traces back in part to that long-ago encounter.

And on that sad note, we’re going to take our leave.

Thank you for joining us. We’ll talk again next week, when we continue with story of Miramax Films, from 1987.

Remember to visit this episode’s page on our website, The80sMoviePodcast.com, for extra materials about the movies we covered this episode.

The 80s Movies Podcast has been researched, written, narrated and edited by Edward Havens for Idiosyncratic Entertainment.

Thank you again.

Good night.

Miramax Films - Part One

22 juni 2023 | 22 min

On this episode, we’re going to start a miniseries that I’ve been dreading doing, not because of the films this company produced and/or released during the 1980s, but because it means shining any kind of light on a serial sexual assaulter and his enabling brother. But one cannot do a show like this, talking about the movies of the 1980s, and completely ignore Miramax Films.

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TRANSCRIPT

From Los Angeles, California. The Entertainment Capital of the World. It’s the 80s Movie Podcast. I am your host, Edward Havens/ Thank you for listening today.

On this episode, we’re going to start a miniseries that I’ve been dreading doing, not because of the films this company produced and/or released during the 1980s, but because it means shining any kind of light on a serial sexual assaulter and his enabling brother. But one cannot do a show like this, talking about the movies of the 1980s, and completely ignore Miramax Films.

But I am not here to defend Harvey Weinstein. I am not here to make him look good. My focus for this series, however many they end up being, will focus on the films and the filmmakers. Because it’s important to note that the Weinsteins did not have a hand in the production of any of the movies Miramax released in the 1980s, and the two that they did have a hand in making, one a horror film, the other a comedy that would be the only film the Weinsteins would ever direct themselves, were distributed by companies other than Miramax.

But before I do begin, I want to disclose my own personal history with the Weinsteins. As you may know, I was a movie theatre manager for Landmark Theatres in the mid 1990s, running their NuWilshire Theatre in Santa Monica. The theatre was acquired by Landmark from Mann Theatres in 1992, and quickly became a hot destination for arthouse films for those who didn’t want to deal with the hassle of trying to get to the Laemmle Monica 4 about a mile away, situated in a very busy area right off the beach, full of tourists who don’t know how to park properly and making a general nuisance of themselves to the locals. One of the first movies to play at the NuWilshire after Landmark acquired it was Quentin Tarantino’s debut film, Reservoir Dogs, which was released by Miramax in the fall of 1992. The NuWilshire quickly became a sort of lucky charm to Harvey Weinstein, which I would learn when I left the Cineplex Beverly Center in June 1993 to take over the NuWilshire from my friend Will, the great-grandson of William Fox, the founder of Fox Films, who was being promoted to district manager and personally recommended me to replace him.

During my two plus years at the NuWilshire, I fielded a number of calls from Harvey Weinstein. Not his secretary. Not his marketing people.

Harvey himself.

Harvey took a great interest in the theatre, and regularly wanted feedback about how his films were performing at my theatre. I don’t know if he had heard the stories about Stanley Kubrick doing the same thing years before, but I probably spoke to him at least once a month. I never met the man, and I didn’t really enjoy speaking with him, because a phone call from him meant I wasn’t doing the work I actually needed to do, but keeping Harvey would mean keeping to get his best films for my theatre, so I indulged him a bit more than I probably should have.

And that indulgence did occasionally have its perks. Although I was not the manager of the NuWilshire when Reservoir Dogs played there, Quentin Tarantino personally hand-delivered one of the first teaser posters for his second movie, Pulp Fiction, to me, asking me if I would put it up in our poster frame, even though we both knew we were never going to play the film with the cast he assembled and the reviews coming out of Cannes. He, like Harvey Weinstein, considered the theatre his lucky charm. I put the poster up, even though we never did play the film, and you probably know how well the film did. Maybe we were his lucky charm.

I also got to meet Kevin Smith and Scott Mosier weeks before their first film, Clerks, opened. We hosted a special screening sponsored by the Independent Feature Project, now known as Film Independent, whose work to help promote independent film goes far deeper than just handing out the Spirit Awards each year. Smith and Mosier were cool cats, and I was able to gift Smith something the following year when he screened Mallrats a few weeks before it opened.

And, thanks to Miramax, I was gifted something that ended up being one of the best nights of my life. An invitation to the Spirit Awards and after-party in 1995, the year Quentin Tarantino and Lawrence Bender won a number of awards for Pulp Fiction. At the after-party, my then-girlfriend and I ended up drinking tequila with Toni Collette, who was just making her mark on American movie screens that very weekend, thanks to Miramax’s release of Muriel’s Wedding, and then playing pool against Collette and Tarantino, while his Spirit Awards sat on a nearby table.

Twenty feet from stardom, indeed.

I left that job at the end of the summer in 1995, and I would not be involved with the Weinstein Brothers for a number of years, until after I had moved to New York City, started FilmJerk, and had become an established film critic. As a critic, I had been invited to an advance screening of Bad Santa at the AMC Empire 25, and on the way out, Bob Weinstein randomly stopped me in the lobby to ask me a few questions about my reaction to the film. Which was the one and only time I ever interacted with either brother face to face, and would be the last time I ever interacted with either of them in any capacity.

As a journalist, I felt it was necessary to disclose these things, although I don’t believe these things have clouded my judgment about them. They were smart enough to acquire some good films early in their careers, built a successful distribution company with some very smart people who most likely knew about their boss’s disgusting proclivities and neither said nor did anything about it, and would eventually succumb to the reckoning that was always going to come to them, one way or another. I’m saddened that so many women were hurt by these men, physically and emotionally, and I will not be satisfied that they got what was coming to them until they’ve answered for everything they did.

Okay, enough with the proselytizing.

I will only briefly go into the history of the Weinstein Brothers, and how they came to found Miramax, and I’m going to get that out of the way right now.

Harvey Weinstein and his younger brother Bob, were born in Queens, New York, and after Harvey went to college in Buffalo, the brothers would start up a rock concert promotion company in the area. After several successful years in the concert business, they would take their profits and start up an independent film distribution company which they named Miramax, after their parents, Miriam and Max. They would symbolically start the company up on December 31st, 1979.

Like the old joke goes, they may have been concert promoters, but they really wanted to be filmmakers. But they would need to build up the company first, and they would use their connections in the music industry to pick up the American distribution rights to Rockshow, the first concert movie featuring Paul McCartney and his post-Beatles band Wings, which had been filmed during their 1976 Wings Over the World tour. And even from the start, Harvey Weinstein would earn the derisive nickname many people would give him over the years, Harvey Scissorhands, as he would cut down what was originally a 125min movie down to 102mins.

Miramax would open Rockshow on nine screens in the New York City area on Wednesday, November 26th, 1980, including the prestigious Ziegfeld Theatre, for what was billed as a one-week only run. But the film would end up exceeding their wildest expectations, grossing $113k from those nine screens, including nearly $46k just from the Ziegfeld. The film would get its run extended a second week, the absolute final week, threatened the ads, but the film would continue to play, at least at the Ziegfeld, until Saturday December 13th, when the theatre was closed for five days to prepare for what the theatre expected to be their big hit of the Christmas season, Neil Diamond’s first movie, The Jazz Singer. It would be a sad coincidence that Rockstar’s run at the Ziegfeld had been extended, and was still playing the night McCartney's friend and former bandmate John Lennon was assassinated barely a mile away from the theatre.

But, strangely, instead of exploiting the death of Lennon and capitalize on the sudden, unexpected, tragic reemergence of Beatlemania, Miramax seems to have let the picture go. I cannot find any playdates for the film in any other city outside of The Big Apple after December 1980, and the film would be unseen in any form outside a brief home video release in 1982 until June 2013, when the restored 125min cut was released on DVD and Blu-Ray, after a one-night theatrical showing in cinemas worldwide.

As the Brothers Weinstein were in the process of gearing up Miramax, they would try their hand at writing and producing a movie themselves. Seeing that movies like Halloween and Friday the 13th were becoming hits, Harvey would write up a five-page treatment for a horror movie, based on an upstate New York boogeyman called Cropsey, which Harvey had first heard about during his school days at camp. Bob Weinstein would write the script for The Burning with steampunk author Peter Lawrence in six weeks, hire a British music documentary filmmaker, Tony Maylam, the brothers knew through their concert promoting days, and they would have the film in production in Buffalo, New York, in the summer of 1980, with makeup effects by Tom Savini.

Once the film was complete, they accepted a purchase deal from Filmways Pictures, covering most of the cost of the $1.5m production, which they would funnel right back into their fledgling distribution company. But when The Burning opened in and around the Florida area on May 15th, 1981, the market was already overloaded with horror films, from Oliver Stone’s The Hand and Edward Bianchi’s The Fan, to Lewis Teague’s Alligator and J. Lee Thompson’s Happy Birthday to Me, to Joe Dante’s The Howling and the second installment of the Friday the 13th series. Outside of Buffalo, where the movie was shot, the film did not perform well, no matter how many times Filmways tried to sell it. After several months, The Burning would only gross about $300k, which would help drive Filmways into bankruptcy. As we talked about a couple years ago on our series about Orion Pictures, Orion would buy all the assets from Filmways, including The Burning, which they would re-release into theatres with new artwork, into the New York City metropolitan region on November 5th, 1982, to help promote the upcoming home video release of the film. In just seven days in 78 theatres, the film would gross $401k, more than it had earned over its entire run during the previous year. But the film would be gone from theatres the following week, as many exhibitors do not like playing movies that were also playing on cable and/or available on videotape. It is estimated the film’s final gross was about $750k in the US, but the film would become a minor success on home video and repeated cable screenings.

Now, some sources on the inter webs will tell you the first movie Miramax released was Goodbye, Emmanuelle, based in part on a profile of the brothers and their company in a March 2000 issue of Fortune Magazine, in which writer Tim Carvell makes this claim. Whether this info nugget came from bad research, or a bad memory on the part of one or both of the brothers, it simply is not true. Goodbye, Emmanuelle, as released by Miramax in an edited and dubbed version, would be released more than a year after Rockshow, on December 5th, 1981. It would gross a cool $241k in 50 theatres in New York City, but lose 80% of its screens in its second week, mostly for Miramax’s next film, a low budget, British-made sci-fi sex comedy called Spaced Out.

Or, at least, that’s what the brothers thought would be a better title for a movie called Outer Touch in the UK.

Which I can’t necessarily argue. Outer Touch is a pretty dumb title for a movie. Even the film’s director, Normal Warren, agreed. But that’s all he would agree with the brothers on. He hated everything else they did to his film to prepare it for American release. Harvey would edit the film down to just 77mins in length, had a new dub created to de-emphasize the British accents of the original actors, and changed the music score and the ending. And for his efforts, Weinstein would see some success when the film was released into 41 theatres in New York on December 11th, 1981. But whether or not it was because of the film itself, which was very poorly reviewed, or because it was paired with the first re-issue of The Groove Tube since Chevy Chase, one of the actors in that film, became a star, remains to be seen.

Miramax would only release one movie for all of 1982, but it would end up being their first relative hit film.

Between 1976 and 1981, there were four live shows of music and comedy in the United Kingdom for the benefit of Amnesty International. Inspired by former Monty Python star John Cleese, these shows would raise millions for the international non-governmental organization focused on human rights issues around the world. The third show, in 1979, was called The Secret Policeman’s Ball, and would not only feature Cleese, who also directed the live show, performing with his fellow Pythons Terry Jones and Michael Palin, but would also be a major launching pad for two of the most iconic comedians of the 1980s, English comedian Rowan Atkinson and Scottish comedian Billy Connelly. But unlike the first two Amnesty benefit shows, Cleese decided to add some musical acts to the bill, including Pete Townshend of The Who.

The shows would be a big success in the United Kingdom, and the Weinsteins, once again using their connections in the music scene, would buy the American film rights to the show before they actually incorporated Miramax Films. That purchase would be the impetus for creating the company.

One slight problem, though.

The show was, naturally, very British. One bit from the show, featuring the legendary British comedian and actor Peter Cook, was a nine-minute bit summing up a recent bit of British history, the leader of the British Labour Party being tried on charges of conspiracy and incitement to murder his ex-boyfriend, would not make any sense to anyone who wasn’t following the trial. All in all, even with the musical segments featuring Townshend, the Weinsteins felt there was only about forty minutes worth of material that could be used for a movie.

It also didn’t help that the show was shot with 16mm film, which would be extremely grainy when blown up to 35mm.

But while they hemmed and hawed through trying to shape the film. Cleese and his show partners at Amnesty decided to do another set of benefit shows in 1981, this time called The Secret Policeman’s Other Ball. Knowing that there might be interest in a film version of this show, the team would decide to shoot this show in 35mm. Cleese would co-direct the live show, while music video director Julien Temple would be in charge of filming. And judging from the success of an EP released in 1980 featuring Townshend’s performance at the previous show, Cleese would arrange for more musical artists to perform, including Jeff Beck, Eric Clapton, Phil Collins, Donovan, Bob Geldof, Sting, and Midge Ure of Ultraviolet. In fact, it would be because of their participation in these shows that would lead Geldof and Ure to form Band Aid in 1984, which would raise $24m for famine relief in Ethiopia in just three months, and the subsequent Live Aid shows in July 1985 would raise another $126m worldwide.

The 1981 Amnesty benefit shows were a success, especially the one-time-only performance of a supergroup called The Secret Police, comprising of Beck, Clapton, Geldof and Sting performing Bob Dylan’s I Shall Be Released at the show’s closing, and the Weinsteins would make another deal to buy the American movie rights to these shows.

While Temple’s version of the 1981 shows would show as intended for UK audiences in 1982, the co-creator of the series, British producer Martin Lewis, would spend three months in New York City with Harvey Weinstein at the end of 1981 and start of 1982, working to turn the 1979 and 1981 shows into one cohesive movie geared towards American audiences. After premiering at the Los Angeles International Film Exposition in March 1982, The Secret Policeman’s Other Ball would open on nine screens in the greater New York City metropolitan area on May 21st, but only on one screen in all of Manhattan. And in its first three days, the movie would gross an amazing $116k, including $36,750 at the Sutton theatre in the Midtown East part of New York City. Even more astounding is that, in its second weekend at the same nine theaters, the film would actually increase its gross to $121k, when most movies in their second week were seeing their grosses drop 30-50% because of the opening of Rocky III. And after just four weeks in just New York City, on just nine or ten screens each week, The Secret Policeman’s Other Ball would gross more than $400k. The film would already be profitable for Miramax.

But the Weinsteins were still cautious. It wouldn’t be until July 16th when they’d start to send the film out to other markets like Los Angeles, where they could only get five theatres to show the film, including the brand new Cineplex Beverly Center, itself opening the same day, which, as the first Cineplex in America, was as desperate to show any movie it could as Miramax was to show the movie at any theatre it could.

When all was said and done, The Secret Policeman’s Other Ball would gross nearly $4m in American theatres.

So, you’d think now they had a hit film under their belts, Miramax would gear up and start acquiring more films and establishing themselves as a true up and coming independent distributor.

Right?

You’d think.

Now, I already said The Secret Policeman’s Other Ball was their only release in 1982.

So, naturally, you’d think their first of like ten or twelve releases for 1983 would come in January.

Right?

You’d think.

In fact, Miramax’s next theatrical release, the first theatrical release of D.A. Pennebaker’s Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars concert film from the legendary final Ziggy show at the Hammersmith Odeon in London on July 3, 1973, would not come until December 23rd, 1983. And, for the third time in three years, it would be their music connections that would help the Weinsteins acquire a film.

Although the Ziggy Stardust movie had been kicking around for years, mostly one-night-only 16mm screenings on college campuses and a heavily edited 44min version that aired once on American television network ABC in October 1974, this would be the first time a full-length 90min version of the movie would be seen. And the timing for it couldn’t have come at a better time. 1983 had been a banner year for the musician and occasional actor. His album Let’s Dance had sold more than five million copies worldwide and spawned three hit singles. His Serious Moonlight tour, his first concert tour in five years, was the biggest tour of the year. And he won critical praise for his role as a British prisoner of war in Nagisa Ōshima’s powerful Japanese World War II film Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence.

The Weinsteins would enlist the help of 20th Century Fox to get the film into theatres during a very competitive Christmas moviegoing season. But despite their best efforts, Fox and Miramax could only nab one theatre in all of New York City, the 8th Street Playhouse in lower Manhattan, and five in Los Angeles, including two screens at the Cineplex Beverly Center. And for the weekend, its $58,500 gross would be quite decent, with a per screen average above such films as Scarface, Sudden Impact and Yentl. But in its second weekend, the all-important Christmas week, the gross would fall nearly 50% when the vast majority of movies improve their grosses with kids out of school and wage earners getting time off for the holidays. Fox and Miramax would stay committed to the film through the early part of 1984, but they’d keep costs down by rotating the six prints made for New York and Los Angeles to other cities as those playdates wound down, and only buying eighth-page display ads in local newspapers’ entertainment section when it arrived in a new city. The final gross would fall short of half a million dollars, but the film would find its audience on home video later in the year. And while the Weinsteins are no longer involved with the handling of the film, Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars will be getting a theatrical release across the planet the first week of July 2023, to coincide with the 50th anniversary of the concert.

So, here were are, four years into the formation of Miramax Films, and they only released five films into theatres, plus wrote and produced another released by Filmways. One minor hit, four disappointments, and we’re still four years away from them becoming the distributor they’d become. But we’re going to stop here today because I like to keep these episodes short.

Thank you for joining us. We’ll talk again next week, when we continue with story of Miramax Films, from 1984 to 1987.

Remember to visit this episode’s page on our website, The80sMoviePodcast.com, for extra materials about the movies we covered this episode.

The 80s Movies Podcast has been researched, written, narrated and edited by Edward Havens for Idiosyncratic Entertainment.

Thank you again.

Good night.

Plain Clothes

8 juni 2023 | 9 min

Our miniseries on the 1980s movies of director Martha Coolidge ends with a look back at her 1988 film Plain Clothes.

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TRANSCRIPT

From Los Angeles, California, the Entertainment Capital of the World, it’s The 80s Movies Podcast. I am your host, Edward Havens. Thank you for listening today.

On this episode, we’re going to complete our miniseries on the 1980s films of director Martha Coolidge with her little seen 1988 movie Plain Clothes.

When we last left Ms. Coolidge, she had just seen her 1985 film Real Genius get lost in the mix between a number of similarly themed movies, although it would eventually find its audience through home video and repeated cable airings throughout the rest of the decade.

Shortly after the release of Real Genius, she would pick out her next project, a comedy mystery called Glory Days. Written by Dan Vining, Glory Days was one of a number of television and movie scripts floating around Hollywood that featured a supposedly young looking cop who goes undercover as a student at a high school. Whatever Coolidge saw in it, she would quickly get to work making it her own, hiring a young writer working at Paramount Studios named A. Scott Frank to help her rewrite the script. Coolidge had been impressed by one of his screenplays, a Neo-noir romantic mystery thriller called Dead Again, and felt Frank was the right person to help her add some extra mystery to the Glory Days screenplay.

While Frank and Coolidge would keep some elements of the original Glory Days script, including having the undercover cop’s high school identity, Nick Springsteen, be a distant relative of the famous rock star from whose song the script had taken its title. But Coolidge would have Frank add a younger brother for the cop, and add a murdered teacher, who the younger brother is accused of killing, to give the film something extra to work towards.

For the cast, Coolidge would go with a mix of newcomers in the main roles, with some industry veterans to fill out the supporting cast.

When casting began in early 1987, Coolidge looked at dozens of actors for the lead role of Nick Dunbar, but she was particularly struck by thirty-two year old Arliss Howard, whose film work had been limited to supporting roles in two movies, but was expected to become a star once his role in Stanley Kubrick’s next project, Full Metal Jacket, opened later in the summer.

Twenty-five year old Suzy Amis, a former model who, like Arlisss, had limited film work in supporting roles, would be cast as Robin, a teacher at the school who Nick develops a crush on while undercover.

The supporting cast would include George Wendt from Cheers, Laura Dern’s mother Diane Ladd, an Oscar nominee for her role as Flo in Martin Scorsese’s Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore, veteran character actor Seymour Cassel, an Oscar nominee himself for John Cassavetes’ Faces, Robert Stack, the original Elliot Ness who was yet another former Oscar nominee, Harry Shearer, and the great Abe Vigoda.

The $7.5m film would begin production in the Seattle metro area on May 6th, 1987 and would last for seven weeks, ending on June 30th.

Plain Clothes would open in 193 theatres on April 15th, 1988, including 59 theatres in New York City and eight in Seattle. The reviews would be vicious on the film, with many critics pointing out how ludicrous the plot was, and how distracting it was the filmmakers were trying to pass a thirty two year old actor off as a twenty four year old police officer going undercover as an eighteen year old high school student. Audiences would stay away in droves, with only about 57k people buying a ticket to see the film during the opening three days. A performance so bad, Paramount would end up pulling the film from theatres after seven days at a $289k ticket gross, replacing every screen with another high school-set movie, the similarly-titled Permanent Record, featuring Keanu Reeves, Jennifer Rubin and Kathy Baker, which would also be the final film for Martha Coolidge’s regular co-star Michelle Meyrink, who would quit acting the following year and develop an affinity in Zen Buddhism. She would eventually open her own acting studio in her hometown of Vancouver, British Columbia. Not so coincidentally, Martha Coolidge is one of advisory board members of the school.

There would be one more movie for Martha Coolidge in the 1980s, a made for television mystery called Trenchcoat in Paradise, featuring Dirk Benedict from Battlestar Galactica and The A-Team, Catherine Oxenberg from Dynasty, and Bruce Dern, but it’s not very good and not really work talking about.

As the 80s moved into the 90s, Coolidge would continue to work both in television and in motion pictures.

In 1991, she would direct her Plain Clothes co-star Diane Ladd alongside Ladd’s daughter, Laura Dern, in the Depression-era drama Rambling Rose. But despite unanimous critical consent and Oscar nominations for both Ladd and Dern, the first and only mother-daughter duo to be nominated for the same movie or in the same year, the $7.5m movie would only gross $6.3m.

1993’s Lost in Yonkers would be the 23rd film written by Neil Simon, an adaptation of his 1991 Pulitzer Prize-winning play. Actors Irene Worth and Mercedes Ruehl would reprise their Broadway roles for the film, although Richard Dreyfuss would replace Kevin Spacey in the pivotal role as the gangster uncle of two teenage boys who go to live with their aunt after their mother dies. Despite good reviews, the $15m Lost in Yonkers would only gross about $9m.

Originally written as a starring vehicle for Madonna, the 1994 romantic-comedy Angie would instead star Geena Davis as an office worker in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, who sets her neighborhood upside-down when she decides to become a single mother. Coolidge’s highest budgeted film at $26m, Angie would gross just $9.4m, but would in the years to come become famous for being the first film of James Gandolfini, Michael Rispoli and Aida Turturro, who would all go on to star in five years later.

1995’s Three Wishes is a bizarre fantasy drama with Patrick Swayze and Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio, about two young boys whose mother starts to fall for a mysterious stranger after their father is reported missing during the Korean War. The $10m film would be the worst reviewed movie of Coolidge’s career, and would barely gross $7m when it was released.

Things would turn around for Coolidge on her next film, Out to Sea. The penultimate film for both Jack Lemmon and Walter Matthau, this weak but genial romp, according to Janet Maslin of the New York Times, finds the regular co-stars on a Mexico-bound cruise ship, where they must work as dance hosts in order to pay for their trip. Also featuring Golden Girls co-stars Estelle Harris and Rue McClanahan alongside Dyan Cannon and Donald O’Connor, Out to Sea would become her highest grossing film to date, bringing in $29m worth of ticket sales.

While she would make a couple more movies, 2004’s The Prince and Me and 2006’s Material Girls, Coolidge would spend 1999 and the 2000s making her mark on television, directing episodes of CSI, Madame Secretary, Psych and Weeds, amongst dozens of shows, as well as the 1999 HBO film Introducing Dorothy Dandridge, which would not only win its lead star Halle Berry a number of awards including the Emmy, the Golden Globe and the Screen Actors Guild Award, it would be the first screenplay to be produced by a young writer named Shonda Rhimes. Coolidge herself would be nominated for an Emmy and a Golden Globe for Outstanding Directing of a Movie Made for Television.

But her biggest achievement in Hollywood would come in 2002, when Coolidge would become the first female President of the Directors Guild of America. And in addition to being an advisor to Michelle Meyrink’s acting school, she is also a professor of film studies at Chapman University in Southern California.

Thank you for joining us. We’ll talk again soon.

Remember to visit this episode’s page on our website, The80sMoviePodcast.com, for extra materials about the movies we covered this episode.

The 80s Movies Podcast has been researched, written, narrated and edited by Edward Havens for Idiosyncratic Entertainment.

Thank you again.

Good night.

Real Genius

18 maj 2023 | 12 min

On this episode, we continue our informal miniseries on the 1980s movies of director Martha Coolidge with a look back at her 1985 under appreciated classic, Real Genius.

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TRANSCRIPT

From Los Angeles, California, the Entertainment Capital of the World, it’s The 80s Movies Podcast. I am your host, Edward Havens. Thank you for listening today.

Before we hop in to today’s episode, I want to thank every person listening, from whatever part of the planet you’re at. Over the nearly four years I’ve been doing this podcast, we’ve had listeners from 171 of the 197 countries, and occasionally it’s very surreal for this California kid who didn’t amount to much of anything growing to think there are people in Myanmar and the Ukraine and other countries dealing with war within their borders who still find time to listen to new episodes of a podcast about 33 plus year old mostly American movies when they’re released. I don’t take your listenership lightly, and I just want you to know that I truly appreciate it. Thank you.

Okay, with that, I would like to welcome you all to Part Three of our informal miniseries on the 1980s movies of director Martha Coolidge.

When we left Ms. Coolidge on our previous episode, her movie Joy of Sex had bombed, miserably. But, lucky for her, she had already been hired to work on Real Genius before Joy of Sex had been released.

The script for Real Genius, co-written by Neal Israel and Pat Proft, the writers of Bachelor Party, had been floating around Hollywood for a few years. It would tell the story of a highly intelligent high school kid named Mitch who would be recruited to attend a prestigious CalTech-like college called Pacific Tech, where he would be teamed with another genius, Chris, to build a special laser with their professor, not knowing the laser is to be used as a weapon to take out enemy combatants from a drone-like plane 30,000 feet above the Earth.

ABC Motion Pictures, a theatrical subsidy of the American television network geared towards creating movies that could be successful in theatres before playing on television, would acquire the screenplay in the early 1980s, but after the relative failure of a number of their initial projects, including National Lampoon’s Class Reunion and Young Doctors in Love, would sell the project off to Columbia Pictures, who would make the film one of the first slate of films to be produced by their sister company Tri-Star Pictures, a joint venture between Columbia, the cable network Home Box Office, and, ironically, the CBS television network, which was also created towards creating movies that could be successful in theatres before playing on television. Tri-Star would assign Brian Grazer, a television producer at Paramount who had segued to movies after meeting with Ron Howard during the actor’s last years on Happy Days, producing Howard’s 1982 film Night Shift and 1984 film Splash, to develop the film.

One of Grazer’s first moves would be to hire Lowell Ganz and Babaloo Mandel, writers on Happy Days who helped to create Laverne and Shirley and Joanie Loves Chachi, to rewrite the script to attract a director. Ganz and Mandel had also written Night Shift and rewrote the script for Splash, and Grazer considered them his lucky charm. After trying to convince Ron Howard to board the project instead of Cocoon, Grazer would create a list of up and coming filmmakers he would want to work with. And toward the top of that list was Martha Coolidge.

Coolidge would naturally gravitate towards Real Genius, and she would have an advantage that no other filmmaker on Grazer’s list would have: her fiancee, Michael Backes, was himself an egghead, a genius in physics and biochemistry who in the years to come would become good friends with the writer and filmmaker Michael Crichton, working as a graphics supervisor on the movie version of Chricton’s book Jurassic Park, a co-writer of the screenplay based on Chricton’s book Rising Sun, and an associate producer on the movie version of Chricton’s book Congo.

Once Coolidge was signed on to direct Real Genius in the spring of 1984, she and Backes would work with former SCTV writer and performer PJ Torokvei as they would spend time talking to dozens of science students at CalTech and USC, researching laser technology, and the policies of the CIA. They would shape the project to something closer to what Grazer said he loved most about its possibility, the possibility of genius. "To me,” Grazer would tell an interviewer around the time of the film’s release, “a genius is someone who can do something magical, like solve a complex problem in his head while I'm still trying to figure out the question. I don't pretend to understand it, but the results are everywhere around us. We work, travel, amuse ourselves and enhance the quality of life through technology, all of which traces back to what was once an abstract idea in the mind of some genius.”

When their revised screenplay got the green light from the studio with an $8m budget, Grazer and Coolidge got to the task of casting the film. While the young genius Mitch was ostensibly the lead character in the film, his roommate Chris would need a star to balance out the relative obscurity of his co-star. A number of young actors in Hollywood would be seen, but their choice would be 25 year old Val Kilmer, whose first movie, Top Secret!, had not yet opened in theatres but had hot buzz going for it as the followup film for the Airplane! writing/directing team of Zucker, Abrahams and Zucker.

Fourteen year old Gabe Jarret, whose only previous film work had been in a minor role in the 1981 Tony Danza/Danny DeVito comedy Going Ape!, would land the coveted role of Mitch, while supporting roles would go to Coolidge’s former costars Michelle Meyrink, Deborah Foreman and Robert Prescott, as well as William Atherton, who at the time was on movie screens as Walter Peck, the main human antagonist to the Ghostbusters, as Chris and Mitch’s duplicitous professor, Jerry Hathaway, and Patti D’Arbanville, who had made a splash on screens in 1981 as Chevy Chase’s long-suffering girlfriend in Modern Problems.

Shooting would begin on Real Genius in Southern California on November 12th, 1984. Most of the film would be shot on sets built at the Hollywood Center Studios, just a few blocks west of the Paramount Studios lot, while several major set pieces, including the memorable finale involving Professor Hathaway’s house, a space laser and 190,000 pounds of popcorn, were shot in the then quiet suburban area of Sand Canyon, a few miles east of Magic Mountain, a popular theme park and filming area about 45mins north of Hollywood Center Studios. Outdoor scenes standing in for the Pacific Tech campus would be filmed at Occidental College in Eagle Rock and Pomona College in Claremont, while some scenes would be filmed at General Atomics outside San Diego, standing in for an Air Force base in the film’s climax. Shooting on the film would finish after the first of the year, giving Coolidge and her editor, Richard Chew, about seven months to get the film in shape for a planned August 7th, 1985, release.

Going in to the Summer 1985 movie season, Real Genius was positioned to be one of the hit films of the summer. They had a hot up and coming star in Val Kilmer, a hot director in Martha Coolidge, and a fairly solid release date in early August. But then, there ended up being an unusual glut of science fiction and sci-fi comedy movies in the marketplace at the same time. In March, Disney released the dinosaur-themed Baby: Secret of the Lost Legend, which was not a good film and bombed pretty bad. In June, there was the artificial intelligence film D.A.R.Y.L., which was not a good film and bombed pretty bad. In July, there was Back to the Future, which was a very good film and became one of the biggest successes of the year, and there was Explorers, Joe Dante’s followup to Gremlins, which featured Ethan Hawke and River Phoenix as teenage boys who build their own spacecraft to explore outer space, and although it was one of the best movies released in the summer of 1985, it too bombed pretty bad.

But then, in a seven day period in early August, we had Weird Science, which was not very good and not very successful, Real Genius, and My Science Project, another Disney movie about a glowing orb thing from outer space that causes a lot of problems for a lazy high school student looking for something to use for his science class final, which is one of the worst movies of the year, and bombed worse than any of the other movies mentioned.

Weird Science, John Hughes’ followup to his surprise hit The Breakfast Club, released only six months earlier, would open on August 1st, and come in fourth place with $4.9m from 1158 theatres. In its second weekend of release, Weird Science would lose 40% of its opening weekend audience, coming in fifth with $2.97m. But that would still be better than Real Genius, which opened on Wednesday, August 5th, which would come in sixth in its opening weekend, with $2.56m from 990 locations. My Science Project, opening on August 7th, could only manage to open in 13th place with $1.5m from 1003 theatres. That would be worse than a reissue of E.T. in its fourth weekend of release.

In its second weekend, Real Genius would only drop 14% of its opening weekend audience, coming in with $2.2m from 956 locations, but after a third weekend, losing a third of its screens and 46% of its second week audience, Real Genius would be shuttled off to the dollar houses, where it would spend another seventeen weeks before exiting theatres with only $12.95m worth of tickets sold.

However, it is my personal opinion is that the film failed to find an audience because it was perceived as being too smart for a simple audience. Real Genius celebrates intelligence. It doesn’t pander to its audience. In many ways, it belittles stupidity, especially Mitch’s moronic parents. Revenge is dished out in the most ingenious ways, especially at the end with Professor Hathaway’s house, to the point where the science behind how Chris and Mitch did what the did is still actively debated thirty-eight years later. Caltech students served as consultants on the film, and played students in the background, while Dr. Martha Gunderson, a physics professor at USC whose vast knowledge about lasers informed the writers during the development stage, played a math professor on screen. Finally, to help promote the film, Martha Coolidge and producer Brian Grazer held the first-ever online press conference through the CompuServe online service, even though there were less than 125,000 on the entire planet who had CompuServe access in August 1985.

Today, the film is rightfully regardless as a classic, but it wouldn’t make Val Kilmer a star quite yet. That, of course, would happen in 1986, when he co-starred as Tom Cruise’s frenemy in Tony Scott’s Top Gun. Gabe Jarret would eventually become Gabriel Jarret, appearing in such movies as Karate Kid 3, Apollo 13 and The American President, and he continues to work in movies and on television to this day. Sadly, the same cannot be said for Michelle Meyrink, who would quit acting three years after making Real Genius, but we’ll talk about that on our next episode. And, of course, William Atherton would cement his reputation as the chucklenut Gen Xers love to hate when he played the cocky television reporter Dick Thornburg in the first two Die Hard movies.

And with that, we come to the end of this episode. Thank you for joining us.

We’ll talk again next week, when Episode 111, on Coolidge’s 1988 comedy Plain Clothes, is released.

Remember to visit this episode’s page on our website, The80sMoviePodcast.com, for extra materials about the movies we covered this episode.

The 80s Movies Podcast has been researched, written, narrated and edited by Edward Havens for Idiosyncratic Entertainment.

Thank you again.

Good night.

Joy of Sex

5 maj 2023 | 13 min

This week, we continue with the Martha Coolidge lovefest with her one truly awful movie, Joy of Sex.

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TRANSCRIPT

From Los Angeles, California, the Entertainment Capital of the World, it’s The 80s Movies Podcast. I am your host, Edward Havens. Thank you for listening today.

Last week, we talked about Martha Coolidge and her 1983 comedy Valley Girl, which celebrated the fortieth anniversary of its release this past Saturday.

Today, we’re going to continue talking about Martha Coolidge’s 1980s movies with her follow up effort, Joy of Sex.

And, as always, before we get to the main story, there’s some back story to the story we need to visit first.

In 1972, British scientist Alex Comfort published the titillatingly titled The Joy of Sex. If you know the book, you know it’s just a bunch of artful drawings of a man and a woman performing various sexual acts, a “how to” manual for the curious and adventurous. Set up to mimic cooking books like Joy of Cooking, Joy of Sex covered the gamut of sexual acts, and would spend more than a year on the New York Times bestseller list, including three months at the top of the list. It wasn’t the kind of book anyone could possibly conceive a major Hollywood studio might ever be interested in making into a movie.

And you’d be right.

Sort of.

When a producer named Tom Moore bought the movie rights to the book in 1975, for $100,000 and 20% of the film’s profit, Moore really only wanted the title, because he thought a movie called “Joy of Sex” would be a highly commercial prospect to the millions of people who had purchased the book over the years, especially since porn chic was still kind of “in” at the time.

In 1976, Moore would team with Paramount Pictures to further develop the project. They would hire British comedian, actor and writer Dudley Moore to structure the movie as a series of short vignettes not unlike Woody Allen’s Everything You Wanted to Know About Sex But We’re Afraid to Ask. Moore was more interested in writing a single story, about someone not unlike himself in his early 40s coming to grips with being sexually hung up during the era of free love. Moore and the studio could not come to an agreement over the direction of the story, and Moore would, maybe not so ironically, sign on the play a character not unlike himself, in his early 40s, coming to grips with being sexually hung up during the era of free love, in Blake Edwards’ 10.

Still wanting to pursue the idea of the movie as a series of short vignettes not unlike Woody Allen’s Everything You Wanted to Know About Sex But We’re Afraid to Ask, Paramount next approached the British comedy troupe Monty Python to work on it, since that’s basically what they did for 45 episodes of their BBC show between 1969 and 1974. But since they had just found success with their first movie, Monty Python and the Holy Grail, they decided to concentrate their efforts on their next movie project.

In 1978, Paramount hired actor and comedian Charles Grodin to write the script, telling him it could literally be about anything. Grodin, one of the stealthiest funny people to ever walk the Earth, had written a movie before, an adaptation of the Gerald A. Browne novel 11 Harrowhouse, but he found himself unable to think of anything, finding the ability to write anything he wanted as long as it could somehow be tied to the title to be an albatross around his neck. When Grodin finally turned in a script a few months later, Paramount was horrified to discover he had written a movie about a screenwriter who was having trouble writing a Hollywood movie based on a sex manual. The studio passed and released Grodin from his contract. In 1985, Grodin was able to get that screenplay made into a movie called Movers and Shakers, but despite having a cast that included Grodin, Walter Matthew, Gilda Radner, Bill Macy, and Vincent Gardenia, as well as cameos from Steve Martin and Penny Marshall, the film bombed badly.

After the success of The Blues Brothers, John Belushi was hired to star in Joy of Sex, to be directed by Penny Marshall in what was supposed to be her directing debut, produced by Matty Simmons, the publisher of National Lampoon who was looking for another potential hit film to put its name on after their success with Animal House, from a script written by National Lampoon writer John Hughes, which would have been his first produced screenplay. Hughes’ screenplay still would be structured as a series of short vignettes not unlike Woody Allen’s Everything You Wanted to Know About Sex But We’re Afraid to Ask, but Belushi would pass away before filming could begin. Penny Marshall would make her directing debut four years later with the Whoopi Goldberg movie Jumpin’ Jack Flash, while Hughes’ first produced screenplay, National Lampoon’s Class Reunion, would actually begin production four weeks before Belushi died. Belushi kept getting the production start date for Joy of Sex pushed back because of he was working on a screenplay for a movie he really wanted to make, a diamond smuggling caper called Noble Rot, which Paramount had agreed to make if Belushi would make Joy of Sex first.

After that, Paramount would hire the unlikely team of screenwriting teacher Syd Field and shock jock Don Imus to try their hand at it, before going back to Hughes, who at one point turned in a draft that was 148 pages long.

After the success of Porky’s around this time, Paramount would have the script rewritten again, this time by The Outsiders’ screenwriter Kathleen Rowell, trying to make it into a raunchy comedy. Amy Heckerling, the director of Fast Times, was approached to direct, but she would turn it down because she didn’t want to get pigeonholed as a raunchy sex comedy director.

The studio needed to get the film in production by the end of May 1983, or the rights to the book and the title would revert back to its author. After Valley Girl started to get some good buzz just before release, Paramount would approach Coolidge to direct. Although the budget for the film would only be around $5m, Coolidge would earn far more than the $5,000 she made for Valley Girl. So even if she wasn’t too thrilled with the script, it was good money.

Maybe she should have waited.

The film would begin production in Los Angeles and Santa Monica beginning on May 31st, 1983, literally the day before the movie rights would have reverted back to the author, and Coolidge would only be given twenty-six days to film it. It also didn’t help that the production was working under Paramount’s television division, and the producer, Frank Konigsberg, had never produced a feature film before. This final version of the script she would be working with, credited to Kathleen Rowell and first-time screenwriter, J.J. Salter, would be the nineteenth draft written over the course of eight years, and wouldn’t quite be the raunchfest Paramount was hoping for, but they were literally out of time.

To try and make things as comfortable for herself as possible, Coolidge would hire a number of actors and crew members from Valley Girl, and tried to shoot the film, as straight as possible, even with the studio’s request for lots of gratuitous nudity. Michelle Meyrink, one of Julie’s valley girl friends in Coolidge’s previous film, would star as Leslie, a high school senior who tries to lose her virginity when she mistakenly believes she only has six weeks to live, alongside her Valley Girl co-stars Cameron Dye, Colleen Camp and Heidi Holicker. Also on board would be Ernie Hudson, who would go straight from making this film into making Ghostbusters, and Christopher Lloyd, who was still a couple years away from starring as Doc Brown, as Leslie’s dad, a coach at her school. Coolidge’s saving grace was that, despite the pressure to have scenes of nubile young co-eds running naked down the school halls for no good reason, the core of the story was about two teenagers who, while trying to learn about sex, would discover and fall in love with each other.

Paramount would set the film for an April 13th, 1984 release, even before Coolidge turned in her first cut of the film. But when she did, that’s when the proverbial poop hit the proverbial fan. Coolidge made the movie she wanted to make, a sweet love story, even with some scenes of gratuitous and unnecessary nudity. Which is not the movie Paramount wanted, even if it was the script they approved. Her relationship with the studio further soured when the first test screening of the film turned out to be a disaster, especially with teenage girls and women, who loved the love story at the center of the film but hated the completely gratuitous and unnecessary nudity.

Coolidge would be fired off the film, the television and film departments at Paramount would get into vicious finger pointing arguments about who was to blame for this mess and how they were going to fix it, and Matty Simmons would pay Paramount $250,000 to have National Lampoon’s name removed from the film, claiming the film did not represent what the magazine had originally signed up for.

Paramount would cancel the April 1984 release date, while hiring two new editors to try and salvage the mess they felt they were given. The Directors Guild offered to allow Coolidge to take her name off the film and have it credited to Alan Smithee, but she would decide to leave her name on it. Even if the film bombed, it was another directing credit to her name, which could still help her get future jobs.

When the new editors finished their work on the film, they had whittled down Coolidge’s original version that ran 115 minutes into a barely cohesive 93 minute mess, and the studio decided to release the film on August 3rd. In the 80s, the entire month of August was pretty much considered a dumping ground for movies, as families were often eschewing going to the movies for their last moments of summer fun before the kids had to go back to school.

Opening on 804 screens, Joy of Sex would open in ninth place, grossing an anemic $1.9m in its first three days. Ghostbusters, in its ninth week of release, was still in first place with $6.5m, and it would also get outgrossed by Gremlins, Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom and The Karate Kid, all three having been released in May or June. After a second weekend where the film would lose nearly 20% of its theatres and 55% of its first week audience, Paramount would stop tracking the film. It’s final reported ticket sales total would be just $3.69m.

Because I am cursed with the ability to remember the most mundane things from nearly forty years ago while being unable to remember where I left a screwdriver yesterday, I still remember seeing Joy of Sex. It was on the #1 screen at the Skyview Drive-in in Santa Cruz. It was the A-title, playing a double bill with Cheech and Chong Still Smokin’, which had not done very well when it had been released the previous May. My friends and I would head out to the theatre, Dick and some friends piled in his Impala, me and some friends in my AMC Pacer, with lawn chairs and frosty beverages in the trunks, ready to completely rip apart this film we heard was really bad.

And rip it apart we did.

I think there were maybe ten cars on our side of the drive-in, plenty of room for a bunch of drunken teenagers to be far away from everyone else and be obnoxious jerks.

In 1984, we didn’t have the internet. We didn’t have easy access to the industry newspapers where we may have heard about all the troubles with the production. We just knew the film stunk something foul, and we had one of our most fun evenings at the movies destroying it in our own inimitable way. Not that I was going to give the movie another chance. It stunk. There’s just no two ways about it, but I am now more forgiving of Martha Coolidge now that I know just how impossible a situation she was put in.

Ironically, the debacle that was Joy of Sex would be part of the reason I so enjoyed Coolidge’s next film, 1985’s Real Genius so much, because Joy of Sex was still fresher in my mind than Valley Girl.

But we’ll talk more about Real Genius on our next episode.

Thank you for joining us.

Remember to visit this episode’s page on our website, The80sMoviePodcast.com, for extra materials about Joy of Sex.

The 80s Movies Podcast has been researched, written, narrated and edited by Edward Havens for Idiosyncratic Entertainment.

Thank you again.

Good night.

Valley Girl

27 april 2023 | 16 min

This week, we take a look back at a movie celebrating the fortieth anniversary of its theatrical release this coming Saturday, a movie that made a star of its unconventional lead actor, and helped make its director one of a number of exciting female filmmakers to break through in the early part of the decade.

The movie Martha Coolidge's 1983 comedy Valley Girl, starring Nicolas Cage and Deborah Foreman.

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TRANSCRIPT

From Los Angeles, California, the Entertainment Capital of the World, it’s The 80s Movies Podcast. I am your host, Edward Havens. Thank you for listening today.

On this episode, we’re going to be looking back at a movie that will be celebrating the fortieth anniversary of its original theatrical release. A movie that would turn one of its leads into a star, and thrust its director into the mainstream, at least for a short time.

We’re talking about the 1983 Martha Coolidge film Valley Girl, which is celebrating the 40th anniversary of its release this Saturday, with a special screening tonight, Thursday, April 27th 2023, at the Chinese Theatre in Hollywood with its director, doing a Q&A session after the show.

But, as always, before we get to Valley Girl, we head back in time.

A whole eleven months, in fact. To May 1982.

That month, the avant-garde musical genius known as Frank Zappa released his 35th album, Ship Arriving Too Late to Save a Drowning Witch. Released on Zappa’s own Barking Pumpkin record label, Drowning Witch would feature a song he co-wrote with his fourteen year old daughter Moon Unit Zappa. Frank would regularly hear his daughter make fun of the young female mallrats she would encounter throughout her days, and one night, Frank would be noodling around in his home recording studio when inspiration struck. He would head up to Moon’s room, wake her up and bring her down to the studio, asking her to just repeat in that silly Valspeak voice she did all the crazy things she heard being said at parties, bar mitzvahs and the Sherman Oaks Galleria shopping center, which would become famous just a couple months later as the mall where many of the kids from Ridgemont High worked in Amy Heckerling’s breakthrough movie, Fast Times at Ridgemont High. For about an hour, Frank would record Moon spouting off typical valley girl phrases, before he sent her back up to her room to go back to sleep.

In a couple days, Frank Zappa would bring his band, which at the time included guitar virtuoso Steve Vai in his first major musical gig, into the home studio to lay down the music to this weird little song he wrote around his daughter’s vocals.

“Valley Girl” wold not be a celebration of the San Fernando Valley, an area Zappa described as “a most depressing place,” or the way these young ladies presented themselves. Zappa in general hated boring generic repetitive music, but “Valley Girl” would be one of the few songs Zappa would ever write or record that followed a traditional 4/4 time signature.

In the spring of 1982, the influential Los Angeles radio station KROQ would obtain an acetate disc of the song, several weeks before Drowning Witch was to be released on an unsuspecting public. Zappa himself thought it was a hoot the station that had broken such bands as The Cars, Duran Duran, The Police, Talking Heads and U2 was even considering playing his song, but KROQ was his daughter’s favorite radio station, and she was able to persuade the station to play the song during an on-air interview with her.

The kids at home went nuts for the song, demanding the station play it again. And again. And again. Other radio stations across the country started to get calls from their listeners, wanting to hear this song that hadn’t been officially released yet, and Zappa’s record label would rush to get copies out to any radio station that asked for it.

The song would prove to be very popular, become the only single of the forty plus he released during his recording career to become a Top 40 radio hit, peaking at number 32. Ironically, the song would popularize the very cadence it was mocking with teenagers around the country, and the next time Zappa and his band The Mothers of Invention would tour, he would apologize to the Zappa faithful for having created a hit record. "The sad truth,” he would say before going into the song, “is that if one continues to make music year after year, eventually something will be popular. I spent my career fighting against creating marketable art, but this one slipped through the cracks. I promise to do my best never to have this happen again."

As the song was becoming popular in Los Angeles, actor Wayne Crawford and producer Andrew Lane had been working on a screenplay about star-crossed lovers that was meant to be a cheap quickie exploitation film not unlike Zapped! or Porky’s. But after hearing Zappa’s song, the pair would quickly rewrite the lead character, Julie, into a valley girl, and retitle their screenplay, Bad Boyz… yes, Boyz, with a Z… as Valley Girl.

Atlantic Entertainment Company, an independent film production company, had recently started their own distribution company, and were looking for movies that could be made quickly, cheaply, and might be able to become some kind of small hit. One of the scripts that would cross their desk were Crawford and Lane’s Valley Girl. Within a week, Atlantic would already have a $350,000 budget set aside to make the film.

The first thing they needed was a director.

Enter Martha Coolidge.

A graduate of the same New York University film program that would give us Joel Coen, Amy Heckerling, Ang Lee, Spike Lee and Todd Phillips, Coolidge had been working under the tutelage of Academy Award-winner Francis Ford Coppola at the filmmaker’s Zoetrope Studios. She had made her directorial debut, Not a Pretty Picture in 1976, but the film, a docu-drama based on Coolidge’s own date rape she suffered at the age of 16, would not find a big audience. She had made another movie, City Girl, with Peter Riegert and Colleen Camp, in 1982, with Peter Bogdanovich as a producer, but the film’s potential release was cancelled when Bogdanovich’s company Moon Pictures went bankrupt after the release of his 1981 movie They All Laughed, which we covered last year. She knew she needed to get on a film with a good chance of getting released, and with Coppola’s encouragement, Coolidge would throw her proverbial hat into the ring, and she would get the job, in part because she had some directing experience, but also because she was willing to accept the $5,000 Atlantic was offering for the position.

Now that she had the job, it was time for Coolidge to get to casting. It was her goal to show an authentic teenage experience in Los Angeles in the early 1980s, absent of stereotypes. As someone whose background was in documentary filmmaking, Coolidge wanted Valley Girl to feel as real as possible.

Her first choice for the role of Randy, the proto-punk Romeo to Julie’s… well, Juliet… Coolidge was keen on a twenty-three year old unknown who had not yet acted in anything in movies, on television, or even a music video. Judd Nelson had been studying with Stella Adler in New York City, and there was something about his look that Coolidge really liked. But when she offered the role to Nelson, he had just booked an acting gig that would make him unavailable when the film would be shooting. So it was back to the pile of headshots that had been sent to the production office. And in that pile, she would find the headshot of eighteen year old Nicolas Cage, who at the time only had one movie credit, as one of Judge Reinhold’s co-workers in Fast Times. Coolidge would show the photo to her casting director, telling them they needed to find someone like him, someone who wasn’t a conventionally handsome movie actor.

So the casting director did just that. Went out and got someone like Nicolas Cage. Specifically, Nicolas Cage.

What Coolidge didn’t know was that Cage’s real name was Nicolas Coppola, and that his uncle was Coolidge’s boss. She would only learn this when she called the actor to offer him the role, and he mentioned he would need to check his schedule on the Coppola movie he was about to start shooting on, Rumble Fish. Francis Coppola made sure the shooting schedule was re-arranged so his nephew could accept his first leading role.

For Julie, Coolidge wanted only one person: Deborah Foreman, a twenty-year-old former model who had only done commercials for McDonalds at this point in her career. Although she was born in Montebello CA, mere miles from the epicenter of the San Fernando Valley, Foreman had spent her formative years in Texas, and knew nothing about the whole Valley Girl phenomenon until she was cast in the film.

Supporting roles would be filled by a number of up and coming young actors, including Elizabeth Daily and Michelle Mayrink as Julie’s friends, Cameron Dye as Randy’s best friend, and Michael Bowen as Julie’s ex-boyfriend, while Julie’s parents would be played by Frederic Forrest and Colleen Camp, two industry veterans who had briefly worked together on Apocalypse Now.

As the scheduled start date of October 25th, 1982, rolled closer, Martha Coolidge would be the first director to really learn just how far Nicolas Cage was willing to go for a role. He would start sleeping in his car, to better understand Randy, and he would, as Randy, write Foreman’s character Julie a poem that, according to a May 2020 New York Times oral history about the film, Foreman still has to this day. In a 2018 IMDb talk with director Kevin Smith, Cage would say that it was easy for his performance to happen in the film because he had a massive crush on Foreman during the making of the film.

Because of the film’s extremely low budget, the filmmakers would often shoot on locations throughout Los Angeles they did not have permits for, stealing shots wherever they could. But one place they would spend money on was the movie’s soundtrack, punctuated by live performances by Los Angeles band The Plimsouls and singer Josie Cotton, which were filmed at the Sunset Strip club now known as The Viper Room.

The film would only have a twenty day shooting schedule, which meant scenes would have to be shot quickly and efficiently, with as few hiccups as possible. But this wouldn’t stop Cage from occasionally improvising little bits that Coolidge loved so much, she would keep them in the film, such as Randy spitting his gum at Julie’s ex, and the breakup scene, where Randy digs into Julie by using Valspeak.

In early January 1983, while the film was still being edited, Frank Zappa would file a lawsuit against the film, seeking $100,000 in damages and an injunction to stop the film from being released, saying the film would unfairly dilute the trademark of his song. The lawsuit would force Coolidge to have a cut of her movie ready to screen for the judge before she was fully done with it. But when Coolidge screened this rushed cut to Atlantic and its lawyers, the distributor was pleasantly surprised to see the director hadn’t just made a quickie exploitation film but something with genuine heart and soul that could probably have a much longer lifespan. They were originally planning on releasing the film during the later part of the summer movie season, but now knowing what they had on their hands, Atlantic would set an April 29th release date… pending, of course, on the outcome of the Zappa lawsuit.

In March, the judge would issue their ruling, in favor of the film, saying there would be no confusion in the public’s mind between the song and the film, and Atlantic would continue to prepare for the late April release.

One of the things Coolidge really fought for was to have a wall of great new wave songs throughout the film, something Atlantic was hesitant to pay for, until they saw Coolidge’s cut. They would spend another $250k on top of the $350k production budget to secure songs from The Psychedelic Furs, The Payolas, Men at Work, Toni Basil, The Flirts and Sparks, on top of the songs played by The Plimsouls and Josie Cotton in the film.

Valley Girl would be one of three new movies opening on April 29th, alongside Disney’s adaptation of the Ray Bradbury story Something Wicked This Way Comes, and The Hunger, the directorial debut of filmmaker Tony Scott. Opening on only 442 screens, Valley Girl would come in fourth place for the weekend, grossing $1.86m in its first three days. However, its $4200 per screen average would be better than every movie in the top 15, including the #1 film in the nation that weekend, Flashdance. Not bad for a film that was only playing in one third of the country.

In its second weekend, Valley Girl would fall to seventh place, with $1.33m worth of ticket sold, but its per screen average would be second only to the new Cheech and Chong movie, Still Smokin’. Over the next three months, the film would continue to perform well, never playing in more screens than it did in its opening weekend, but never falling out of the top 15 while Atlantic was tracking it. When all was said and done, Valley Girl would have grossed $17.34m in the United States, not a bad return on a $600k production and music clearance budget.

There was supposed to be an accompanying soundtrack album for the film that, according to the movie’s poster, would be released on Epic Records, a subsidiary of Columbia Records whose eclectic roster of artists included Michael Jackson, The Clash and Liza Minnelli, but it turns out the filmmakers only ended up only getting music clearances for the movie, so that release would get cancelled and a six-song mini-LP would be created through a label Atlantic Pictures created called Roadshow Records. But then that album got cancelled, even though some copies had been printed, so it wouldn’t be until 1994 that an actual soundtrack for the film would be released by Rhino Records. That release would do so well, Rhino released a second soundtrack album the following year.

The lawsuit from Zappa would not be the only court proceeding concerning the film. In July 1984, Martha Coolidge, her cinematographer, Frederick Elmes, and two of the actresses, Colleen Camp and Lee Purcell, sued Atlantic Releasing for $5m, saying they were owed a portion of the film’s profits based on agreements in their contracts. The two sides would later settle out of court.

Nicolas Cage would, of course, becomes one of the biggest movie stars in the world, winning an Oscar in 1996 for his portrayal of an alcoholic Hollywood screenwriter who goes to Las Vegas to drink himself to death.

Deborah Foreman would not have as successful a career. After Valley Girl, it would be another two years before she was seen on screen again, in what basically amounts to an extended cameo in a movie I’ll get to in a moment. She would have a decent 1986, starring in two semi-successful films, the sexy comedy My Chauffeur and the black comedy April Fool’s Day, but after that, the roles would be less frequent and, often, not the lead. By 1991, she would retire from acting, appearing only in a 2011 music video for the She Wants Revenge song Must Be the One, and a cameo in the 2020 remake of Valley Girl starring Jessica Rothe of the Happy Death Day movies.

After Valley Girl, Martha Coolidge would go on a tear, directing four more movies over the next seven years. And we’ll talk about that first movie, Joy of Sex, on our next episode.

Thank you for joining us.

Remember to visit this episode’s page on our website, The80sMoviePodcast.com, for extra materials about Valley Girl.

The 80s Movies Podcast has been researched, written, narrated and edited by Edward Havens for Idiosyncratic Entertainment.

Thank you again.

Good night.

Into the Night

20 april 2023 | 20 min

On this episode, we do our first deep dive into the John Landis filmography, to talk about one of his lesser celebrated film, the 1985 Jeff Goldblum/Michelle Pfeiffer morbid comedy Into the Night.

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TRANSCRIPT

From Los Angeles, California, the Entertainment Capital of the World, it’s The 80s Movies Podcast. I am your host, Edward Havens. Thank you for listening today.

Long time listeners to this show know that I am not the biggest fan of John Landis, the person. I’ve spoken about Landis, and especially about his irresponsibility and seeming callousness when it comes to the helicopter accident on the set of his segment for the 1983 film The Twilight Zone which took the lives of actors Vic Morrow, Myca Dinh Le and Renee Shin-Yi Chen, enough where I don’t wish to rehash it once again.

But when one does a podcast that celebrates the movies of the 1980s, every once in a while, one is going to have to talk about John Landis and his movies. He did direct eight movies, one documentary and a segment in an anthology film during the decade, and several of them, both before and after the 1982 helicopter accident, are actually pretty good films.

For this episode, we’re going to talk about one of his lesser known and celebrated films from the decade, despite its stacked cast.

We’re talking about 1985’s Into the Night.

But, as always, before we get to Into the Night, some backstory.

John David Landis was born in Chicago in 1950, but his family moved to Los Angeles when he was four months old. While he grew up in the City of Angels, he still considers himself a Chicagoan, which is an important factoid to point out a little later in his life.

After graduating from high school in 1968, Landis got his first job in the film industry the way many a young man and woman did in those days: through the mail room at a major studio, his being Twentieth Century-Fox. He wasn’t all that fond of the mail room. Even since he had seen The 7th Voyage of Sinbad at the age of eight, he knew he wanted to be a filmmaker, and you’re not going to become a filmmaker in the mail room. By chance, he would get a job as a production assistant on the Clint Eastwood/Telly Savalas World War II comedy/drama Kelly’s Heroes, despite the fact that the film would be shooting in Yugoslavia. During the shoot, he would become friendly with the film’s co-stars Don Rickles and Donald Sutherland. When the assistant director on the film got sick and had to go back to the United States, Landis positioned himself to be the logical, and readily available, replacement. Once Kelly’s Heroes finished shooting, Landis would spend his time working on other films that were shooting in Italy and the United Kingdom. It is said he was a stuntman on Sergio Leone’s The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly, but I’m going to call shenanigans on that one, as the film was made in 1966, when Landis was only sixteen years old and not yet working in the film industry. I’m also going to call shenanigans on his working as a stunt performer on Leone’s 1968 film Once Upon a Time in the West, and Tony Richardson’s 1968 film The Charge of the Light Brigade, and Peter Collinson’s 1969 film The Italian Job, which also were all filmed and released into theatres before Landis made his way to Europe the first time around.

In 1971, Landis would write and direct his first film, a low-budget horror comedy called Schlock, which would star Landis as the title character, in an ape suit designed by master makeup creator Rick Baker. The $60k film was Landis’s homage to the monster movies he grew up watching, and his crew would spend 12 days in production, stealing shots wherever they could because they could not afford filming permits. For more than a year, Landis would show the completed film to any distributor that would give him the time of day, but no one was interested in a very quirky comedy featuring a guy in a gorilla suit playing it very very straight.

Somehow, Johnny Carson was able to screen a print of the film sometime in the fall of 1972, and the powerful talk show host loved it. On November 2nd, 1972, Carson would have Landis on The Tonight Show to talk about his movie. Landis was only 22 at the time, and the exposure on Carson would drive great interest in the film from a number of smaller independent distributors would wouldn’t take his calls even a week earlier. Jack H. Harris Enterprises would be the victor, and they would first release Schlock on twenty screens in Los Angeles on December 12th, 1973, the top of a double bill alongside the truly schlocky Son of The Blob. The film would get a very good reception from the local press, including positive reviews from the notoriously prickly Los Angeles Times critic Kevin Thomas, and an unnamed critic in the pages of the industry trade publication Daily Variety. The film would move from market to market every few weeks, and the film would make a tidy little profit for everyone involved. But it would be four more years until Landis would make his follow-up film.

The Kentucky Fried Movie originated not with Landis but with three guys from Madison, Wisconsin who started their own theatre troop while attending the University of Wisconsin before moving it to West Los Angeles in 1971. Those guys, brothers David and Jerry Zucker, and their high school friend Jim Abrahams, had written a number of sketches for their stage shows over a four year period, and felt a number of them could translate well to film, as long as they could come up with a way to link them all together. Although they would be aware of Ken Shapiro’s 1974 comedy anthology movie The Groove Tube, a series of sketches shot on videotape shown in movie theatres on the East Coast at midnight on Saturday nights, it would finally hit them in 1976, when Neal Israel’s anthology sketch comedy movie TunnelVision became a small hit in theatres. That movie featured Chevy Chase and Laraine Newman, two of the stars of NBC’s hit show Saturday Night Live, which was the real reason the film was a hit, but that didn’t matter to Zucker, Abrahams and Zucker.

The Zucker/Abrahams/Zucker team decided they needed to not just tell potential backers about the film but show them what they would be getting. They would raise $35,000 to film a ten minute segment, but none of them had ever directed anything for film before, so they would start looking for an experienced director who would be willing to work on a movie like theirs for little to no money.

Through mutual friend Bob Weiss, the trio would meet and get to know John Landis, who would come aboard to direct the presentation reel, if not the entire film should it get funded. That segment, if you’ve seen Kentucky Fried Movie, included the fake trailer for Cleopatra Schwartz, a parody of blaxploitation movies. The guys would screen the presentation reel first to Kim Jorgensen, the owner of the famed arthouse theatre the Nuart here in Los Angeles, and Jorgensen loved it. He would put up part of the $650k budget himself, and he would show the reel to his friends who also ran theatres, not just in Los Angeles, whenever they were in town, and it would be through a consortium of independent movie theatre owners that Kentucky Fried Movie would get financed.

The movie would be released on August 10th, 1977, ironically the same day as another independent sketch comedy movie, Can I Do It Till I Need Glasses?, was released. But Kentucky Fried Movie would have the powerful United Artists Theatres behind them, as they would make the movie the very first release through their own distribution company, United Film Distribution. I did a three part series on UFDC back in 2021, if you’d like to learn more about them. Featuring such name actors as Bill Bixby, Henry Gibson, George Lazenby and Donald Sutherland, Kentucky Fried Movie would earn more than $7m in theatres, and would not only give John Landis the hit he needed to move up the ranks, but it would give Zucker, Abrahams and Zucker the opportunity to make their own movie. But we’ll talk about Airplane! sometime in the future.

Shortly after the release of Kentuck Fried Movie, Landis would get hired to direct Animal House, which would become the surprise success of 1978 and lead Landis into directing The Blues Brothers, which is probably the most John Landis movie that will ever be made. Big, loud, schizophrenic, a little too long for its own good, and filled with a load of in-jokes and cameos that are built only for film fanatics and/or John Landis fanatics. The success of The Blues Brothers would give Landis the chance to make his dream project, a horror comedy he had written more than a decade before.

An American Werewolf in London was the right mix of comedy and horror, in-jokes and great needle drops, with some of the best practical makeup effects ever created for a movie. Makeup effects so good that, in fact, the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences would make the occasionally given Best Makeup Effects Oscar a permanent category, and Werewolf would win that category’s first competitive Oscar.

In 1982, Landis would direct Coming Soon, one of the first direct-to-home video movies ever released. Narrated by Jamie Lee Curtis, Coming Soon was, essentially, edited clips from 34 old horror and thriller trailers for movies owned by Universal, from Frankenstein and Dracula to Psycho and The Birds. It’s only 55 minutes long, but the video did help younger burgeoning cineasts learn more about the history of Universal’s monster movies.

And then, as previously mentioned, there was the accident during the filming of The Twilight Zone.

Landis was able to recover enough emotionally from the tragedy to direct Trading Places with Eddie Murphy and Dan Aykroyd in the winter of 1982/83, another hit that maybe showed Hollywood the public wasn’t as concerned about the Twilight Zone accident as they worried it would. The Twilight Zone movie would be released three weeks after Trading Places, and while it was not that big a hit, it wasn’t quite the bomb it was expected to be because of the accident.

Which brings us to Into the Night.

While Landis was working on the final edit of Trading Places, the President of Universal Pictures, Sean Daniels, contacted Landis about what his next project might be. Universal was where Landis had made Animal House, The Blues Brothers and American Werewolf, so it would not be unusual for a studio head to check up on a filmmaker who had made three recent successful films for them. Specifically, Daniels wanted to pitch Landis on a screenplay the studio had in development called Into the Night. Ron Koslow, the writer of the 1976 Sam Elliott drama Lifeguard, had written the script on spec which the studio had picked up, about an average, ordinary guy who, upon discovering his wife is having an affair, who finds himself in the middle of an international incident involving jewel smuggling out of Iran. Maybe this might be something he would be interested in working on, as it would be both right up his alley, a comedy, and something he’d never done before, a romantic action thriller.

Landis would agree to make the film, if he were allowed some leeway in casting.

For the role of Ed Okin, an aerospace engineer whose insomnia leads him to the Los Angeles International Airport in search of some rest, Landis wanted Jeff Goldblum, who had made more than 15 films over the past decade, including Annie Hall, Invasion of the Body Snatchers, The Big Chill and The Right Stuff, but had never been the lead in a movie to this point. For Diana, the jewel smuggler who enlists the unwitting Ed into her strange world, Landis wanted Michelle Pfeiffer, the gorgeous star of Grease 2 and Scarface. But mostly, Landis wanted to fill as many of supporting roles with either actors he had worked with before, like Dan Aykroyd and Bruce McGill, or filmmakers who were either contemporaries of Landis and/or were filmmakers he had admired. Amongst those he would get would be Jack Arnold, Paul Bartel, David Cronenberg, Jonathan Demme, Richard Franklin, Amy Heckerling, Colin Higgins, Jim Henson, Lawrence Kasdan, Jonathan Lynn, Paul Mazursky, Don Siegel, and Roger Vadim, as well as Jaws screenwriter Carl Gottlieb, Midnight Cowboy writer Waldo Salt, personal trainer to the stars Jake Steinfeld, music legends David Bowie and Carl Perkins, and several recent Playboy Playmates. Landis himself would be featured as one of the four Iranian agents chasing Pfeiffer’s character.

While neither Perkins nor Bowie would appear on the soundtrack to the film, Landis was able to get blues legend B.B. King to perform three songs, two brand new songs as well as a cover of the Wilson Pickett classic In the Midnight Hour.

Originally scheduled to be produced by Joel Douglas, brother of Michael and son of Kirk, Into the Night would go into production on April 2nd, 1984, under the leadership of first-time producer Ron Koslow and Landis’s producing partner George Folsey, Jr.

The movie would make great use of dozens of iconic Los Angeles locations, including the Beverly Wilshire Hotel, the Shubert Theatre in Century City, the Ships Coffee Shot on La Cienega, the flagship Tiffanys and Company in Beverly Hills, Randy’s Donuts, and the aforementioned airport. But on Monday, April 23rd, the start of the fourth week of shooting, the director was ordered to stand trial on charges of involuntary manslaughter due to the accident on the Twilight Zone set. But the trial would not start until months after Into the Night was scheduled to complete its shoot. In an article about the indictment printed in the Los Angeles Times two days later, Universal Studios head Sean Daniels was insistent the studio had made no special plans in the event of Landis’ possible conviction. Had he been found guilty of involuntary manslaughter, Landis was looking at up to six years in prison.

The film would wrap production in early June, and Landis would spend the rest of the year in an editing bay on the Universal lot with his editor, Malcolm Campbell, who had also cut An American Werewolf in London, Trading Places, the Michael Jackson Thriller short film, and Landis’s segment and the Landis-shot prologue to The Twilight Zone.

During this time, Universal would set a February 22nd, 1985 release date for the film, an unusual move, as every movie Landis had made since Kentucky Fried Movie had been released during the summer movie season, and there was nothing about Into the Night that screamed late Winter.

I’ve long been a proponent of certain movies having a right time to be released, and late February never felt like the right time to release a morbid comedy, especially one that takes place in sunny Los Angeles. When Into the Night opened in New York City, at the Loews New York Twin at Second Avenue and 66th Street, the high in the city was 43 degrees, after an overnight low of 25 degrees. What New Yorker wants to freeze his or her butt off to see Jeff Goldblum run around Los Angeles with Michelle Pfeiffer in a light red leather jacket and a thin white t-shirt, if she’s wearing anything at all? Well, actually, that last part wasn’t so bad. But still, a $40,000 opening weekend gross at the 525 seat New York Twin would be one of the better grosses for all of the city. In Los Angeles, where the weather was in the 60s all weekend, the film would gross $65,500 between the 424 seat Avco Cinema 2 in Westwood and the 915 seat Cinerama Dome in Hollywood.

The reviews, like with many of Landis’s films, were mixed.

Richard Corliss of Time Magazine would find the film irresistible and a sparkling thriller, calling Goldblum and Pfeiffer two of the most engaging young actors working. Peter Travers, writing for People Magazine at the time, would anoint the film with a rarely used noun in film criticism, calling it a “pip.” Travers would also call Pfeiffer a knockout of the first order, with a newly uncovered flair for comedy. Guess he hadn’t seen her in the 1979 ABC spin-off of Animal House, called Delta House, in which she played The Bombshell, or in Floyd Mutrix’s 1980 comedy The Hollywood Knights.

But the majority of critics would find plenty to fault with the film. The general critical feeling for the film was that it was too inside baseball for most people, as typified by Vincent Canby in his review for the New York Times. Canby would dismiss the film as having an insidey, which is not a word, manner of a movie made not for the rest of us but for the moviemakers on the Bel Air circuit who watch each other’s films in their own screening room.

After two weeks of exclusive engagements in New York and Los Angeles, Universal would expand the film to 1096 screens on March 8th, where the film would gross $2.57m, putting it in fifth place for the weekend, nearly a million dollars less than fellow Universal Pictures film The Breakfast Club, which was in its fourth week of release and in ninety fewer theatres. After a fourth weekend of release, where the film would come in fifth place again with $1.95m, now nearly a million and a half behind The Breakfast Club, Universal would start to migrate the film out of first run theatres and into dollar houses, in order to make room for another film of theirs, Peter Bogdanovich’s comeback film Mask, which would be itself expanding from limited release to wide release on March 22nd. Into the Night would continue to play at the second-run theatres for months, but its final gross of $7.56m wouldn’t even cover the film’s $8m production budget.

Despite the fact that it has both Jeff Goldblum and Michelle Pfeiffer as its leads, Into the Night would not become a cult film on home video the way that many films neglected by audiences in theatres would find a second life.

I thought the film was good when I saw it opening night at the Aptos Twin. I enjoyed the obvious chemistry between the two leads, and I enjoyed the insidey manner in which there were so many famous filmmakers doing cameos in the film. I remember wishing there was more of David Bowie, since there were very few people, actors or musicians, who would fill the screen with so much charm and charisma, even when playing a bad guy. And I enjoyed listening to B.B. King on the soundtrack, as I had just started to get into the blues during my senior year of high school.

I revisited the film, which you can rent or buy on Apple TV, Amazon and several other major streaming services, for the podcast, and although I didn’t enjoy the film as much as I remember doing so in 1985, it was clear that these two actors were going to become big stars somewhere down the road. Goldblum, of course, would become a star the following year, thanks to his incredible work in David Cronenberg’s The Fly. Incidentally, Goldblum and Cronenberg would meet for the first time on the set of Into the Night. And, of course, Michelle Pfeiffer would explode in 1987, thanks to her work with Susan Sarandon, Cher and Jack Nicholson in The Witches of Eastwick, which she would follow up with not one, not two but three powerhouse performances of completely different natures in 1988, in Jonathan Demme’s Married to the Mob, Robert Towne’s Tequila Sunrise, and her Oscar-nominated work in Stephen Frears’ Dangerous Liaisons. Incidentally, Pfeiffer and Jonathan Demme would also meet for the first time on the set of Into the Night, so maybe it was kismet that all these things happened in part because of the unusual casting desires of John Landis.

Thank you for joining us. We’ll talk again soon, when Episode 108, on Martha Coolidge’s Valley Girl, is released.

Remember to visit this episode’s page on our website, The80sMoviePodcast.com, for extra materials about Into the Night.

The 80s Movies Podcast has been researched, written, narrated and edited by Edward Havens for Idiosyncratic Entertainment.

Thank you again.

Good night.

Up the Academy

6 april 2023 | 17 min

This week's episode takes a look back at the career of trailblazing independent filmmaker Robert Downey, father of Robert Downey, Jr., and his single foray into the world of Hollywood filmmaking, Mad Magazine Presents Up the Academy.

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TRANSCRIPT

From Los Angeles, California, the Entertainment Capital of the World, it’s The 80s Movies Podcast. I am your host, Edward Havens. Thank you for listening today.

On this episode, we follow up on a movie based on a series of articles from a humor magazine that was trying to build their brand name by slapping their name on movies with a movie that was sponsored by a humor magazine trying to build their brand name by slapping their name on movies not unlike the other humor magazine had been doing but ended up removing their name from the movie, and boy is brain already fried and we’re not even a minute into the episode.

We’re talking about Robert Downey’s 1980 comedy Up the Academy.

But, as always, before we get to Up the Academy, let’s hit the backstory.

If you know the name Robert Downey, it’s likely because you know his son. Robert Downey, Jr. You know, Iron Man. Yes, Robert Downey, Jr. is a repo baby. Maybe you’ve seen the documentary he made about his dad, Sr., that was released by Netflix last year. But it’s more than likely you’ve never heard of Robert Downey, Sr., who, ironically, was a junior himself like his son.

Robert Downey was born Robert John Elias, Jr. in New York City in 1936, the son of a model and a manager of hotels and restaurants. His parents would divorce when he was young, and his mom would remarry while Robert was still in school.

Robert Elias, Jr. would take the last name of his stepfather when he enlisted in the Army, in part because was wanted to get away from home but he was technically too young to actually join the Army. He would invent a whole new persona for himself, and he would, by his own estimate, spend the vast majority of his military career in the stockade, where he wrote his first novel, which still has never been published.

After leaving the Army, Downey would spend some time playing semi-pro baseball, not quite good enough to go pro, spending his time away from the game writing plays he hoped to take, if not to Broadway, at least off-Broadway. But he would not make his mark in the arts until 1961, when Downey started to write and direct low-budget counterculture short films, starting with Ball’s Bluff, about a Civil War soldier who wakes up in New York City’s Central Park a century later.

In 1969, he would write and direct a satirical film about the only black executive at a Madison Avenue advertising firm who is, through a strange circumstance, becomes the head of the firm when its chairman unexpectedly passes away. Featuring a cameo by Mel Brooks Putney Swope was the perfect anti-establishment film for the end of that decade, and the $120k film would gross more than $2.75m during its successful year and a half run in theatres.

1970’s Pound, based on one of Downey’s early plays, would be his first movie to be distributed by a major distributor, although it was independently produced outside the Hollywood system. Several dogs, played by humans, are at a pound, waiting to be euthanized. Oh, did I forget to mention it was a comedy? The film would be somewhat of a success at the time, but today, it’s best known as being the acting debut of the director’s five year old son, Robert Downey, Jr., although the young boy would be credited as Bob Downey.

1972’s Greaser Palace was part of an early 1970s trend of trippy “acid Westerns,” like Alejandro Jodorowsky’s El Topo and Dennis Hopper’s The Last Movie. Character actor Allan Arbus plays Jesse, a man with amnesia who heals the sick, resurrects the dead and tap dances on water on the American frontier. It would be the first movie Downey would make with a million dollar budget. The critical consensus of the film at the time was not positive, although Jay Cocks, a critic for Time Magazine who would go on to be a regular screenwriter for Martin Scorsese in the 1980s, would proclaim the film to be “the most adventurous movie of the year.” The film was not a hit, and it would be decades before it would be discovered and appreciated by the next generation of cineastes.

After another disappointing film, 1975’s Moment to Moment, which would later be retitled Two Tons of Turquoise to Taos Tonight in order to not be confused with the 1978 movie of the same name starring John Travolta and Lily Tomlin that really, truly stunk, Downey would take some time off from filmmaking to deal with his divorce from his first wife and to spend more time with his son Robert and daughter Allyson.

By 1978, Robert Downey was ready to get back to work. He would get a job quickly helping Chuck Barris write a movie version of Barris’ cult television show, The Gong Show, but that wasn’t going to pay the bills with two teenagers at home. What would, though, is the one thing he hadn’t done yet in movies…

Direct a Hollywood film.

Enter Mad Magazine.

In 1978, Mad Magazine was one of the biggest humor magazines in America. I had personally discovered Mad in late 1977, when my dad, stepmom and I were on a cross country trip, staying with friends outside Detroit, the day before my tenth birthday, when I saw an issue of Mad at a local grocery store, with something Star Wars-y on its cover. I begged my dad to give me the sixty cents to buy it, and I don’t think I missed another issue for the next decade.

Mad’s biggest competition in the humor magazine game was National Lampoon, which appealed to a more adult funny bone than Mad. In 1978, National Lampoon saw a huge boost in sales when the John Landis-directed comedy Animal House, which had the name of the magazine in the title, became an unexpected smash hit at the box office. Warner Brothers, the media conglomerate who happened to own Mad Magazine, was eager to do something similar, and worked with Mad’s publisher, Bill Gaines, to find the right script that could be molded into a Mad Magazine movie, even if, like Animal House, it wouldn’t have any real connection to the magazine itself.

They would find that script in The Brave Young Men of Weinberg, a comedy script by Tom Patchett and Jay Tarses, a pair of television comedy writers on shows like The Carol Burnett Show, The Sandy Duncan Show, The Bob Newhart Show and The Tony Randall Show, who had never sold a movie script before. The story would follow the misadventures of four teenage boys who, for different reasons, depend on each other for their very survival when they end up at the same military academy.

Now, of all the research I’ve done for this episode, the one very important aspect of the production I was never able to find out was exactly how Robert Downey became involved in the film. Again, he had never made a Hollywood movie before. He had only made one movie with a budget of a million dollars. His movies were satirical and critical of society in general. This was not a match made in heaven. But somehow, someone at Warner Brothers thought he’d be the right director for the film, and somehow, Downey didn’t disagree.

Unlike Animal House, Downey and Warners didn’t try to land a known commodity like John Belushi to play one of the four leads. In fact, all four of the leads, Wendell Brown, Tommy Citera, Joseph Hutchinson, and Ralph Macchio, would all be making their feature debuts.

But there would be some familiar faces in the film.

Ron Liebman, who was a familiar face from such films has Slaughterhouse-Five, Won Ton Ton: The Dog Who Saved Hollywood and Norma Rae, would play the head of the Academy. Tom Poston, who played Mindy’s downstairs neighbor on Mork and Mindy, plays what would now be considered to be a rather offensive gay caricature as the guy who handles the uniforms of the cadets, Antonio Fargas, best known as Huggy Bear on Starsky and Hutch but who had previously worked with Downey on Putney Swope and Pound, as the Coach, and Barbara Bach, who had starred as Anya Amasova in the 1977 Bond film The Spy Who Loved Me.

The $5m film would begin production in Salina, Kansas, on September 17th, 1979, still using the title The Brave Young Men of Weinberg. The primary shooting location would be the St. John’s Military School, which was still functioning while the film was in production, and would use most of the 144 students as extras during the shoot. The film would shoot for nine weeks without much incident, and the cast and crew would be home in time to enjoy Thanksgiving with their friends and family.

Unlike Animal House, the makers of The Brave Young Men of Weinberg did attempt to tie the movie into the magazine that would be presenting the film. At the very end of the movie, the magazine’s mascot, Alfred E. Neuman, shows up on the side of the road, to wave goodbye to people and deliver his signature line, “What, Me Worry?” in a thought bubble that leads into the end credits. The person wearing the not quite realistic looking Neuman head gear, fourteen year old Scott Shapiro, was the son of the executive vice president of worldwide production at Warner Brothers.

After the first of the year, as Downey worked on his edit of the film, the studio decided to change the title from The Brave Young Men of Weinberg to Mad Magazine Presents Up the Academy. Bill Gaines, the publisher of Mad Magazine, suggested a slightly different title, Mad Magazine Completely Disassociates Itself from Up the Academy, but the studio decided that was too long for theater marquees. But we’ll come back to that in a moment.

Warner Brothers set a June 6, 1980 release for the film, and Downey would finish his cut of the film by the end of March. A screening on the Warners lot in early April did not go well. Ron Liebman hated the film so much, he demanded that Warners completely remove his name from everything associated with the film. His name would not appear on the poster, the newspaper ads, the television commercials, the lobby cards, the press kit, or even in the movie itself. Bill Gaines would hate it to, such much in fact that he really did try to disassociate the magazine from the film. In a 1983 interview with The Comics Journal, Gaines would explain without much detail that there were a number of things he had objected to in the script that he was told would not be shot and not end up in the final film that were shot and did end up in the final film. But he wouldn’t be able to get the magazine’s name off the movie before it opened in theatres.

Now, one of the problems with trying to research how well films did in 1980 is that you really have only two sources for grosses, Variety and The Hollywood Reporter, and they didn’t always report national grosses every week, depending on outside factors. It just hadn’t the national sport it’s been since, say, 1983.

So when Up the Academy opened in theatres on June 6th, we don’t have a full idea of how many theatres it played in nationwide, or how much it grossed. The closest thing we do have for this Variety’s listing of the top movies of the week based on a limited selection of showcase theatres in the top 20 markets. So we know that the film played at 7 showcase screens in New York City that weekend, grossing $175k, and in Los Angeles on 15 showcase screens, grossing $149k. But we also know, thanks to newspaper ads in the New York Times and the Los Angeles Times that the film was playing in 11 theatres in the New York Metro area, and in 30 theatres in the Los Angeles Metro area, so those listed grosses are merely a snapshot and not the whole picture.

According to Variety’s limited tracking of major market showcase theatres for the week, Up the Academy was the second highest grossing film of the week, bringing in $729k from 82 theatres. And according to their chart’s side notes, this usually accounts for about 25% of a movie’s national gross, if a film is playing in wide release around the entire country.

In its second week, Up the Academy would place ninth on that showcase theatre listing, with $377k from 87 theatres.

But by the time Variety did bring back proper national grosses in the film’s third week of release, there would be no mention of Up the Academy in those listings, as Warners by this time had bigger fish to handle, namely Stanley Kubrick’s adaptation of the Stephen King novel The Shining, and Bronco Billy, their Clint Eastwood movie for the year. In that showcase theatre listing, though, Up the Academy had fallen to 16th place, with $103k from 34 theatres.

In fact, there is no publicly available record of how many theatres Up the Academy played in during its theatrical run, and it wouldn’t be until the 1981 Warner Brothers 10-K annual filing with the Securities and Exchange Commission that Up the Academy had earned $10m from American movie theatres. If studios get about 55% of the box office grosses in rental fees, that would put the $5m film in a very good position to be profitable, depending on how much was spent on P&A, prints and advertising. The film wasn’t an Animal House-level hit, but it wasn’t exactly the bomb many have painted it to be.

After Up the Academy, two of the actors, Wendell Brown and Joseph Hutchinson, would never act in another movie, although, billed as Hutch Parker, the latter would produce six X-Men related movies between 2013 and 2019, including Logan. Tommy Citera would make two more movies until he left acting in 1988. And Ralph Macchio would, of course, go on to play Daniel LaRusso, the Karate Kid, in a career-defining role that he’s still playing nearly forty years later.

Robert Downey would make another wacky comedy, called Moonbeam, in 1982. Co-written with Richard Belzer, Moonbeam would feature a fairly interesting cast including Zack Norman, Tammy Grimes, Michael J. Pollard, Liz Torres and Mr. Belzer, and tells the story of a New York cable television station that becomes world famous when they accidentally bounce their signal off the moon. But the film would not get released until October 1986, in one theatre in New York City for one week. It couldn’t even benefit from being able to promote Robert Downey, Jr., who in the ensuing years had started to build an acting career by being featured in John Sayles’ Baby It’s You, Fritz Kiersch’s Tuff Turf, John Hughes’ Weird Science, and the Rodney Dangerfield movie Back to School, as well as being a member of the cast of Saturday Night Live for a year.

There’s be sporadic work in television, working on shows like Matlock and The Twilight Zone, but what few movies he could get made would be pale shadows of her earlier, edgier work. Even with his son regularly taking supporting roles in his dad’s movies to help the old man out, movies like Rented Lips and Too Much Sun would be critically panned and ignored by audiences. His final movie as a writer and director, Hugo Pool, would gross just $13k when it was released in December 1997, despite having a cast that included Patrick Dempsey, Richard Lewis, Malcolm McDowell, Alyssa Milano, Cathy Moriarty and Sean Penn, along with Junior.

Downey would also continue to act in other director’s movies, including two written and directed by one of his biggest fans, Paul Thomas Anderson. Downey would play Burt, the studio manager, in Boogie Nights, and the WDKK Show director in Magnolia. Anderson adored Downey so much, the Oscar-nominated filmmaker would sit down with Downey for a four-part conversation filmed for the Criterion Company in 2013.

Robert Downey would pass away in July 2021, a curious footnote in the history of cinema, mostly because of the superstar he sired. Most of his movies are hard to find on video, and nearly impossible to find on streaming services, outside of a wonderful two disc DVD set issued by Criterion’s Eclipse specialty label and several titles streaming on The Criterion Channel. Outside of Up the Academy, which is available to rent or purchase from Amazon, Apple TV and several other streaming services, you can find Putney Swope, Greaser’s Palace and Too Much Sun on several of the more popular streaming services, but the majority of them are completely missing in action. You can also learn more about Robert Downey in Sr., a documentary streaming on Netflix produced by Robert Downey, Jr. where the son recounts the life and career of his recently passed father, alongside Paul Thomas Anderson, Alan Arkin, and mega-producer Norman Lear.

Thank you for joining us. We’ll talk again soon, when Episode 107, on John Landis’s underrated 1985 comedy Into the Night, is released.

Remember to visit this episode’s page on our website, The80sMoviePodcast.com, for extra materials about the movies we covered this episode.

The 80s Movies Podcast has been researched, written, narrated and edited by Edward Havens for Idiosyncratic Entertainment.

Thank you again.

Good night.

O.C and Stiggs

23 mars 2023 | 50 min

On this episode, we talk about the great American filmmaker Robert Altman, and what is arguably the worst movie of his six decade, thirty-five film career: his 1987 atrocity O.C. and Stiggs.

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TRANSCRIPT

From Los Angeles, California, the Entertainment Capital of the World, it’s The 80s Movies Podcast. I am your host, Edward Havens. Thank you for listening today.

On this episode, we’re going to talk about one of the strangest movies to come out of the decade, not only for its material, but for who directed it.

Robert Altman’s O.C. and Stiggs.

As always, before we get to the O.C. and Stiggs, we will be going a little further back in time.

Although he is not every cineaste’s cup of tea, it is generally acknowledged that Robert Altman was one of the best filmmakers to ever work in cinema. But he wasn’t an immediate success when he broke into the industry.

Born in Kansas City in February 1925, Robert Altman would join the US Army Air Force after graduating high school, as many a young man would do in the days of World War II. He would train to be a pilot, and he would fly more than 50 missions during the war as part of the 307th Bomb Group, operating in the Pacific Theatre. They would help liberate prisoners of war held in Japanese POW Camps from Okinawa to Manila after the victory over Japan lead to the end of World War II in that part of the world.

After the war, Altman would move to Los Angeles to break into the movies, and he would even succeed in selling a screenplay to RKO Pictures called Bodyguard, a film noir story shot in 1948 starring Lawrence Tierney and Priscilla Lane, but on the final film, he would only share a “Story by” credit with his then-writing partner, George W. George. But by 1950, he’d be back in Kansas City, where he would direct more than 65 industrial films over the course of three years, before heading back to Los Angeles with the experience he would need to take another shot.

Altman would spend a few years directing episodes of a drama series called Pulse of the City on the DuMont television network and a syndicated police drama called The Sheriff of Cochise, but he wouldn’t get his first feature directing gig until 1957, when a businessman in Kansas City would hire the thirty-two year old to write and direct a movie locally. That film, The Delinquents, cost only $60k to make, and would be purchased for release by United Artists for $150k. The first film to star future Billy Jack writer/director/star Tom Laughlin, The Delinquents would gross more than a million dollars in theatres, a very good sum back in those days, but despite the success of the film, the only work Altman could get outside of television was co-directing The James Dean Story, a documentary set up at Warner Brothers to capitalize on the interest in the actor after dying in a car accident two years earlier.

Throughout the 1960s, Altman would continue to work in television, until he was finally given another chance to direct a feature film. 1967’s Countdown was a lower budgeted feature at Warner Brothers featuring James Caan in an early leading role, about the space race between the Americans and Soviets, a good two years before Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin landed on the moon. The shoot itself was easy, but Altman would be fired from the film shortly after filming was completed, as Jack Warner, the 75 year old head of the studio, was not very happy about the overlapping dialogue, a motif that would become a part of Altman’s way of making movies. Although his name appears in the credits as the director of the film, he had no input in its assembly. His ambiguous ending was changed, and the film would be edited to be more family friendly than the director intended.

Altman would follow Countdown with 1969’s That Cold Day in the Park, a psychological drama that would be both a critical and financial disappointment.

But his next film would change everything.

Before Altman was hired by Twentieth-Century Fox to direct MASH, more than a dozen major filmmakers would pass on the project. An adaptation of a little known novel by a Korean War veteran who worked as a surgeon at one of the Mobile Auxiliary Surgical Hospitals that give the story its acronymic title, MASH would literally fly under the radar from the executives at the studio, as most of the $3m film would be shot at the studio’s ranch lot in Malibu, while the executives were more concerned about their bigger movies of the year in production, like their $12.5m biographical film on World War II general George S. Patton and their $25m World War II drama Tora! Tora! Tora!, one of the first movies to be a Japanese and American co-production since the end of the war.

Altman was going to make MASH his way, no matter what. When the studio refused to allow him to hire a fair amount of extras to populate the MASH camp, Altman would steal individual lines from other characters to give to background actors, in order to get the bustling atmosphere he wanted. In order to give the camp a properly dirty look, he would shoot most of the outdoor scenes with a zoom lens and a fog filter with the camera a reasonably far distance from the actors, so they could act to one another instead of the camera, giving the film a sort of documentary feel. And he would find flexibility when the moment called for it. Sally Kellerman, who was hired to play Margaret “Hot Lips” Houlihan, would work with Altman to expand and improve her character to be more than just eye candy, in large part because Altman liked what she was doing in her scenes.

This kind of flexibility infuriated the two major stars of the film, Elliott Gould and Donald Sutherland, who at one point during the shoot tried to get Altman fired for treating everyone in the cast and crew with the same level of respect and decorum regardless of their position. But unlike at Warners a couple years earlier, the success of movies like Bonnie and Clyde and Easy Rider bamboozled Hollywood studio executives, who did not understand exactly what the new generation of filmgoers wanted, and would often give filmmakers more leeway than before, in the hopes that lightning could be captured once again.

And Altman would give them exactly that.

MASH, which would also be the first major studio film to be released with The F Word spoken on screen, would not only become a critical hit, but become the third highest grossing movie released in 1970, grossing more than $80m. The movie would win the Palme D’Or at that year’s Cannes Film Festival, and it would be nominated for five Academy Awards, including Best Picture, Best Director and Best Supporting Actress for Ms. Kellerman, winning only for Best Adapted Screenplay. An ironic win, since most of the dialogue was improvised on set, but the victory for screenwriter Ring Lardner Jr. would effectively destroy the once powerful Hollywood Blacklist that had been in place since the Red Scare of the 1950s.

After MASH, Altman went on one of the greatest runs any filmmaker would ever enjoy.

MASH would be released in January 1970, and Altman’s follow up, Brewster McCloud, would be released in December 1970. Bud Cort, the future star of Harold and Maude, plays a recluse who lives in the fallout shelter of the Houston Astrodome, who is building a pair of wings in order to achieve his dream of flying. The film would feature a number of actors who already were featured in MASH and would continue to be featured in a number of future Altman movies, including Sally Kellerman, Michael Murphy, John Schuck and Bert Remson, but another reason to watch Brewster McCloud if you’ve never seen it is because it is the film debut of Shelley Duvall, one of our greatest and least appreciated actresses, who would go on to appear in six other Altman movies over the ensuing decade.

1971’s McCabe and Mrs. Miller, for me, is his second best film. A Western starring Warren Beatty and Julie Christie, was a minor hit when it was first released but has seen a reevaluation over the years that found it to be named the 8th Best Western of all time by the American Film Institute, which frankly is too low for me. The film would also bring a little-known Canadian poet and musician to the world, Leonard Cohen, who wrote and performed three songs for the soundtrack. Yeah, you have Robert Altman to thank for Leonard Cohen.

1972’s Images was another psychological horror film, this time co-written with English actress Susannah York, who also stars in the film as an author of children’s books who starts to have wild hallucinations at her remote vacation home, after learning her husband might be cheating on her. The $800k film was one of the first to be produced by Hemdale Films, a British production company co-founded by Blow Up actor David Hemmings, but the film would be a critical and financial disappointment when it was released Christmas week. But it would get nominated for an Academy Award for Best Original Dramatic Score. It would be one of two nominations in the category for John Williams, the other being The Poseidon Adventure.

Whatever resentment Elliott Gould may have had with Altman during the shooting of MASH was gone by late 1972, when the actor agreed to star in the director’s new movie, a modern adaptation of Raymond Chandler’s 1953 novel The Long Goodbye. Gould would be the eighth actor to play the lead character, Phillip Marlowe, in a movie. The screenplay would be written by Leigh Brackett, who Star Wars nerds know as the first writer on The Empire Strikes Back but had also adapted Chandler’s novel The Big Sleep, another Phillip Marlowe story, to the big screen back in 1946.

Howard Hawks and Peter Bogdanovich had both been approached to make the film, and it would be Bogdanovich who would recommend Altman to the President of United Artists. The final film would anger Chandler fans, who did not like Altman’s approach to the material, and the $1.7m film would gross less than $1m when it was released in March 1973. But like many of Altman’s movies, it was a big hit with critics, and would find favor with film fans in the years to come.

1974 would be another year where Altman would make and release two movies in the same calendar year. The first, Thieves Like Us, was a crime drama most noted as one of the few movies to not have any kind of traditional musical score. What music there is in the film is usually heard off radios seen in individual scenes. Once again, we have a number of Altman regulars in the film, including Shelley Duvall, Bert Remsen, John Schuck and Tom Skerritt, and would feature Keith Carradine, who had a small co-starring role in McCabe and Mrs. Miller, in his first major leading role. And, once again, the film would be a hit with critics but a dud with audiences. Unlike most of Altman’s movies of the 1970s, Thieves Like Us has not enjoyed the same kind of reappraisal.

The second film, California Split, was released in August, just six months after Thieves Like Us. Elliott Gould once again stars in a Robert Altman movie, this time alongside George Segal. They play a pair of gamblers who ride what they think is a lucky streak from Los Angeles to Reno, Nevada, would be the only time Gould and Segal would work closely together in a movie, and watching California Split, one wishes there could have been more. The movie would be an innovator seemingly purpose-build for a Robert Altman movie, for it would be the first non-Cinerama movie to be recorded using an eight track stereo sound system. More than any movie before, Altman could control how his overlapping dialogue was placed in a theatre. But while most theatres that played the movie would only play it in mono sound, the film would still be a minor success, bringing in more than $5m in ticket sales.

1975 would bring what many consider to be the quintessential Robert Altman movie to screens.

The two hour and forty minute Nashville would feature no less than 24 different major characters, as a group of people come to Music City to be involved in a gala concert for a political outsider who is running for President on the Replacement Party ticket. The cast is one of the best ever assembled for a movie ever, including Ned Beatty, Karen Black, Ronee Blakely, Keith Carradine, Geraldine Chaplin, Robert DoQui, Shelley Duvall, Allen Garfield, Henry Gibson, Scott Glenn, Jeff Goldblum, Barbara Harris, Cristina Raines, Lily Tomlin and Keenan Wynn.

Altman would be nominated for two Academy Awards for the film, Best Picture, as its producer, and Best Director, while both Ronee Blakely and Lily Tomlin would be nominated for Best Supporting Actress. Keith Carradine would also be nominated for an Oscar, but not as an actor. He would, at the urging of Altman during the production of the film, write and perform a song called I’m Easy, which would win for Best Original Song. The $2.2m film would earn $10m in ticket sales, and would eventually become part of the fourth class of movies to be selected for preservation by the National Film Registry in 1991, the first of four Robert Altman films to be given that honor. MASH, McCabe and Mrs. Miller, and The Long Goodbye would also be selected for preservation over the years.

And we’re going to stop here for a second and take a look at that list of films again.

MASH

Brewster McCloud

McCabe and Mrs. Miller

Images

The Long Goodbye

Thieves Like Us

California Split

Nashville

Eight movies, made over a five year period, that between them earned twelve Academy Award nominations, four of which would be deemed so culturally important that they should be preserved for future generations.

And we’re still only in the middle of the 1970s.

But the problem with a director like Robert Altman, like many of our greatest directors, their next film after one of their greatest successes feels like a major disappointment. And his 1976 film Buffalo Bill and the Indians, or Sitting Bull's History Lesson, and that is the complete title of the film by the way, did not meet the lofty expectations of film fans not only its director, but of its main stars. Altman would cast two legendary actors he had not yet worked with, Paul Newman and Burt Lancaster, and the combination of those two actors with this director should have been fantastic, but the results were merely okay. In fact, Altman would, for the first time in his career, re-edit a film after its theatrical release, removing some of the Wild West show acts that he felt were maybe redundant.

His 1977 film 3 Women would bring Altman back to the limelight. The film was based on a dream he had one night while his wife was in the hospital. In the dream, he was directing his regular co-star Shelley Duvall alongside Sissy Spacek, who he had never worked with before, in a story about identity theft that took place in the deserts outside Los Angeles. He woke up in the middle of the dream, jotted down what he could remember, and went back to sleep. In the morning, he didn’t have a full movie planned out, but enough of one to get Alan Ladd, Jr., the President of Twentieth-Century Fox, to put up $1.7m for a not fully formed idea. That’s how much Robert Altman was trusted at the time. That, and Altman was known for never going over budget. As long as he stayed within his budget, Ladd would let Altman make whatever movie he wanted to make. That, plus Ladd was more concerned about a $10m movie he approved that was going over budget over in England, a science fiction movie directed by the guy who did American Graffiti that had no stars outside of Sir Alec Guinness.

That movie, of course, was Star Wars, which would be released four weeks after 3 Women had its premiere in New York City. While the film didn’t make 1/100th the money Star Wars made, it was one of the best reviewed movies of the year. But, strangely, the film would not be seen again outside of sporadic screenings on cable until it was released on DVD by the Criterion Collection 27 years later.

I’m not going to try and explain the movie to you. Just trust me that 3 Women is from a master craftsman at the top of his game.

While on the press tour to publicize 3 Women, a reporter asked Altman what was going to be next for him. He jokingly said he was going to shoot a wedding. But then he went home, thought about it some more, and in a few weeks, had a basic idea sketched out for a movie titled A Wedding that would take place over the course of one day, as the daughter of a Southern nouveau riche family marries the son of a wealthy Chicago businessman who may or may not a major figure in The Outfit.

And while the film is quite entertaining, what’s most interesting about watching this 1978 movie in 2023 is not only how many great established actors Altman got for the film, including Carol Burnett, Paul Dooley, Howard Duff, Mia Farrow, Vittorio Gassman, Lauren Hutton, and, in her 100th movie, Lillian Gish, but the number of notable actors he was able to get because he shot the film just outside Chicago. Not only will you see Dennis Christopher just before his breakthrough in Breaking Away, and not only will you see Pam Dawber just before she was cast alongside Robin Williams in Mark and Mindy, but you’ll also see Dennis Franz, Laurie Metcalfe, Gary Sinese, Tim Thomerson, and George Wendt.

And because Altman was able to keep the budget at a reasonable level, less than $1.75m, the film would be slightly profitable for Twentieth Century-Fox after grossing $3.6m at the box office.

Altman’s next film for Fox, 1979’s Quintet, would not be as fortunate.

Altman had come up with the story for this post-apocalyptic drama as a vehicle for Walter Hill to write and direct. But Hill would instead make The Warriors, and Altman decided to make the film himself. While developing the screenplay with his co-writers Frank Barhydt and Patricia Resnick, Altman would create a board game, complete with token pieces and a full set of rules, to flesh out the storyline.

Altman would once again work with Paul Newman, who stars as a seal hunter in the early days of a new ice age who finds himself in elaborate game with a group of gamblers where losing in the game means losing your life in the process. Altman would deliberately hire an international cast to star alongside Newman, not only to help improve the film’s ability to do well in foreign territories but to not have the storyline tied to any specific country. So we would have Italian actor Vittorio Gassman, Spaniard Fernando Rey, Swedish actress Bibi Andersson, French actress Brigitte Fossey, and Danish actress Nina van Pallandt.

In order to maintain the mystery of the movie, Altman would ask Fox to withhold all pre-release publicity for the film, in order to avoid any conditioning of the audience. Imagine trying to put together a compelling trailer for a movie featuring one of the most beloved actors of all time, but you’re not allowed to show potential audiences what they’re getting themselves into? Altman would let the studio use five shots from the film, totaling about seven seconds, for the trailer, which mostly comprised of slo-mo shots of a pair of dice bouncing around, while the names of the stars pop up from moment to moment and a narrator tries to create some sense of mystery on the soundtrack.

But audiences would not be intrigued by the mystery, and critics would tear the $6.4m budget film apart. To be fair, the shoot for the film, in the winter of 1977 outside Montreal was a tough time for all, and Altman would lose final cut on the film for going severely over-budget during production, although there seems to be very little documentation about how much the final film might have differed from what Altman would have been working on had he been able to complete the film his way.

But despite all the problems with Quintet, Fox would still back Altman’s next movie, A Perfect Couple, which would be shot after Fox pulled Altman off Quintet. Can you imagine that happening today? A director working with the studio that just pulled them off their project. But that’s how little ego Altman had. He just wanted to make movies. Tell stories. This simple romantic comedy starred his regular collaborator Paul Dooley as Alex, a man who follows a band of traveling bohemian musicians because he’s falling for one of the singers in the band.

Altman kept the film on its $1.9m budget, but the response from critics was mostly concern that Altman had lost his touch. Maybe it was because this was his 13th film of the decade, but there was a serious concern about the director’s ability to tell a story had evaporated.

That worry would continue with his next film, Health.

A satire of the political scene in the United States at the end of the 1970s, Health would follow a health food organization holding a convention at a luxury hotel in St. Petersburg FL. As one would expect from a Robert Altman movie, there’s one hell of a cast. Along with Henry Gibson, and Paul Dooley, who co-write the script with Altman and Frank Barhydt, the cast would include Lauren Bacall, Carol Burnett, James Garner and, in one of her earliest screen appearances, Alfre Woodard, as well as Dick Cavett and Dinah Shore as themselves.

But between the shooting of the film in the late winter and early spring of 1979 and the planned Christmas 1979 release, there was a change of management at Fox. Alan Ladd Jr. was out, and after Altman turned in his final cut, new studio head Norman Levy decided to pull the film off the 1979 release calendar. Altman fought to get the film released sometime during the 1980 Presidential Campaign, and was able to get Levy to give the film a platform release starting in Los Angeles and New York City in March 1980, but that date would get cancelled as well. Levy then suggested an April 1980 test run in St. Louis, which Altman was not happy with. Altman countered with test runs in Boston, Houston, Sacramento and San Francisco. The best Altman, who was in Malta shooting his next movie, could get were sneak previews of the film in those four markets, and the response cards from the audience were so bad, the studio decided to effectively put the film on the proverbial shelf.

Back from the Mediterranean Sea, Altman would get permission to take the film to the Montreal World Film Festival in August, and the Telluride and Venice Film Festivals in September. After good responses from film goers at those festivals, Fox would relent, and give the film a “preview” screening at the United Artists Theatre in Westwood, starting on September 12th, 1980. But the studio would give the film the most boring ad campaign possible, a very crude line drawing of an older woman’s pearl bracelet-covered arm thrusted upward while holding a carrot. With no trailers in circulation at any theatre, and no television commercials on air, it would be little surprise the film didn’t do a whole lot of business. You really had to know the film had been released. But its $14k opening weekend gross wasn’t really all that bad. And it’s second week gross of $10,500 with even less ad support was decent if unspectacular. But it would be good enough to get the film a four week playdate at the UA Westwood.

And then, nothing, until early March 1981, when a film society at Northwestern University in Evanston IL was able to screen a 16mm print for one show, while a theatre in Baltimore was able to show the film one time at the end of March. But then, nothing again for more than another year, when the film would finally get a belated official release at the Film Forum in New York City on April 7th, 1982. It would only play for a week, and as a non-profit, the Film Forum does not report film grosses, so we have no idea how well the film actually did. Since then, the movie showed once on CBS in August 1983, and has occasionally played on the Fox Movie Channel, but has never been released on VHS or DVD or Blu-Ray.

I mentioned a few moments ago that while he was dealing with all this drama concerning Health, Altman was in the Mediterranean filming a movie. I’m not going to go too much into that movie here, since I already have an episode for the future planned for it, suffice to say that a Robert Altman-directed live-action musical version of the Popeye the Sailor Man cartoon featuring songs by the incomparable Harry Nilsson should have been a smash hit, but it wasn’t. It was profitable, to be certain, but not the hit everyone was expecting. We’ll talk about the film in much more detail soon.

After the disappointing results for Popeye, Altman decided to stop working in Hollywood for a while and hit the Broadway stages, to direct a show called Come Back to the Five and Dime, Jimmy Dean, Jimmy Dean. While the show’s run was not very long and the reviews not very good, Altman would fund a movie version himself, thanks in part to the sale of his production company, Lion’s Gate, not to be confused with the current studio called Lionsgate, and would cast Karen Black, Cher and Sandy Dennis alongside newcomers Sudie Bond and Kathy Bates, as five female members of The Disciples of James Dean come together on the 20th anniversary of the actor’s death to honor his life and times. As the first film released by a new independent distributor called Cinecom, I’ll spend more time talking about this movie on our show about that distributor, also coming soon, suffice it to say that Altman was back. Critics were behind the film, and arthouse audiences loved it. This would be the first time Altman adapted a stage play to the screen, and it would set the tone for a number of his works throughout the rest of the decade.

Streamers was Altman’s 17th film in thirteen years, and another adaptation of a stage play. One of several works by noted Broadway playwright David Rabe’s time in the Army during the Vietnam War, the film followed four young soldiers waiting to be shipped to Vietnam who deal with racial tensions and their own intolerances when one soldier reveals he is gay. The film featured Matthew Modine as the Rabe stand-in, and features a rare dramatic role for comedy legend David Alan Grier. Many critics would note how much more intense the film version was compared to the stage version, as Altman’s camera was able to effortlessly breeze around the set, and get up close and personal with the performers in ways that simply cannot happen on the stage. But in 1983, audiences were still not quite ready to deal with the trauma of Vietnam on film, and the film would be fairly ignored by audiences, grossing just $378k.

Which, finally, after half an hour, brings us to our featured movie.

O.C. and Stiggs.

Now, you might be asking yourself why I went into such detail about Robert Altman’s career, most of it during the 1970s. Well, I wanted to establish what types of material Altman would chose for his projects, and just how different O.C. and Stiggs was from any other project he had made to date.

O.C. and Stiggs began their lives in the July 1981 issue of National Lampoon, as written by two of the editors of the magazine, Ted Mann and Tod Carroll. The characters were fun-loving and occasionally destructive teenage pranksters, and their first appearance in the magazine would prove to be so popular with readers, the pair would appear a few more times until Matty Simmons, the publisher and owner of National Lampoon, gave over the entire October 1982 issue to Mann and Carroll for a story called “The Utterly Monstrous Mind-Roasting Summer of O.C. and Stiggs.” It’s easy to find PDFs of the issues online if you look for it.

So the issue becomes one of the biggest selling issues in the history of National Lampoon, and Matty Simmons has been building the National Lampoon brand name by sponsoring a series of movies, including Animal House, co-written by Lampoon writers Doug Kenney and Chris Miller, and the soon to be released movies Class Reunion, written by Lampoon writer John Hughes… yes, that John Hughes… and Movie Madness, written by five Lampoon writers including Tod Carroll. But for some reason, Simmons was not behind the idea of turning the utterly monstrous mind-roasting adventures of O.C. and Stiggs into a movie. He would, however, allow Mann and Carroll to shop the idea around Hollywood, and wished them the best of luck.

As luck would have it, Mann and Carroll would meet Peter Newman, who had worked as Altman’s production executive on Jimmy Dean, and was looking to set up his first film as a producer. And while Newman might not have had the credits, he had the connections. The first person he would take the script to his Oscar-winning director Mike Nichols, whose credits by this time included Who’s Afraid of Virginia Wolff?, The Graduate, Catch-22, and Carnal Knowledge. Surprisingly, Nichols was not just interested in making the movie, but really wanted to have Eddie Murphy, who was a breakout star on Saturday Night Live but was still a month away from becoming a movie star when 48 Hours was released, play one of the leading characters. But Murphy couldn’t get out of his SNL commitments, and Nichols had too many other projects, both on Broadway and in movies, to be able to commit to the film.

A few weeks later, Newman and Altman both attended a party where they would catch up after several months. Newman started to tell Altman about this new project he was setting up, and to Newman’s surprise, Altman, drawn to the characters’ anti-establishment outlook, expressed interest in making it. And because Altman’s name still commanded respect in Hollywood, several studios would start to show their interest in making the movie with them. MGM, who was enjoying a number of successes in 1982 thanks to movies like Shoot the Moon, Diner, Victor/Victoria, Rocky III, Poltergeist, Pink Floyd - The Wall, and My Favorite Year, made a preemptive bid on the film, hoping to beat Paramount Pictures to the deal. Unknown to Altman, what interested MGM was that Sylvester Stallone of all people went nuts for the script when he read it, and mentioned to his buddies at the studio that he might be interested in making it himself.

Despite hating studio executives for doing stuff like buying a script he’s attached to then kicking him off so some Italian Stallion not known for comedy could make it himself, Altman agree to make the movie with MGM once Stallone lost interest, as the studio promised there would be no further notes about the script, that Altman could have final cut on the film, that he could shoot the film in Phoenix without studio interference, and that he could have a budget of $7m.

Since this was a Robert Altman film, the cast would be big and eclectic, filled with a number of his regular cast members, known actors who he had never worked with before, and newcomers who would go on to have success a few years down the road. Because, seriously, outside of a Robert Altman movie, where are you going to find a cast that included Jon Cryer, Jane Curtin, Paul Dooley, Dennis Hopper, Tina Louise, Martin Mull, Cynthia Nixon, Bob Uecker, Melvin van Peebles, and King Sunny Adé and His African Beats? And then imagine that movie also featuring Matthew Broderick, Jim Carrey, Robert Downey, Jr. and Laura Dern?

The story for the film would both follow the stories that appeared in the pages of National Lampoon fairly closely while also making some major changes. In the film, Oliver Cromwell “O.C.” Oglivie and Mark Stiggs are two ne'er-do-well, middle-class Phoenix, Arizona high school students who are disgusted with what they see as an omnipresent culture of vulgar and vapid suburban consumerism. They spend their days slacking off and committing pranks or outright crimes against their sworn enemies, the Schwab family, especially family head Randall Schwab, a wealthy insurance salesman who was responsible for the involuntary commitment of O.C.'s grandfather into a group home. During the film, O.C. and Stiggs will ruin the wedding of Randall Schwab’s daughter Lenore, raft their way down to a Mexican fiesta, ruin a horrible dinner theatre performance directed by their high school’s drama teacher being attended by the Schwabs, and turn the Schwab mansion into a homeless shelter while the family is on vacation. The film ends with O.C. and Stiggs getting into a gun fight with Randall Schwab before being rescued by Dennis Hopper and a helicopter, before discovering one of their adventures that summer has made them very wealthy themselves.

The film would begin production in Phoenix on August 22nd, 1983, with two newcomers, Daniel H. Jenkins and Neill Barry, as the titular stars of the film. And almost immediately, Altman’s chaotic ways of making a movie would become a problem. Altman would make sure the entire cast and crew were all staying at the same hotel in town, across the street from a greyhound racetrack, so Altman could take off to bet on a few of the races during production downtime, and made sure the bar at the hotel was an open bar for his team while they were shooting. When shooting was done every day, the director and his cast would head to a makeshift screening room at the hotel, where they’d watch the previous day’s footage, a process called “dailies” in production parlance. On most films, dailies are only attended by the director and his immediate production crew, but in Phoenix, everyone was encouraged to attend. And according to producer Peter Newman and Dan Jenkins, everyone loved the footage, although both would note that it might have been a combination of the alcohol, the pot, the cocaine and the dehydration caused by shooting all day in the excessive Arizona heat during the middle of summer that helped people enjoy the footage.

But here’s the funny thing about dailies.

Unless a film is being shot in sequence, you’re only seeing small fragments of scenes, often the same actors doing the same things over and over again, before the camera switches places to catch reactions or have other characters continue the scene. Sometimes, they’re long takes of scenes that might be interrupted by an actor flubbing a line or an unexpected camera jitter or some other interruption that requires a restart. But everyone seemed to be having fun, especially when dailies ended and Altman would show one of his other movies like MASH or The Long Goodbye or 3 Women.

After two months of shooting, the film would wrap production, and Altman would get to work on his edit of the film. He would have it done before the end of 1983, and he would turn it in to the studio. Shortly after the new year, there would be a private screening of the film in New York City at the offices of the talent agency William Morris, one of the larger private screening rooms in the city. Altman was there, the New York-based executives at MGM were there, Peter Newman was there, several of the actors were there. And within five minutes of the start of the film, Altman realized what he was watching was not his cut of the film. As he was about to lose his stuff and start yelling at the studio executives, the projector broke. The lights would go up, and Altman would dig into the the executives. “This is your effing cut of the film and not mine!” Altman stormed out of the screening and into the cold New York winter night.

A few weeks later, that same print from New York would be screened for the big executives at the MGM lot in Los Angeles. Newman was there, and, surprisingly, Altman was there too. The film would screen for the entire running length, and Altman would sit there, watching someone else’s version of the footage he had shot, scenes put in different places than they were supposed to be, music cues not of his design or consent.

At the end of the screening, the room was silent. Not one person in the room had laughed once during the entire screening. Newman and Altman left after the screening, and hit one of Altman’s favorite local watering holes. As they said their goodbyes the next morning, Altman apologized to Newman. “I hope I didn’t eff up your movie.”

Maybe the movie wasn’t completely effed up, but MGM certainly neither knew what to do with the film or how to sell it, so it would just sit there, just like Health a few years earlier, on that proverbial shelf.

More than a year later, in an issue of Spin Magazine, a review of the latest album by King Sunny Adé would mention the film he performed in, O.C. and Stiggs, would, quote unquote, “finally” be released into theatres later that year.

That didn’t happen, in large part because after WarGames in the early summer of 1983, almost every MGM release had been either an outright bomb or an unexpected financial disappointment. The cash flow problem was so bad that the studio effectively had to sell itself to Atlanta cable mogul Ted Turner in order to save itself. Turner didn’t actually want all of MGM. He only wanted the valuable MGM film library, but the owner of MGM at the time was either going to sell it all or nothing at all.

Barely two months after Ted Turner bought MGM, he had sold the famed studio lot in Culver City to Lorimar, a television production company that was looking to become a producer and distributor of motion pictures, and sold rest of the company he never wanted in the first place to the guy he bought it all from, who had a kind of seller’s remorse. But that repurchase would saddle the company with massive bills, and movies like O.C. and Stiggs would have to sit and collect dust while everything was sorted out.

How long would O.C. and Stiggs be left in a void?

It would be so long that Robert Altman would have time to make not one, not two, but three other movies that would all be released before O.C. and Stiggs ever saw the light of day.

The first, Secret Honor, released in 1984, featured the great Philip Baker Hall as former President Richard Nixon. It’s probably Hall’s single best work as an actor, and the film would be amongst the best reviewed films of Altman’s career.

In 1985, Altman would film Fool For Love, an adaptation of a play by Sam Shepard. This would be the only time in Shepard’s film career where he would star as one of the characters himself had written. The film would also prove once and for all that Kim Basinger was more than just a pretty face but a real actor.

And in February 1987, Altman’s film version of Beyond Therapy, a play by absurdist playwright Christopher Durant, would open in theatres. The all-star cast would include Tom Conti, Jeff Goldblum, Christopher Guest, Julie Hagerty and Glenda Jackson.

On March 5th, 1987, an article in Daily Variety would note that the “long shelved” film would have a limited theatrical release in May, despite the fact that Frank Yablans, the vice chairman of MGM, being quoted in the article that the film was unreleasable. It would further be noted that despite the film being available to international distributors for three years, not one company was willing to acquire the film for any market. The plan was to release the movie for one or two weeks in three major US markets, depending on its popularity, and then decide a future course of action from there.

But May would come and go, without a hint of the film.

Finally, on Friday, July 10th, the film would open on 18 screens, but none in any major market like Chicago, Los Angeles or New York City. I can’t find a single theatre the film played in that weekend, but that week’s box office figures would show an abysmal $6,273 worth of tickets were sold during that first weekend.

There would not be a second weekend of reported grosses.

But to MGM’s credit, they didn’t totally give up on the film.

On Thursday, August 27th, O.C. and Stiggs would open in at least one theatre. And, lucky for me, that theatre happened to be the Nickelodeon Theatre in Santa Cruz. But despite the fact that the new Robert Altman was opening in town, I could not get a single friend to see it with me. So on a Tuesday night at 8:40pm, I was the only person in all of the region to watch what I would soon discover was the worst Robert Altman movie of all time. Now, I should note that even a bad Robert Altman movie is better than many filmmakers’ best movies, but O.C. and Stiggs would have ignobility of feeling very much like a Robert Altman movie, with its wandering camera and overlapping dialogue that weaves in and out of conversations while in progress and not quite over yet, yet not feeling anything like a Robert Altman movie at the same time. It didn’t have that magical whimsy-ness that was the hallmark of his movies. The satire didn’t have its normal bite. It had a number of Altman’s regular troop of actors, but in smaller roles than they’d usually occupy, and not giving the performances one would expect of them in an Altman movie.

I don’t know how well the film did at the Nick, suffice it to say the film was gone after a week.

But to MGM’s credit, they still didn’t give up on the film.

On October 9th, the film would open at the AMC Century City 14, one of a handful of movies that would open the newest multiplex in Los Angeles.

MGM did not report grosses, and the film was gone from the new multiplex after a week.

But to MGM’s credit, they still didn’t give up on the film.

The studio would give the film one more chance, opening it at the Film Forum in New York City on March 18th, 1988.

MGM did not report grosses, and the film was gone after a week. But whether that was because MGM didn’t support the film with any kind of newspaper advertising in the largest market in America, or because the movie had been released on home video back in November, remains to be seen.

O.C. and Stiggs would never become anything resembling a cult film. It’s been released on DVD, and if one was programming a Robert Altman retrospect at a local arthouse movie theatre, one could actually book a 35mm print of the film from the repertory cinema company Park Circus.

But don’t feel bad for Altman, as he would return to cinemas with a vengeance in the 1990s, first with the 1990 biographical drama Vincent and Theo, featuring Tim Roth as the tortured genius 19th century painter that would put the actor on the map for good. Then, in 1992, he became a sensation again with his Hollywood satire The Player, featuring Tim Robbins as a murderous studio executive trying to keep the police off his trail while he navigates the pitfalls of the industry. Altman would receive his first Oscar nomination for Best Director since 1975 with The Player, his third overall, a feat he would repeat the following year with Short Cuts, based on a series of short stories by Raymond Carver. In fact, Altman would be nominated for an Academy Award seven times during his career, five times as a director and twice as a producer, although he would never win a competitive Oscar.

In March 2006, while editing his 35th film, a screen adaptation of the then-popular NPR series A Prairie Home Companion, the Academy would bestow an Honorary Oscar upon Altman. During his acceptance speech, Altman would wonder if perhaps the Academy acted prematurely in honoring him in this fashion. He revealed he had received a heart transplant in the mid-1990s, and felt that, even though he had turned 81 the month before, he could continue for another forty years.

Robert Altman would pass away from leukemia on November 20th, 2006, only eight months after receiving the biggest prize of his career.

Robert Altman had a style so unique onto himself, there’s an adjective that exists to describe it. Altmanesque. Displaying traits typical of a film made by Robert Altman, typically highly naturalistic, but with a stylized perspective and often a subversive twist.

He truly was a one of a kind filmmaker, and there will likely never be anyone like him, no matter how hard Paul Thomas Anderson tries.

Thank you for joining us. We’ll talk again in two weeks, when Episode 106, Mad Magazine Presents Up the Academy, is released.

Remember to visit this episode’s page on our website, The80sMoviePodcast.com, for extra materials about the movies we covered this episode.

The 80s Movies Podcast has been researched, written, narrated and edited by Edward Havens for Idiosyncratic Entertainment.

Thank you again.

Good night.

Vestron Pictures - Part Three

9 mars 2023 | 21 min

This week, we finish our three part episode on the 1980s distribution company Vestron Pictures.

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The movies discussed on this week's episode are:

The Adventures of a Gnome Named Gnorm (1990, Stan Winston)
Big Man on Campus (1989, Jeremy Paul Kagan)
Dream a Little Dream (1989, Marc Rocco)
Earth Girls Are Easy (1989, Julien Temple)
Far From Home (1989, Meiert Avis)
Paperhouse (1989, Bernard Rose)
Parents (1989, Bob Balaban)
The Rainbow (1989, Ken Russell)
Wonderland (1989, Philip Saville)

TRANSCRIPT

From Los Angeles, California, the Entertainment Capital of the World, it’s The 80s Movies Podcast. I am your host, Edward Havens. Thank you for listening today.

At the end of the previous episode, Vestron Pictures was starting to experience the turbulence a number of independent distributors faced when they had a successful film too soon out of the gate, and the direction of the company seemingly changes to go chasing more waterfalls instead of sticking to the rivers and the lakes they were used to.

Welcome to Part Three of our miniseries.

As we enter 1989, Vestron is seriously in trouble. More money has gone out then has come back in. It seems that they needed one more hit to keep going for a while longer. But if you were to look at their release schedule for the year, which included a pickup from the recently bankrupt DeLaurentiis Entertainment Group, there wasn’t really anything that felt like it could be a Dirty Dancing-like break out, except for maybe the pickup from the recently bankrupt DeLaurentiis Entertainment Group.

But we’ll get there in a moment.

Their first film from 1989 is a certifiable cult film if there ever was one, but the problem with this label is that the film tagged as so was not a success upon its initial theatrical release. Bob Balaban, the beloved character actor who had been regularly seen on screen since his memorable debut in Midnight Cowboy twenty years earlier, would make his directorial debut with the black comedy horror film Parents.

Bryan Madorsky stars as Michael Laemle, a ten year old boy living in the California suburbs in the 1950s, who starts to suspect mom and dad, played by Mary Beth Hurt and Randy Quaid, might be cannibals. It’s a strange but fun little movie, and even Ken Russell would compare it favorably over David Lynch’s Blue Velvet during one contemporary interview, but sadly, it would take far more time for the film to find its audience than Vestron could afford.

Opening in 94 theatres on January 27th, the $3m Parents could not overcome a series of negative reviews from critics, and it would only gross $278k in its first three days. Vestron would not strike any additional prints of the film, and would cycle the ones they did have around the country for several months, but after four months, the film could only attract $870k in box office receipts. But it would become something of a cult hit on video later in the year.

In 1992, British filmmaker Bernard Rose would make his American directing debut with an all-time banger, Candyman. But he wouldn’t gotten Candyman if it wasn’t for his 1989 film Paperhouse, an inventive story about a young girl whose drawings seem to manifest into reality. British actor Ben Cross from Chariots of Fire and American actress Glenne Headly from Dirty Rotten Scoundrels plays the young girl’s parents.

Outside of Gene Siskel, who would give the film a thumbs down on his movie review show with Roger Ebert despite acknowledging Rose’s talent as a filmmaker and being fascinated by the first two-thirds of the movie, the critical consensus was extraordinary. But it appears Siskel may have never actually written a review of the film for the Chicago Tribune, as the film still has a 100% Fresh rating on Rotten Tomatoes. But the film would only earn $6,700 from its single screen playdate at the Carnegie Hall Cinemas when it opened on February 17th, and the film would get little support from Vestron after that. More single playdates in major cities that added up to a $241k box office tally after fourteen weeks in release.

Marc Rocco’s Dream a Little Dream would be the third film in The Two Coreys Cinematic Universe. Corey Feldman plays a high school student who, through one of the strangest plot twists in the whole body switching genre, finds himself switching places with two time Academy Award-winner Jason Robards, playing a professor who is looking for immortality through entering a meditative alpha state. Meredith Salinger and Piper Laurie also find themselves switching bodies as well, while Corey Haim plays the goofball best friend with not a whole lot to do. The supporting cast also includes veteran character actors Harry Dean Stanton and Alex Rocco, the latter who agreed to do the film because it was directed by his son.

When the film opened on March 3rd, it would be Vestron’s second widest release, opening on more than 1,000 theatres. But just like the previous year’s License to Drive, the pairing of Corey Haim and Corey Feldman did not set the box office on fire, opening in fifth place with $2.57m in ticket sales, compared to the #1 film of the week, the Morgan Freeman drama Lean on Me, which would gross twice as much as Dream a Little Dream while playing in 125 fewer theatres. In its second week, the film would lose 56 theatres and 52% of its opening weekend audience, falling all the way to 13th place with a gross of only $1.25m. By week three, the movie would move to dollar houses, and trudge along for several more months, until it closed in the middle of summer with only $5.55m in the till.

In the late 1970s and early 1980s, writer/director Jeremy Paul Kagan had directed and occasionally written several big ticket movies, including the 1977 Henry Winkler drama Heroes, which also starred Sally Field and, in his first post-Star Wars movie, Harrison Ford, and the 1985 Meredith Salinger/John Cusack adventure film The Journey of Natty Gann. Which makes his Natty Gann follow up, Big Man on Campus, such a head scratcher.

A modern adaptation of The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Big Man on Campus was written by Allan Katz, who had been working in television for nearly twenty years writing for and producing shows like All in the Family, Sanford and Son, The Mary Tyler Moore Show and MASH. Katz would also star in the movie as the titular hunchback, even though he had never once acted on any of his shows. But at least he had a good cast supporting him, including Gerrit Graham, Melora Hardin, Jessica Harper, Tom Skerritt, and Cindy Williams.

I can only find one playdate for the film ever, in Los Angeles at the American Cinematheque in March 1989, so while this mostly qualifies as a direct to video release, I feel compelled to at least give it a token mention here.

Have you ever heard of a movie called The Fruit Machine? Of course you haven’t, because that’s a horrible name for a movie, no matter what it’s about. When Vestron acquired this British drama about young gay men who go on the run after they witness a murder, the first thing they did was change the title to Wonderland. Not that Wonderland gives you any more of an idea of what the movie is about than The Fruit Machine. But, whatever.

Today, the movie has two things going for it. One, an early role for Robbie Coltrane, playing a transvestite who operates a nightclub for gay men and transvestites called, you guessed it, The Fruit Machine. Second, the musical score was written by Hans Zimmer, in one of his earliest film jobs. Ironically, Wonderland would be the the third movie scored by Hans Zimmer to be released by Vestron in a four month period, after Burning Secret and Paperhouse.

Wonderland would open at the Quad Cinemas in New York City on April 28th, to poor reviews but a decent $11,500 opening weekend. But the film would not be able to maintain much of an audience, and after five weeks, Wonderland was out of the Quad Cinemas, never to play another theatre in America, with just $50k in the till.

Ken Russell’s third and final film in his contract with Vestron was The Rainbow, an adaptation of a 1915 novel by D.H. Lawrence, whose 1920 novel Women in Love had been adapted by Russell in 1969. Glenda Jackson, who had won the Academy Award for her role in Women in Love, here plays the mother of the character she played in the other film. Here, she co-stars with Sammi Davis as Ursala, the younger sister of Jackson’s Women in Love character, who finds herself attracted to Anton, a young man in town, as well as her gym teacher Winifred.

As one would expect from Ken Russell, the supporting cast is top notch, including future Eighth Doctor Paul McGann, regular Russell collaborator Christopher Gable, and Blowup star David Hemmings. The film would open at the Paris Theatre in New York City on May 5th, where it would gross a very good $22k, spurred on by great reviews from most of the city’s major critics, several of which noted the film to be Russell’s best in a number of years. So it would be sad that the film would end up being the lowest grossing of the three films he’d make with Vestron, only earning a total of $444k after three months in mostly single playdates in major markets.

In 1985, Geena Davis and Jeff Goldblum would work together on a forgettable horror comedy film called Transylvania 6-5000, whose name was a pun on a popular 1940 song recorded by Glenn Miller. In 1986, the pair would work together again in David Cronenberg’s amazing remake of the cheesy 1950s horror film The Fly. In late 1987, shortly after the pair married, they would work together for a third time, on another comedy, and on a movie that was this time based on an actual song.

Earth Girls Are Easy was the name of a song that appeared on comedian Julie Brown’s 1984 EP Goddess in Progress, and was originally developed as a movie at Warner Brothers Studio. The studio would get cold feet when Absolute Beginners, the big British musical directed by music video director Julien Temple, failed big time everywhere in the world except for the UK. Temple was slated to direct Earth Girls Are Easy, and Brown, as the co-writer and co-star of the film, was committed to the filmmaker, even if it meant Warners putting the film into turnaround.

Which they did, in 1986.

It would take nearly a year to get the project back on track, after being rejected by every other major studio and production company in Hollywood, until the French banking giant Credit Lyonnais agree to finance the film, provided they could cut the budget from $14m to $10m, and if the filmmakers could make a distribution deal with the bank’s preferred distributor, the then newly-formed DeLaurentiis Entertainment Group.

The film, about a manicurist in Los Angeles who helps three aliens blend into human culture after they accidentally crash land their spaceship into her pool, would begin production in Los Angeles in October 1987. Davis played the manicurist, and Goldblum one of the aliens, alongside Damon Wayans and Jim Carrey, while the remaining cast would include a number of great comedic actors like MASH’s Larry Linville, Michael McKean, Rick Overton, and Charles Rocket, as well as Los Angeles media personality Angelyne as basically herself.

While the film was nearing completion in early 1988, the DeLaurentiis Entertainment Group would go out of business, leaving Credit Lyonnais in need of a new distributor for their investment. But after Temple turned in his first cut of the film, Credit Lyonnais would send Temple back into his editing bay, where he and his team would spend nearly another five months winnowing out various scenes and completely excising a big and expensive musical number based on one of the other songs on Brown’s 1984 EP, I Like ‘Em Big and Stupid, because it just didn’t work for the film. Additional scenes would be shot, and the budget would end up being $11m.

The film would have its premiere at the Toronto Film Festival in September 1988, and attract attention from a number of distributors including MGM/UA, New World Pictures and Twentieth Century-Fox, but Vestron would end up putting in the winning bid.

The film would originally be set for a February 1989 release, but would get delayed until May 12th. When it finally opened on 317 screens in Boston, Chicago, Los Angeles, New York, Philly, San Francisco, Toronto and Washington DC, the film would gross $893k, putting in twelfth place for the weekend, but its per screen average would be the fourth best amongst the films in the top twenty. The film would fall one place in its second week, losing 35% of its opening weekend audience, grossing $577k. The film would slowly hemorrhage theatres and box office until the plug was pulled in mid-July with only $3.9m in tickets sold.

The sole lasting legacy of the film is that Damon Wayans enjoyed working so much with Jim Carrey that when Damon’s brother Kenan Ivory Wayans was putting together a new comedy television show together thanks to the success of his movie I’m Gonna Get You Sucka, Damon would get his brother to give Carrey a chance. In Living Color would make Carrey and the Wayans Brothers stars, and would change the course of comedy. So there’s that…

In late June, the Lightning Pictures imprint would release their first movie in nearly two years, Far From Home. The film starred the then-fourteen year old Drew Barrymore as a young girl traveling cross country with her father, who get stuck in a small desert town in Nevada on their way to back to Los Angeles, who must deal with some very strange characters in the trailer park they’re staying in, as they slowly discover nothing is as it’s supposed to be. Matt Frewer, Max Headroom himself, plays the dad, who must protect his daughter while he figures out how to get the hell out of town alive.

Truth be told, the movie sucks, and it’s really creepy in how it sexualizes Barrymore, but there’s one hell of a great supporting cast doing their best to keep the joint from totally stinking the place up. Richard Masur, Academy Award nominee Susan Tyrell, Anthony Rapp from Adventures in Babysitting, Jennifer Tilly, and beloved character actor Dick Miller. When Vestron opened the film in four theatres in third-tier regions on June 30th, it was little surprise the film got some very bad notices, although one unnamed reviewer for Variety felt the need to note that Barrymore, who again was only fourteen at the time, had “a baby face, dreamy eyes and a playboy model’s body.” The film would gross just $3,763 in its first and only weekend in theatres.

But that wasn’t even the worst news of the week for Vestron.

On the same day as they opened Far From Home, Vestron had been informed by Security Pacific Bank in Los Angeles that the $100 million line of credit the company had with them was being terminated. 140 of the approximately 300 Vestron staff members, mostly from the Los Angeles office, were let go, including the President of Production, the Senior Vice President of Marketing and Distribution, and the Vice President of Publicity and Promotion. While Vestron Video would continue for a while, in large part thanks to a $15.7m payoff during a dispute over home video ownership rights to the 1986 Best Picture winner Platoon, the theatrical distribution unit was effectively dead. Some movies, including the Fred Savage/Howie Mandel comedy Little Monsters, the Harry Dean Stanton-led comedy Twister, and the Kathryn Bigelow-directed action thriller Blue Steel with Jamie Lee Curtis, would be sold off to other companies, but the titles left behind would see their planned theatrical releases cancelled and eventually be released direct to video.

Thanks to some of the legacy titles in their video catalog, including Dirty Dancing, Vestron would be able to stave off the inevitable, but in January 1991, the company would file for bankruptcy, their final film being the Stan Winston-directed fantasy buddy comedy The Adventures of a Gnome named Gnorm. Filmed in 1988 as Upward, the film featured Anthony Michael Hall as an Los Angeles Police Detective who has to team up with a gnome, a puppet created by Winston, the effects wizard who also directed the film, to solve a murder. For Winston, it was deja vu all over again, as his previous directorial effort, Pumpkinhead, found itself in limbo for a while when its distributor, the DeLaurentiis Entertainment Group, filed for bankruptcy in 1987 before they could release that film.

In bankruptcy court, Live Entertainment, partially owned by 1990s mega movie production company Carolco Pictures, would purchase all of Vestron’s assets for $24m. Live used the assets as collateral to secure a line of credit from industry friendly banks, so they could start their own production and distribution company, of which their only moment of note was helping to finance Reservoir Dogs when no one else would.

Eventually, Live Entertainment would be sold off to Bain Capital, a private investment firm co-founded by Mitt Romney, in 1997, and they would rebrand Live as Artisan Entertainment. Artisan today is best known as the little independent distributor of The Blair Witch Project, but they also would enter into an agreement with Marvel Comics to make movies for 15 of their characters, including Ant-Man, Black Panther, Deadpool, Iron Fist, Longshot, Morbius, Mort the Dead Teenager, and the Power Pack.

Artisan would produce two movies based on Marvel characters, Man-Thing and The Punisher, although neither of those films would be released by Artisan. Artisan would declare bankruptcy in 2003, and Marvel would be one of the companies to place a bid for them. Lionsgate would end up becoming the winning bidder for Artisan’s assets, which is how the vast majority of Vestron titles are now owned by a company that didn’t even exist when Vestron closed shop.

Today, Lionsgate is the owner of the assets of a number of the companies we’ve spoken about on this podcast in the past, and will be talking about in the future, including Crown International, the DeLaurentiis Entertainment Group, Embassy Pictures, and New World Pictures. And it’s also a major reason why so many of the movies we discuss in these episodes looking back at past companies are completely unknown today. As big as Lionsgate is, with nearly $3.6 billion in revenue in 2022, they aren’t going to be able to keep up with the chain of ownership for every movies from every company they’ve purchased, and they’re not going to put the money in to the movies that are barely remembered today. The Film Foundation, the non-profit organization co-founded by Woody Allen, Francis Ford Coppola, Martin Scorsese and Steven Spielberg, which is dedicated to film preservation, estimates the average cost to do a photochemical restoration of a color feature with sound to between $80,000 to $450,000 dollars, not including the cost of a 2k or 4k digital scan. I’m going to have a link in the show notes on our website at The80sMoviePodcast.com to a November 2018 article from the Science History Institute about the process of restoring films. It’s not a long read, but it’s a fascinating read. I hope you’ll check it out.

So there you have it, the end of the line for Vestron Pictures, and many of the movies they helped to make and distribute, most of which you cannot find today in any form.

Thank you for listening.

We’ll talk again next week when Episode 105, on the 1985 teen comedy O.C. and Stiggs, directed by Robert Altman, will be discussed.

Remember to visit this episode’s page on our website, The80sMoviePodcast.com, for extra materials about the movies we covered this episode.

The 80s Movies Podcast has been researched, written, narrated and edited by Edward Havens for Idiosyncratic Entertainment.

Thank you again.

Good night.

Vestron Pictures - Part Two

4 mars 2023 | 30 min

We continue our look back at the movies released by independent distributor Vestron Pictures, focusing on their 1988 releases.

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The movies discussed on this episode, all released by Vestron Pictures in 1988 unless otherwise noted, include:

Amsterdamned (Dick Maas)
And God Created Woman (Roger Vadim)
The Beat (Paul Mones)
Burning Secret (Andrew Birkin)
Call Me (Sollace Mitchell)
The Family (Ettore Scola)
Gothic (Ken Russell, 1987)
The Lair of the White Worm (Ken Russell)
Midnight Crossing (Roger Holzberg)
Paramedics (Stuart Margolin)
The Pointsman (Jos Stelling)
Salome's Last Dance (Ken Russell)
Promised Land (Michael Hoffman)
The Unholy (Camilo Vila)
Waxwork (Anthony Hickox)

TRANSCRIPT

From Los Angeles, California, the Entertainment Capital of the World, it’s The 80s Movies Podcast. I am your host, Edward Havens. Thank you for listening today.

At the end of the previous episode, Vestron Pictures was celebrating the best year of its two year history. Dirty Dancing had become one of the most beloved movies of the year, and Anna was becoming a major awards contender, thanks to a powerhouse performance by veteran actress Sally Kirkland.

And at the 60th Academy Awards ceremony, honoring the films of 1987, Dirty Dancing would win the Oscar for Best Original Song, while Anna would be nominated for Best Actress, and The Dead for Best Adapted Screenplay and Best Costumes.

Surely, things could only go up from there, right?

Welcome to Part Two of our miniseries.

But before we get started, I’m issuing a rare mea culpa. I need to add another Vestron movie which I completely missed on the previous episode, because it factors in to today’s episode. Which, of course, starts before our story begins.

In the 1970s, there were very few filmmakers like the flamboyant Ken Russell. So unique a visual storyteller was Russell, it’s nigh impossible to accurately describe him in a verbal or textual manner. Those who have seen The Devils, Tommy or Altered States know just how special Russell was as a filmmaker. By the late 1980s, the hits had dried up, and Russell was in a different kind of artistic stage, wanting to make somewhat faithful adaptations of late 19th and early 20th century UK authors. Vestron was looking to work with some prestigious filmmakers, to help build their cache in the filmmaking community, and Russell saw the opportunity to hopefully find a new home with this new distributor not unlike the one he had with Warner Brothers in the early 70s that brought forth several of his strongest movies.

In June 1986, Russell began production on a gothic horror film entitled, appropriately enough, Gothic, which depicted a fictionalized version of a real life meeting between Mary Godwin, Percy Shelley, John William Polidori and Claire Clairemont at the Villa Diodati in Geneva, hosted by Lord Byron, from which historians believe both Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein and John William Polidori’s The Vampyre were inspired.

And you want to talk about a movie with a great cast. Gabriel Byrne plays Lord Byron, Julian Sands as Percy Shelley, Natasha Richardson, in her first ever movie, as Mary Shelley, Timothy Spall as John William Polidori, and Dexter Fletcher.

Although the film was produced through MGM, and distributed by the company in Europe, they would not release the film in America, fearing American audiences wouldn’t get it. So Vestron would swoop in and acquire the American theatrical rights.

Incidentally, the film did not do very well in American theatres. Opening at the Cinema 1 in midtown Manhattan on April 10th, 1987, the film would sell $45,000 worth of tickets in its first three days, one of the best grosses of any single screen in the city. But the film would end up grossing only $916k after three months in theatres.

BUT…

The movie would do quite well for Vestron on home video, enough so that Vestron would sign on to produce Russell’s next three movies. The first of those will be coming up very soon.

Vestron’s 1988 release schedule began on January 22nd with the release of two films.

The first was Michael Hoffman’s Promised Land. In 1982, Hoffman’s first film, Privileged, was the first film to made through the Oxford Film Foundation, and was notable for being the first screen appearances for Hugh Grant and Imogen Stubbs, the first film scored by future Oscar winning composer Rachel Portman, and was shepherded into production by none other than John Schlesinger, the Oscar winning director of 1969 Best Picture winner Midnight Cowboy. Hoffman’s second film, the Scottish comedy Restless Natives, was part of the 1980s Scottish New Wave film movement that also included Bill Forsyth’s Gregory’s Girl and Local Hero, and was the only film to be scored by the Scottish rock band Big Country.

Promised Land was one of the first films to be developed by the Sundance Institute, in 1984, and when it was finally produced in 1986, would include Robert Redford as one of its executive producers. The film would follow two recent local high school graduates, Hancock and Danny, whose lives would intersect again with disastrous results several years after graduation. The cast features two young actors destined to become stars, in Keifer Sutherland and Meg Ryan, as well as Jason Gedrick, Tracy Pollan, and Jay Underwood. Shot in Reno and around the Sundance Institute outside Park City, Utah during the early winter months of 1987, Promised Land would make its world premiere at the prestigious Deauville Film Festival in September 1987, but would lose its original distributor, New World Pictures around the same time. Vestron would swoop in to grab the distribution rights, and set it for a January 22nd, 1988 release, just after its American debut at the then U.S. Film Festival, which is now known as the Sundance Film Festival.

Convenient, eh?

Opening on six screens in , the film would gross $31k in its first three days. The film would continue to slowly roll out into more major markets, but with a lack of stellar reviews, and a cast that wouldn’t be more famous for at least another year and a half, Vestron would never push the film out to more than 67 theaters, and it would quickly disappear with only $316k worth of tickets sold.

The other movie Vestron opened on January 22nd was Ettore Scale’s The Family, which was Italy’s submission to that year’s Academy Awards for Best Foreign Language Film. The great Vittorio Gassman stars as a retired college professor who reminisces about his life and his family over the course of the twentieth century. Featuring a cast of great international actors including Fanny Ardant, Philip Noiret, Stefania Sandrelli and Ricky Tognazzi, The Family would win every major film award in Italy, and it would indeed be nominated for Best Foreign Language Film, but in America, it would only play in a handful of theatres for about two months, unable to gross even $350k.

When is a remake not a remake? When French filmmaker Roger Vadim, who shot to international fame in 1956 with his movie And God Created Woman, decided to give a generational and international spin on his most famous work. And a completely different story, as to not resemble his original work in any form outside of the general brushstrokes of both being about a young, pretty, sexually liberated young woman.

Instead of Bridget Bardot, we get Rebecca De Mornay, who was never able to parlay her starring role in Risky Business to any kind of stardom the way one-time boyfriend Tom Cruise had. And if there was any American woman in the United States in 1988 who could bring in a certain demographic to see her traipse around New Mexico au natural, it would be Rebecca De Mornay. But as we saw with Kathleen Turner in Ken Russell’s Crimes of Passion in 1984 and Ellen Barkin in Mary Lambert’s Siesta in 1987, American audiences were still rather prudish when it came to seeing a certain kind of female empowered sexuality on screen, and when the film opened at 385 theatres on March 4th, it would open to barely a $1,000 per screen average. And God Created Woman would be gone from theatres after only three weeks and $717k in ticket sales.

Vestron would next release a Dutch film called The Pointsman, about a French woman who accidentally gets off at the wrong train station in a remote Dutch village, and a local railwayman who, unable to speak the other person’s language, develop a strange relationship while she waits for another train that never arrives.

Opening at the Lincoln Plaza Cinemas on New York’s Upper West Side on April 8th, the film would gross $7,000 in its first week, which in and of itself isn’t all that bad for a mostly silent Dutch film. Except there was another Dutch film in the marketplace already, one that was getting much better reviews, and was the official Dutch entry into that year’s Best Foreign Language Film race. That film, Babette’s Feast, was becoming something more than just a movie. Restaurants across the country were creating menus based on the meals served in the film, and in its sixth week of release in New York City that weekend, had grossed four times as much as The Pointsman, despite the fact that the theatre playing Babette’s Feast, the Cinema Studio 1, sat only 65 more people than the Lincoln Plaza 1. The following week, The Pointsman would drop to $6k in ticket sales, while Babette’s Feast’s audience grew another $6k over the previous week. After a third lackluster week, The Pointsman was gone from the Lincoln Plaza, and would never play in another theatre in America.

In the mid-80s, British actor Ben Cross was still trying to capitalize on his having been one of the leads in the 1981 Best Picture winner Chariots of Fire, and was sharing a home with his wife and children, as well as Camilo Vila, a filmmaker looking for his first big break in features after two well-received short films made in his native Cuba before he defected in the early 1980s. When Vila was offered the chance to direct The Unholy, about a Roman Catholic priest in New Orleans who finds himself battling a demonic force after being appointed to a new parish, he would walk down the hall of his shared home and offered his roomie the lead role.

Along with Ned Beatty, William Russ, Hal Holbrook and British actor Trevor Howard in his final film, The Unholy would begin two weeks of exterior filming in New Orleans on October 27th, 1986, before moving to a studio in Miami for seven more weeks.

The film would open in 1189 theatres, Vestron’s widest opening to date, on April 22nd, and would open in seventh place with $2.35m in ticket sales. By its second week in theatres, it would fall to eleventh place with a $1.24m gross. But with the Summer Movie Season quickly creeping up on the calendar, The Unholy would suffer the same fate as most horror films, making the drop to dollar houses after two weeks, as to make room for such dreck as Sunset, Blake Edwards’ lamentable Bruce Willis/James Garner riff on Hollywood and cowboys in the late 1920s, and the pointless sequel to Critters before screens got gobbled up by Rambo III on Memorial Day weekend. It would earn a bit more than $6m at the box office.

When Gothic didn’t perform well in American theatres, Ken Russell thought his career was over. As we mentioned earlier, the American home video store saved his career, as least for the time being.

The first film Russell would make for Vestron proper was Salome’s Last Dance, based on an 1891 play by Oscar Wilde, which itself was based on a story from the New Testament. Russell’s script would add a framing device as a way for movie audiences to get into this most theatrical of stories.

On Guy Fawkes Day in London in 1892, Oscar Wilde and his lover, Lord Alfred Douglas, arrive late at a friend’s brothel, where the author is treated to a surprise performance of his play Salome, which has recently been banned from being performed at all in England by Lord Chamberlain. All of the actors in his special performance are played by the prostitutes of the brothel and their clients, and the scenes of the play are intertwined with Wilde’s escapades at the brothel that night.

We didn’t know it at the time, but Salome’s Last Dance would be the penultimate film performance for Academy Award winning actress Glenda Jackson, who would retire to go into politics in England a couple years later, after working with Russell on another film, which we’ll get to in a moment. About the only other actor you might recognize in the film is David Doyle, of all people, the American actor best known for playing Bosley on Charlie’s Angels.

Like Gothic, Salome’s Last Dance would not do very well in theatres, grossing less than half a million dollars after three months, but would find an appreciative audience on home video.

The most interesting thing about Roger Holzberg’s Midnight Crossing is the writer and director himself. Holzberg started in the entertainment industry as a playwright, then designed the props and weapons for Albert Pyun’s 1982 film The Sword and the Sorcerer, before moving on to direct the second unit team on Pyun’s 1985 film Radioactive Dreams. After making this film, Holzberg would have a cancer scare, and pivot to health care, creating a number of technological advancements to help evolve patient treatment, including the Infusionarium, a media setup which helps children with cancer cope with treatment by asking them questions designed to determine what setting would be most comforting to them, and then using virtual reality technology and live events to immerse them in such an environment during treatment.

That’s pretty darn cool, actually.

Midnight Crossing stars Faye Dunaway and Hill Street Blues star Daniel J. Travanti in his first major movie role as a couple who team with another couple, played by Kim Cattrall and John Laughlin, who go hunting for treasure supposedly buried between Florida and Cuba.

The film would open in 419 theaters on May 11th, 1988, and gross a paltry $673k in its first three days, putting it 15th on the list of box office grosses for the week, $23k more than Three Men and a Baby, which was playing on 538 screens in its 25th week of release. In its second week, Midnight Crossing would lose more than a third of its theatres, and the weekend gross would fall to just $232k. The third week would be even worse, dropping to just 67 theatres and $43k in ticket sales. After a few weeks at a handful of dollar houses, the film would be history with just $1.3m in the bank. Leonard Klady, then writing for the Los Angeles Times, would note in a January 1989 article about the 1988 box office that Midnight Crossing’s box office to budget ratio of 0.26 was the tenth worst ratio for any major or mini-major studio, ahead of And God Created Woman’s 8th worst ratio of .155 but behind other stinkers like Caddyshack II.

The forgotten erotic thriller Call Me sounds like a twist on the 1984 Alan Rudolph romantic comedy Choose Me, but instead of Genevieve Bujold we get Patricia Charbonneau, and instead of a meet cute involving singles at a bar in Los Angeles, we get a murder mystery involving a New York City journalist who gets involved with a mysterious caller after she witnesses a murder at a bar due to a case of mistaken identity.

The film’s not very good, but the supporting cast is great, including Steve Buscemi, Patti D’Arbanville, Stephen McHattie and David Straithairn.

Opening on 24 screens in major markets on May 20th, Call Me would open to horrible reviews, lead by Siskel and Ebert’s thumbs facing downward, and only $58,348 worth of tickets sold in its first three days. After five weeks in theatres, Vestron hung up on Call Me with just $252k in the kitty.

Vestron would open two movies on June 3rd, one in a very limited release, and one in a moderate national release.

There are a lot of obscure titles in these two episodes, and probably the most obscure is Paul Mones’ The Beat. The film followed a young man named Billy Kane, played by William McNamara in his film debut, who moves into a rough neighborhood controlled by several gangs, who tries to help make his new area a better place by teaching them about poetry. John Savage from The Deer Hunter plays a teacher, and future writer and director Reggie Rock Bythewood plays one of the troubled youths whose life is turned around through the written and spoken word.

The production team was top notch. Producer Julia Phillips was one of the few women to ever win a Best Picture Oscar when she and her then husband Michael Phillips produced The Sting in 1973. Phillips was assisted on the film by two young men who were making their first movie. Jon Kilik would go on to produce or co-produce every Spike Lee movie from Do the Right Thing to Da 5 Bloods, except for BlackkKlansman, while Nick Weschler would produce sex, lies and videotape, Drugstore Cowboy, The Player and Requiem for a Dream, amongst dozens of major films. And the film’s cinematographer, Tom DiCillo, would move into the director’s chair in 1991 with Johnny Suede, which gave Brad Pitt his first lead role.

The Beat would be shot on location in New York City in the summer of 1986, and it would make its world premiere at the Cannes Film Market in May 1987. But it would be another thirteen months before the film arrived in theatres.

Opening on seven screens in Los Angeles and New York City on June 3rd, The Beat would gross just $7,168 in its first three days. There would not be a second week for The Beat. It would make its way onto home video in early 1989, and that’s the last time the film was seen for nearly thirty years, until the film was picked up by a number of streaming services.

Vestron’s streak of bad luck continued with the comedy Paramedics starring George Newbern and Christopher McDonald. The only feature film directed by Stuart Margolin, best known as Angel on the 1970s TV series The Rockford Files, Newbern and McDonald play two… well, paramedics… who are sent by boss, as punishment, from their cushy uptown gig to a troubled district at the edge of the city, where they discover two other paramedics are running a cadavers for dollars scheme, harvesting organs from dead bodies to the black market.

Here again we have a great supporting cast who deserve to be in a better movie, including character actor John P. Ryan, James Noble from Benson, Lawrence Hilton-Jacobs from Welcome Back Kotter, the great Ray Walston, and one-time Playboy Playmate Karen Witter, who plays a sort of angel of death.

Opening on 301 screens nationwide, Paramedics would only gross $149,577 in its first three days, the worst per screen average of any movie playing in at least 100 theatres that weekend. Vestron stopped tracking the film after just three days.

Two weeks later, on June 17th, Vestron released a comedy horror film that should have done better. Waxwork was an interesting idea, a group of college students who have some strange encounters with the wax figures at a local museum, but that’s not exactly why it should have been more popular. It was the cast that should have brought audiences in. On one side, you had a group of well-known younger actors like Deborah Foreman from Valley Girl, Zack Gailligan from Gremlins, Michelle Johnson from Blame It on Rio, and Miles O’Keeffe from Sword of the Valiant. On the other hand, you had a group of seasoned veterans from popular television shows and movies, such as Patrick Macnee from the popular 1960s British TV show The Avengers, John Rhys-Davies from the Indiana Jones movies, and David Warner, from The Omen and Time after Time and Time Bandits and Tron.

But if I want to be completely honest, this was not a movie to release in the early part of summer. While I’m a firm believer that the right movie can find an audience no matter when it’s released, Waxwork was absolutely a prime candidate for an early October release. Throughout the 1980s, we saw a number of horror movies, and especially horror comedies, released in the summer season that just did not hit with audiences. So it would be of little surprise when Waxwork grossed less than a million dollars during its theatrical run. And it should be of little surprise that the film would become popular enough on home video to warrant a sequel, which would add more popular sci-fi and horror actors like Marina Sirtis from Star Trek: The Next Generation, David Carradine and even Bruce Campbell. But by 1992, when Waxwork 2 was released, Vestron was long since closed.

The second Ken Russell movie made for Vestron was The Lair of the White Worm, based on a 1911 novel by Bram Stoker, the author’s final published book before his death the following year. The story follows the residents in and around a rural English manor that are tormented by an ancient priestess after the skull of a serpent she worships is unearthed by an archaeologist.

Russell would offer the role of Sylvia Marsh, the enigmatic Lady who is actually an immortal priestess to an ancient snake god, to Tilda Swinton, who at this point of her career had already racked up a substantial resume in film after only two years, but she would decline. Instead, the role would go to Amanda Donohoe, the British actress best known at the time for her appearances in a pair of Adam Ant videos earlier in the decade. And the supporting cast would include Peter Capaldi, Hugh Grant, Catherine Oxenberg, and the under-appreciated Sammi Davis, who was simply amazing in Mona Lisa, A Prayer for the Dying and John Boorman’s Hope and Glory.

The $2m would come together fairly quickly. Vestron and Russell would agree on the film in late 1987, the script would be approved by January 1988, filming would begin in England in February, and the completed film would have its world premiere at the Montreal Film Festival before the end of August.

When the film arrived in American theatres starting on October 21st, many critics would embrace the director’s deliberate camp qualities and anachronisms. But audiences, who maybe weren’t used to Russell’s style of filmmaking, did not embrace the film quite so much. New Yorkers would buy $31k worth of tickets in its opening weekend at the D. W. Griffith and 8th Street Playhouse, and the film would perform well in its opening weeks in major markets, but the film would never quite break out, earning just $1.2m after ten weeks in theatres. But, again, home video would save the day, as the film would become one of the bigger rental titles in 1989.

If you were a teenager in the early 80s, as I was, you may remember a Dutch horror film called The Lift. Or, at the very least, you remember the key art on the VHS box, of a man who has his head stuck in between the doors of an elevator, while the potential viewer is warned to take the stairs, take the stairs, for God’s sake, take the stairs. It was an impressive debut film for Dick Maas, but it was one that would place an albatross around the neck of his career.

One of his follow ups to The Lift, called Amsterdamned, would follow a police detective who is searching for a serial killer in his home town, who uses the canals of the Dutch capital to keep himself hidden. When the detective gets too close to solving the identity of the murderer, the killer sends a message by killing the detective’s girlfriend, which, if the killer had ever seen a movie before, he should have known you never do. You never make it personal for the cop, because he’s gonna take you down even worse.

When the film’s producers brought the film to the American Film Market in early 1988, it would become one of the most talked about films, and Vestron would pick up the American distribution rights for a cool half a million dollars. The film would open on six screens in the US on November 25th, including the Laemmle Music Hall in Beverly Hills but not in New York City, but a $15k first weekend gross would seal its fate almost immediately. The film would play for another four weeks in theatres, playing on 18 screens at its widest, but it would end its run shortly after the start of of the year with only $62,044 in tickets sold.

The final Vestron Pictures release of 1988 was Andrew Birkin’s Burning Secret. Birkin, the brother of French singer and actress Jane Birkin, would co-write the screenplay for this adaptation of a 1913 short story by Austrian novelist Stefan Zweig, about a about an American diplomat's son who befriends a mysterious baron while staying at an Austrian spa during the 1920s. According to Birkin in a 2021 interview, making the movie was somewhat of a nightmare, as his leading actors, Klaus Maria Brandauer and Faye Dunaway, did not like each other, and their lack of comfort with each other would bleed into their performances, which is fatal for a film about two people who are supposed to passionately burn for each other.

Opening on 16 screens in major markets on Thursday, December 22nd, Burning Secret would only gross $27k in its first four days. The film would actually see a post-Christmas bump, as it would lose a screen but see its gross jump to $40k. But after the first of the year, as it was obvious reviews were not going to save the film and awards consideration was non-existent, the film would close after three weeks with only $104k worth of tickets sold.

By the end of 1988, Vestron was facing bankruptcy. The major distributors had learned the lessons independents like Vestron had taught them about selling more volumes of tapes by lowering the price, to make movies collectables and have people curate their own video library. Top titles were harder to come by, and studios were no longer giving up home video rights to the movies they acquired from third-party producers.

Like many of the distributors we’ve spoken about before, and will undoubtedly speak of again, Vestron had too much success with one movie too quickly, and learned the wrong lessons about growth. If you look at the independent distribution world of 2023, you’ll see companies like A24 that have learned that lesson. Stay lean and mean, don’t go too wide too quickly, try not to spend too much money on a movie, no matter who the filmmaker is and how good of a relationship you have with them. A24 worked with Robert Eggers on The Witch and The Lighthouse, but when he wanted to spend $70-90m to make The Northman, A24 tapped out early, and Focus Features ended up losing millions on the film. Focus, the “indie” label for Universal Studios, can weather a huge loss like The Northman because they are a part of a multinational, multimedia conglomerate.

This didn’t mean Vestron was going to quit quite yet, but, spoiler alert, they’ll be gone soon enough.

In fact, and in case you are newer to the podcast and haven’t listen to many of the previous episodes, none of the independent distribution companies that began and/or saw their best years in the 1980s that we’ve covered so far or will be covering in the future, exist in the same form they existed in back then.

New Line still exists, but it’s now a label within Warner Brothers instead of being an independent distributor. Ditto Orion, which is now just a specialty label within MGM/UA. The Samuel Goldwyn Company is still around and still distributes movies, but it was bought by Orion Pictures the year before Orion was bought by MGM/UA, so it too is now just a specialty label, within another specialty label. Miramax today is just a holding company for the movies the company made before they were sold off to Disney, before Disney sold them off to a hedge fund, who sold Miramax off to another hedge fund.

Atlantic is gone. New World is gone. Cannon is gone. Hemdale is gone. Cinecom is gone. Island Films is gone. Alive Films is gone. Concorde Films is gone. MCEG is gone. CineTel is gone. Crown International is gone. Lorimar is gone. New Century/Vista is gone. Skouras Films is gone. Cineplex Odeon Films is gone.

Not one of them survived.

The same can pretty much be said for the independent distributors created in the 1990s, save Lionsgate, but I’ll leave that for another podcast to tackle.

As for the Vestron story, we’ll continue that one next week, because there are still a dozen more movies to talk about, as well as the end of the line for the once high flying company.

Thank you for joining us. We’ll talk again soon.

Remember to visit this episode’s page on our website, The80sMoviePodcast.com, for extra materials about the movies we covered this episode.

The 80s Movies Podcast has been researched, written, narrated and edited by Edward Havens for Idiosyncratic Entertainment.

Thank you again.

Good night.

Vestron Pictures - Part One

20 februari 2023 | 48 min

The first of a two-part series on the short-lived 80s American distribution company responsible for Dirty Dancing.

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The movies covered on this episode:

Alpine (1987, Fredi M. Murer)
Anna (1987, Yurek Bogayevicz)
Billy Galvin (1986, John Grey)
Blood Diner (1987, Jackie Kong)
China Girl (1987, Abel Ferrera)
The Dead (1987, John Huston)
Dirty Dancing (1987, Emile Ardolino)
Malcolm (1986, Nadia Tess)
Personal Services (1987, Terry Jones)
Slaughter High (1986, Mark Ezra and Peter Litten and George Dugdale)
Steel Dawn (1987, Lance Hook)
Street Trash (1987, Jim Muro)

TRANSCRIPT

From Los Angeles, California, the Entertainment Capital of the World, it’s The 80s Movies Podcast. I am your host, Edward Havens. Thank you for listening today.

Have you ever thought “I should do this thing” but then you never get around to it, until something completely random happens that reminds you that you were going to do this thing a long time ago?

For this week’s episode, that kick in the keister was a post on Twitter from someone I don’t follow being retweeted by the great film critic and essayist Walter Chaw, someone I do follow, that showed a Blu-ray cover of the 1987 Walter Hill film Extreme Prejudice. You see, Walter Chaw has recently released a book about the life and career of Walter Hill, and this other person was showing off their new purchase. That in and of itself wasn’t the kick in the butt.

That was the logo of the disc’s distributor.

Vestron Video.

A company that went out of business more than thirty years before, that unbeknownst to me had been resurrected by the current owner of the trademark, Lionsgate Films, as a specialty label for a certain kind of film like Ken Russell’s Gothic, Beyond Re-Animator, CHUD 2, and, for some reason, Walter Hill’s Neo-Western featuring Nick Nolte, Powers Boothe and Rip Torn.

For those of you from the 80s, you remember at least one of Vestron Pictures’ movies. I guarantee it.

But before we get there, we, as always, must go back a little further back in time.

The year is 1981. Time Magazine is amongst the most popular magazines in the world, while their sister publication, Life, was renowned for their stunning photographs printed on glossy color paper of a larger size than most magazines. In the late 1970s, Time-Life added a video production and distribution company to ever-growing media empire that also included television stations, cable channels, book clubs, and compilation record box sets. But Time Life Home Video didn’t quite take off the way the company had expected, and they decided to concentrate its lucrative cable businesses like HBO. The company would move Austin Furst, an executive from HBO, over to dismantle the assets of Time-Life Films. And while Furst would sell off the production and distribution parts of the company to Fox, and the television department to Columbia Pictures, he couldn’t find a party interested in the home video department. Recognizing that home video was an emerging market that would need a visionary like himself willing to take big risks for the chance to have big rewards, Furst purchased the home video rights to the film and video library for himself, starting up his home entertainment company.

But what to call the company?

It would be his daughter that would come up with Vestron, a portmanteau of combining the name of the Roman goddess of the heart, Vesta, with Tron, the Greek word for instrument. Remember, the movie Tron would not be released for another year at this point.

At first, there were only two employees at Vestron: Furst himself, and Jon Pesinger, a fellow executive at Time-Life who, not unlike Dorothy Boyd in Jerry Maguire, was the only person who saw Furst’s long-term vision for the future.

Outside of the titles they brought with them from Time-Life, Vestron’s initial release of home video titles comprised of two mid-range movie hits where they were able to snag the home video rights instead of the companies that released the movies in theatres, either because those companies did not have a home video operation yet, or did not negotiate for home video rights when making the movie deal with the producers. Fort Apache, The Bronx, a crime drama with Paul Newman and Ed Asner, and Loving Couples, a Shirley MacLaine/James Coburn romantic comedy that was neither romantic nor comedic, were Time-Life productions, while the Burt Reynolds/Dom DeLuise comedy The Cannonball Run, was a pickup from the Hong Kong production company Golden Harvest, which financed the comedy to help break their local star, Jackie Chan, into the American market. They’d also make a deal with several Canadian production companies to get the American home video rights to titles like the Jack Lemmon drama Tribute and the George C. Scott horror film The Changeling.

The advantage that Vestron had over the major studios was their outlook on the mom and pop rental stores that were popping up in every city and town in the United States. The major studios hated the idea that they could sell a videotape for, say, $99.99, and then see someone else make a major profit by renting that tape out fifty or a hundred times at $4 or $5 per night. Of course, they would eventually see the light, but in 1982, they weren’t there yet.

Now, let me sidetrack for a moment, as I am wont to do, to talk about mom and pop video stores in the early 1980s. If you’re younger than, say, forty, you probably only know Blockbuster and/or Hollywood Video as your local video rental store, but in the early 80s, there were no national video store chains yet. The first Blockbuster wouldn’t open until October 1985, in Dallas, and your neighborhood likely didn’t get one until the late 1980s or early 1990s. The first video store I ever encountered, Telford Home Video in Belmont Shores, Long Beach in 1981, was operated by Bob Telford, an actor best known for playing the Station Master in both the original 1974 version of Where the Red Fern Grows and its 2003 remake. Bob was really cool, and I don’t think it was just because the space for the video store was just below my dad’s office in the real estate company that had built and operated the building. He genuinely took interest in this weird thirteen year old kid who had an encyclopedic knowledge of films and wanted to learn more. I wanted to watch every movie he had in the store that I hadn’t seen yet, but there was one problem: we had a VHS machine, and most of Bob’s inventory was RCA SelectaVision, a disc-based playback system using a special stylus and a groove-covered disc much like an LP record. After school each day, I’d hightail it over to Telford Home Video, and Bob and I would watch a movie while we waited for customers to come rent something. It was with Bob that I would watch Ordinary People and The Magnificent Seven, The Elephant Man and The Last Waltz, Bus Stop and Rebel Without a Cause and The French Connection and The Man Who Fell to Earth and a bunch of other movies that weren’t yet available on VHS, and it was great.

Like many teenagers in the early 1980s, I spent some time working at a mom and pop video store, Seacliff Home Video in Aptos, CA. I worked on the weekends, it was a third of a mile walk from home, and even though I was only 16 years old at the time, my bosses would, every week, solicit my opinion about which upcoming videos we should acquire. Because, like Telford Home Video and Village Home Video, where my friends Dick and Michelle worked about two miles away, and most every video store at the time, space was extremely limited and there was only space for so many titles. Telford Home Video was about 500 square feet and had maybe 500 titles. Seacliff was about 750 square feet and around 800 titles, including about 50 in the tiny, curtained off room created to hold the porn. And the first location for Village Home Video had only 300 square feet of space and only 250 titles. The owner, Leone Keller, confirmed to me that until they moved into a larger location across from the original store, they were able to rent out every movie in the store every night.

For many, a store owner had to be very careful about what they ordered and what they replaced. But Vestron Home Video always seemed to have some of the better movies. Because of a spat between Warner Brothers and Orion Pictures, Vestron would end up with most of Orion’s 1983 through 1985 theatrical releases, including Rodney Dangerfield’s Easy Money, the Nick Nolte political thriller Under Fire, the William Hurt mystery Gorky Park, and Gene Wilder’s The Woman in Red. They’d also make a deal with Roger Corman’s old American Independent Pictures outfit, which would reap an unexpected bounty when George Miller’s second Mad Max movie, The Road Warrior, became a surprise hit in 1982, and Vestron was holding the video rights to the first Mad Max movie. And they’d also find themselves with the laserdisc rights to several Brian DePalma movies including Dressed to Kill and Blow Out. And after Polygram Films decided to leave the movie business in 1984, they would sell the home video rights to An American Werewolf in London and Endless Love to Vestron.

They were doing pretty good.

And in 1984, Vestron ended up changing the home video industry forever.

When Michael Jackson and John Landis had trouble with Jackson’s record company, Epic, getting their idea for a 14 minute short film built around the title song to Jackson’s monster album Thriller financed, Vestron would put up a good portion of the nearly million dollar budget in order to release the movie on home video, after it played for a few weeks on MTV. In February 1984, Vestron would release a one-hour tape, The Making of Michael Jackson’s Thriller, that included the mini-movie and a 45 minute Making of featurette. At $29.99, it would be one of the first sell-through titles released on home video.

It would become the second home videotape to sell a million copies, after Star Wars.

Suddenly, Vestron was flush with more cash than it knew what to do with.

In 1985, they would decide to expand their entertainment footprint by opening Vestron Pictures, which would finance a number of movies that could be exploited across a number of platforms, including theatrical, home video, cable and syndicated TV. In early January 1986, Vestron would announce they were pursuing projects with three producers, Steve Tisch, Larry Turman, and Gene Kirkwood, but no details on any specific titles or even a timeframe when any of those movies would be made.

Tisch, the son of Loews Entertainment co-owner Bob Tisch, had started producing films in 1977 with the Peter Fonda music drama Outlaw Blues, and had a big hit in 1983 with Risky Business. Turman, the Oscar-nominated producer of Mike Nichols’ The Graduate, and Kirkwood, the producer of The Keep and The Pope of Greenwich Village, had seen better days as producers by 1986 but their names still carried a certain cache in Hollywood, and the announcement would certainly let the industry know Vestron was serious about making quality movies.

Well, maybe not all quality movies. They would also launch a sub-label for Vestron Pictures called Lightning Pictures, which would be utilized on B-movies and schlock that maybe wouldn’t fit in the Vestron Pictures brand name they were trying to build.

But it costs money to build a movie production and theatrical distribution company.

Lots of money.

Thanks to the ever-growing roster of video titles and the success of releases like Thriller, Vestron would go public in the spring of 1985, selling enough shares on the first day of trading to bring in $440m to the company, $140m than they thought they would sell that day.

It would take them a while, but in 1986, they would start production on their first slate of films, as well as acquire several foreign titles for American distribution.

Vestron Pictures officially entered the theatrical distribution game on July 18th, 1986, when they released the Australian comedy Malcolm at the Cinema 2 on the Upper East Side of New York City. A modern attempt to create the Aussie version of a Jacques Tati-like absurdist comedy about modern life and our dependance on gadgetry, Malcolm follows, as one character describes him a 100 percent not there individual who is tricked into using some of his remote control inventions to pull of a bank robbery. While the film would be a minor hit in Australia, winning all eight of the Australian Film Institute Awards it was nominated for including Best Picture, Director, Screenplay and three acting awards, the film would only play for five weeks in New York, grossing less than $35,000, and would not open in Los Angeles until November 5th, where in its first week at the Cineplex Beverly Center and Samuel Goldwyn Pavilion Cinemas, it would gross a combined $37,000. Go figure.

Malcolm would open in a few more major markets, but Vestron would close the film at the end of the year with a gross under $200,000.

Their next film, Slaughter High, was a rather odd bird. A co-production between American and British-based production companies, the film followed a group of adults responsible for a prank gone wrong on April Fool's Day who are invited to a reunion at their defunct high school where a masked killer awaits inside.

And although the movie takes place in America, the film was shot in London and nearby Virginia Water, Surrey, in late 1984, under the title April Fool’s Day. But even with Caroline Munro, the British sex symbol who had become a cult favorite with her appearances in a series of sci-fi and Hammer horror films with Peter Cushing and/or Christopher Lee, as well as her work in the Bond film The Spy Who Loved Me, April Fool’s Day would sit on the proverbial shelf for nearly two years, until Vestron picked it up and changed its title, since Paramount Pictures had released their own horror film called April Fools Day earlier in the year.

Vestron would open Slaughter High on nine screens in Detroit on November 14th, 1986, but Vestron would not report grosses. Then they would open it on six screen in St. Louis on February 13th, 1987. At least this time they reported a gross. $12,400. Variety would simply call that number “grim.” They’d give the film one final rush on April 24th, sending it out to 38 screens in in New York City, where it would gross $90,000. There’d be no second week, as practically every theatre would replace it with Creepshow 2.

The third and final Vestron Pictures release for 1986 was Billy Galvin, a little remembered family drama featuring Karl Malden and Lenny von Dohlen, originally produced for the PBS anthology series American Playhouse but bumped up to a feature film as part of coordinated effort to promote the show by occasionally releasing feature films bearing the American Playhouse banner.

The film would open at the Cineplex Beverly Center on December 31st, not only the last day of the calendar year but the last day a film can be released into theatres in Los Angeles to have been considered for Academy Awards. The film would not get any major awards, from the Academy or anyone else, nor much attention from audiences, grossing just $4,000 in its first five days. They’d give the film a chance in New York on February 20th, at the 23rd Street West Triplex, but a $2,000 opening weekend gross would doom the film from ever opening in another theatre again.

In early 1987, Vestron announced eighteen films they would release during the year, and a partnership with AMC Theatres and General Cinema to have their films featured in those two companies’ pilot specialized film programs in major markets like Dallas, Denver, Detroit, Houston and San Francisco.

Alpine Fire would be the first of those films, arriving at the Cinema Studio 1 in New York City on February 20th. A Swiss drama about a young deaf and mentally challenged teenager who gets his older sister pregnant, was that country’s entry into the Best Foreign Language Film Oscar race. While the film would win the Golden Leopard Award at the 1985 Locarno Film Festival, the Academy would not select the film for a nomination, and the film would quickly disappear from theatres after a $2,000 opening weekend gross.

Personal Services, the first film to be directed by Terry Jones outside of his services with Monty Python, would arrive in American theatres on May 15th. The only Jones-directed film to not feature any other Python in the cast, Personal Services was a thinly-disguised telling of a 1970s—era London waitress who was running a brothel in her flat in order to make ends meet, and featured a standout performance by Julie Walters as the waitress turned madame. In England, Personal Services would be the second highest-grossing film of the year, behind The Living Daylights, the first Bond film featuring new 007 Timothy Dalton. In America, the film wouldn’t be quite as successful, grossing $1.75m after 33 weeks in theatres, despite never playing on more than 31 screens in any given week.

It would be another three months before Vestron would release their second movie of the year, but it would be the one they’d become famous for.

Dirty Dancing.

Based in large part on screenwriter Eleanor Bergstein’s own childhood, the screenplay would be written after the producers of the 1980 Michael Douglas/Jill Clayburgh dramedy It’s My Turn asked the writer to remove a scene from the screenplay that involved an erotic dance sequence. She would take that scene and use it as a jumping off point for a new story about a Jewish teenager in the early 1960s who participated in secret “Dirty Dancing” competitions while she vacationed with her doctor father and stay-at-home mother while they vacationed in the Catskill Mountains. Baby, the young woman at the center of the story, would not only resemble the screenwriter as a character but share her childhood nickname.

Bergstein would pitch the story to every studio in Hollywood in 1984, and only get a nibble from MGM Pictures, whose name was synonymous with big-budget musicals decades before. They would option the screenplay and assign producer Linda Gottlieb, a veteran television producer making her first major foray into feature films, to the project. With Gottlieb, Bergstein would head back to the Catskills for the first time in two decades, as research for the script. It was while on this trip that the pair would meet Michael Terrace, a former Broadway dancer who had spent summers in the early 1960s teaching tourists how to mambo in the Catskills. Terrace and Bergstein didn’t remember each other if they had met way back when, but his stories would help inform the lead male character of Johnny Castle.

But, as regularly happens in Hollywood, there was a regime change at MGM in late 1985, and one of the projects the new bosses cut loose was Dirty Dancing. Once again, the script would make the rounds in Hollywood, but nobody was biting… until Vestron Pictures got their chance to read it.

They loved it, and were ready to make it their first in-house production… but they would make the movie if the budget could be cut from $10m to $4.5m. That would mean some sacrifices. They wouldn’t be able to hire a major director, nor bigger name actors, but that would end up being a blessing in disguise.

To direct, Gottlieb and Bergstein looked at a lot of up and coming feature directors, but the one person they had the best feeling about was Emile Ardolino, a former actor off-Broadway in the 1960s who began his filmmaking career as a documentarian for PBS in the 1970s. In 1983, Ardolino’s documentary about National Dance Institute founder Jacques d’Amboise, He Makes Me Feel Like Dancin’, would win both the Academy Award for Best Documentary Feature and the Emmy Award for Outstanding Children’s Entertainment Special.

Although Ardolino had never directed a movie, he would read the script twice in a week while serving on jury duty, and came back to Gottlieb and Bergstein with a number of ideas to help make the movie shine, even at half the budget.

For a movie about dancing, with a lot of dancing in it, they would need a creative choreographer to help train the actors and design the sequences. The filmmakers would chose Kenny Ortega, who in addition to choreographing the dance scenes in Pretty in Pink and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, had worked with Gene Kelly on the 1980 musical Xanadu. Well, more specifically, was molded by Gene Kelly to become the lead choreographer for the film. That’s some good credentials.

Unlike movies like Flashdance, where the filmmakers would hire Jennifer Beals to play Alex and Marine Jahan to perform Alex’s dance scenes, Emile Ardolino was insistent that the actors playing the dancers were actors who also dance. Having stand-ins would take extra time to set-up, and would suck up a portion of an already tight budget. Yet the first people he would meet for the lead role of Johnny were non-dancers Benecio del Toro, Val Kilmer, and Billy Zane. Zane would go so far as to do a screen test with one of the actresses being considered for the role of Baby, Jennifer Grey, but after screening the test, they realized Grey was right for Baby but Zane was not right for Johnny.

Someone suggested Patrick Swayze, a former dancer for the prestigious Joffrey Ballet who was making his way up the ranks of stardom thanks to his roles in The Outsiders and Grandview U.S.A. But Swayze had suffered a knee injury years before that put his dance career on hold, and there were concerns he would re-aggravate his injury, and there were concerns from Jennifer Grey because she and Swayze had not gotten along very well while working on Red Dawn. But that had been three years earlier, and when they screen tested together here, everyone was convinced this was the pairing that would bring magic to the role.

Baby’s parents would be played by two Broadway veterans: Jerry Orbach, who is best known today as Detective Lenny Briscoe on Law and Order, and Kelly Bishop, who is best known today as Emily Gilmore from Gilmore Girls but had actually started out as a dancer, singer and actor, winning a Tony Award for her role in the original Broadway production of A Chorus Line. Although Bishop had originally been cast in a different role for the movie, another guest at the Catskills resort with the Housemans, but she would be bumped up when the original Mrs. Houseman, Lynne Lipton, would fall ill during the first week of filming.

Filming on Dirty Dancing would begin in North Carolina on September 5th, 1986, at a former Boy Scout camp that had been converted to a private residential community. This is where many of the iconic scenes from the film would be shot, including Baby carrying the watermelon and practicing her dance steps on the stairs, all the interior dance scenes, the log scene, and the golf course scene where Baby would ask her father for $250. It’s also where Patrick Swayze almost ended his role in the film, when he would indeed re-injure his knee during the balancing scene on the log. He would be rushed to the hospital to have fluid drained from the swelling. Thankfully, there would be no lingering effects once he was released.

After filming in North Carolina was completed, the team would move to Virginia for two more weeks of filming, including the water lift scene, exteriors at Kellerman’s Hotel and the Houseman family’s cabin, before the film wrapped on October 27th.

Ardolino’s first cut of the film would be completed in February 1987, and Vestron would begin the process of running a series of test screenings. At the first test screening, nearly 40% of the audience didn’t realize there was an abortion subplot in the movie, even after completing the movie. A few weeks later, Vestron executives would screen the film for producer Aaron Russo, who had produced such movies as The Rose and Trading Places. His reaction to the film was to tell the executives to burn the negative and collect the insurance.

But, to be fair, one important element of the film was still not set.

The music.

Eleanor Bergstein had written into her script a number of songs that were popular in the early 1960s, when the movie was set, that she felt the final film needed. Except a number of the songs were a bit more expensive to license than Vestron would have preferred. The company was testing the film with different versions of those songs, other artists’ renditions. The writer, with the support of her producer and director, fought back. She made a deal with the Vestron executives. They would play her the master tracks to ten of the songs she wanted, as well as the copycat versions. If she could identify six of the masters, she could have all ten songs in the film.

Vestron would spend another half a million dollars licensing the original recording.

The writer nailed all ten.

But even then, there was still one missing piece of the puzzle.

The closing song.

While Bergstein wanted another song to close the film, the team at Vestron were insistent on a new song that could be used to anchor a soundtrack album. The writer, producer, director and various members of the production team listened to dozens of submissions from songwriters, but none of them were right, until they got to literally the last submission left, written by Franke Previte, who had written another song that would appear on the Dirty Dancing soundtrack, “Hungry Eyes.”

Everybody loved the song, called “I’ve Had the Time of My Life,” and it would take some time to convince Previte that Dirty Dancing was not a porno. They showed him the film and he agreed to give them the song, but the production team and Vestron wanted to get a pair of more famous singers to record the final version.

The filmmakers originally approached disco queen Donna Summer and Joe Esposito, whose song “You’re the Best” appeared on the Karate Kid soundtrack, but Summer would decline, not liking the title of the movie. They would then approach Daryl Hall from Hall and Oates and Kim Carnes, but they’d both decline, citing concerns about the title of the movie. Then they approached Bill Medley, one-half of The Righteous Brothers, who had enjoyed yet another career resurgence when You Lost That Lovin’ Feeling became a hit in 1986 thanks to Top Gun, but at first, he would also decline. Not that he had any concerns about the title of the film, although he did have concerns about the title, but that his wife was about to give birth to their daughter, and he had promised he would be there.

While trying to figure who to get to sing the male part of the song, the music supervisor for the film approached Jennifer Warnes, who had sung the duet “Up Where We Belong” from the An Officer and a Gentleman soundtrack, which had won the 1983 Academy Award for Best Original Song, and sang the song “It Goes Like It Goes” from the Norma Rae soundtrack, which had won the 1980 Academy Award for Best Original Song. Warnes wasn’t thrilled with the song, but she would be persuaded to record the song for the right price… and if Bill Medley would sing the other part. Medley, flattered that Warnes asked specifically to record with him, said he would do so, after his daughter was born, and if the song was recorded in his studio in Los Angeles. A few weeks later, Medley and Warnes would have their portion of the song completed in only one hour, including additional harmonies and flourishes decided on after finishing with the main vocals.

With all the songs added to the movie, audience test scores improved considerably.

RCA Records, who had been contracted to handle the release of the soundtrack, would set a July 17th release date for the album, to coincide with the release of the movie on the same day, with the lead single, I’ve Had the Time of My Life, released one week earlier. But then, Vestron moved the movie back from July 17th to August 21st… and forgot to tell RCA Records about the move. No big deal. The song would quickly rise up the charts, eventually hitting #1 on the Billboard charts.

When the movie finally did open in 975 theatres in August 21st, the film would open to fourth place with $3.9m in ticket sales, behind Can’t Buy Me Love in third place and in its second week of release, the Cheech Marin comedy Born in East L.A., which opened in second place, and Stakeout, which was enjoying its third week atop the charts.

The reviews were okay, but not special. Gene Siskel would give the film a begrudging Thumbs Up, citing Jennifer Grey’s performance and her character’s arc as the thing that tipped the scale into the positive, while Roger Ebert would give the film a Thumbs Down, due to its idiot plot and tired and relentlessly predictable story of love between kids from different backgrounds.

But then a funny thing happened…

Instead of appealing to the teenagers they thought would see the film, the majority of the audience ended up becoming adults. Not just twenty and thirty somethings, but people who were teenagers themselves during the movie’s timeframe. They would be drawn in to the film through the newfound sense of boomer nostalgia that helped make Stand By Me an unexpected hit the year before, both as a movie and as a soundtrack.

Its second week in theatre would only see the gross drop 6%, and the film would finish in third place.

In week three, the four day Labor Day weekend, it would gross nearly $5m, and move up to second place. And it would continue to play and continue to bring audiences in, only dropping out of the top ten once in early November for one weekend, from August to December. Even with all the new movies entering the marketplace for Christmas, Dirty Dancing would be retained by most of the theatres that were playing it. In the first weekend of 1988, Dirty Dancing was still playing in 855 theaters, only 120 fewer than who opened it five months earlier. Once it did started leaving first run theatres, dollar houses were eager to pick it up, and Dirty Dancing would make another $6m in ticket sales as it continued to play until Christmas 1988 at some theatres, finishing its incredible run with $63.5m in ticket sales.

Yet, despite its ubiquitousness in American pop culture, despite the soundtrack selling more than ten million copies in its first year, despite the uptick in attendance at dance schools from coast to coast, Dirty Dancing never once was the #1 film in America on any weekend it was in theatres. There would always be at least one other movie that would do just a bit better.

When awards season came around, the movie was practically ignored by critics groups. It would pick up an Independent Spirit Award for Best First Feature, and both the movie and Jennifer Grey would be nominated for Golden Globes, but it would be that song, I’ve Had the Time of My Life, that would be the driver for awards love. It would win the Academy Award and the Golden Globe for Best Original Song, and a Grammy for Best Pop Performance by a Duo or Group with Vocals. The song would anchor a soundtrack that would also include two other hit songs, Eric Carmen’s “Hungry Eyes,” and “She’s Like the Wind,” recorded for the movie by Patrick Swayze, making him the proto-Hugh Jackman of the 80s. I’ve seen Hugh Jackman do his one-man show at the Hollywood Bowl, and now I’m wishing Patrick Swayze could have had something like that thirty years ago.

On September 25th, they would release Abel Ferrera’s Neo-noir romantic thriller China Girl. A modern adaptation of Romeo and Juliet written by regular Ferrera writer Nicholas St. John, the setting would be New York City’s Lower East Side, when Tony, a teenager from Little Italy, falls for Tye, a teenager from Chinatown, as their older brothers vie for turf in a vicious gang war. While the stars of the film, Richard Panebianco and Sari Chang, would never become known actors, the supporting cast is as good as you’d expect from a post-Ms. .45 Ferrera film, including James Russo, Russell Wong, David Caruso and James Hong.

The $3.5m movie would open on 110 screens, including 70 in New York ti-state region and 18 in Los Angeles, grossing $531k. After a second weekend, where the gross dropped to $225k, Vestron would stop tracking the film, with a final reported gross of just $1.26m coming from a stockholder’s report in early 1988.

Ironically, China Girl would open against another movie that Vestron had a hand in financing, but would not release in America: Rob Reiner’s The Princess Bride. While the film would do okay in America, grossing $30m against its $15m, it wouldn’t translate so easily to foreign markets.

Anna, from first time Polish filmmaker Yurek Bogayevicz, was an oddball little film from the start. The story, co-written with the legendary Polish writer/director Agnieszka Holland, was based on the real-life friendship of Polish actresses Joanna (Yo-ahn-nuh) Pacuła (Pa-tsu-wa) and Elżbieta (Elz-be-et-ah) Czyżewska (Chuh-zef-ska), and would find Czech supermodel Paulina Porizkova making her feature acting debut as Krystyna, an aspiring actress from Czechoslovakia who goes to New York City to find her idol, Anna, who had been imprisoned and then deported for speaking out against the new regime after the 1968 Communist invasion. Nearly twenty years later, the middle-aged Anna struggles to land any acting parts, in films, on television, or on the stage, who relishes the attention of this beautiful young waif who reminds her of herself back then.

Sally Kirkland, an American actress who got her start as part of Andy Warhol’s Factory in the early 60s but could never break out of playing supporting roles in movies like The Way We Were, The Sting, A Star is Born, and Private Benjamin, would be cast as the faded Czech star whose life seemed to unintentionally mirror the actress’s. Future Snakes on a Plane director David R. Ellis would be featured in a small supporting role, as would the then sixteen year old Sofia Coppola.

The $1m movie would shoot on location in New York City during the winter of late 1986 and early 1987, and would make its world premiere at the 1987 New York Film Festival in September, before opening at the 68th Street Playhouse on the Upper East Side on October 30th. Critics such as Bruce Williamson of Playboy, Molly Haskell of Vogue and Jami Bernard of the New York Post would sing the praises of the movie, and of Paulina Porizkova, but it would be Sally Kirkland whom practically every critic would gush over. “A performance of depth and clarity and power, easily one of the strongest female roles of the year,” wrote Mike McGrady of Newsday. Janet Maslim wasn’t as impressed with the film as most critics, but she would note Ms. Kirkland's immensely dignified presence in the title role.

New York audiences responded well to the critical acclaim, buying more than $22,000 worth of tickets, often playing to sell out crowds for the afternoon and evening shows. In its second week, the film would see its gross increase 12%, and another 3% increase in its third week. Meanwhile, on November 13th, the film would open in Los Angeles at the AMC Century City 14, where it would bring in an additional $10,000, thanks in part to Sheila Benson’s rave in the Los Angeles Times, calling the film “the best kind of surprise — a small, frequently funny, fine-boned film set in the worlds of the theater and movies which unexpectedly becomes a consummate study of love, alienation and loss,” while praising Kirkland’s performance as a “blazing comet.”

Kirkland would make the rounds on the awards circuit, winning Best Actress awards from the Los Angeles Film Critics Association, the Golden Globes, and the Independent Spirit Awards, culminating in an Academy Award nomination, although she would lose to Cher in Moonstruck.

But despite all these rave reviews and the early support for the film in New York and Los Angeles, the film got little traction outside these two major cities. Despite playing in theatres for nearly six months, Anna could only round up about $1.2m in ticket sales.

Vestron’s penultimate new film of 1987 would be a movie that when it was shot in Namibia in late 1986 was titled Peacekeeper, then was changed to Desert Warrior when it was acquired by Jerry Weintraub’s eponymously named distribution company, then saw it renamed again to Steel Dawn when Vestron overpaid to acquire the film from Weintraub, because they wanted the next film starring Patrick Swayze for themselves.

Swayze plays, and stop me if you’ve heard this one before, a warrior wandering through a post-apocalyptic desert who comes upon a group of settlers who are being menaced by the leader of a murderous gang who's after the water they control. Lisa Niemi, also known as Mrs. Patrick Swayze, would be his romantic interest in the film, which would also star AnthonY Zerbe, Brian James, and, in one of his very first acting roles, future Mummy co-star Arnold Vosloo.

The film would open to horrible reviews, and gross just $312k in 290 theatres. For comparison’s sake, Dirty Dancing was in its eleventh week of release, was still playing 878 theatres, and would gross $1.7m. In its second week, Steel Dawn had lost nearly two thirds of its theatres, grossing only $60k from 107 theatres. After its third weekend, Vestron stopped reporting grosses. The film had only earned $562k in ticket sales.

And their final release for 1987 would be one of the most prestigious titles they’d ever be involved with. The Dead, based on a short story by James Joyce, would be the 37th and final film to be directed by John Huston. His son Tony would adapt the screenplay, while his daughter Anjelica, whom he had directed to a Best Supporting Actress Oscar two years earlier for Prizzi’s Honor, would star as the matriarch of an Irish family circa 1904 whose husband discovers memoirs of a deceased lover of his wife’s, an affair that preceded their meeting.

Originally scheduled to shoot in Dublin, Ireland, The Dead would end up being shot on soundstages in Valencia, CA, just north of Los Angeles, as the eighty year old filmmaker was in ill health. Huston, who was suffering from severe emphysema due to decades of smoking, would use video playback for the first and only time in his career in order to call the action, whirling around from set to set in a motorized wheelchair with an oxygen tank attached to it. In fact, the company insuring the film required the producers to have a backup director on set, just in case Huston was unable to continue to make the film. That stand-in was Czech-born British filmmaker Karel Reisz, who never once had to stand-in during the entire shoot.

One Huston who didn’t work on the film was Danny Huston, who was supposed to shoot some second unit footage for the film in Dublin for his father, who could not make any trips overseas, as well as a documentary about the making of the film, but for whatever reason, Danny Huston would end up not doing either.

John Huston would turn in his final cut of the film to Vestron in July 1987, and would pass away in late August, a good four months before the film’s scheduled release. He would live to see some of the best reviews of his entire career when the film was released on December 18th. At six theatres in Los Angeles and New York City, The Dead would earn $69k in its first three days during what was an amazing opening weekend for a number of movies. The Dead would open against exclusive runs of Broadcast News, Ironweed, Moonstruck and the newest Woody Allen film, September, as well as wide releases of Eddie Murphy: Raw, Batteries Not Included, Overboard, and the infamous Bill Cosby stinker Leonard Part 6.

The film would win the National Society of Film Critics Award for Best Picture of the year, John Huston would win the Spirit Award and the London Film Critics Circle Award for Best Director, Anjelica Huston would win a Spirit Award as well, for Best Supporting Actress, and Tony Huston would be nominated for an Academy Award for Best Adapted Screenplay. But the little $3.5m film would only see modest returns at the box office, grossing just $4.4m after a four month run in theatres.

Vestron would also release two movies in 1987 through their genre Lightning Pictures label.

The first, Blood Diner, from writer/director Jackie Kong, was meant to be both a tribute and an indirect sequel to the infamous 1965 Herschell Gordon Lewis movie Blood Feast, often considered to be the first splatter slasher film. Released on four screens in Baltimore on July 10th, the film would gross just $6,400 in its one tracked week. The film would get a second chance at life when it opened at the 8th Street Playhouse in New York City on September 4th, but after a $5,000 opening week gross there, the film would have to wait until it was released on home video to become a cult film.

The other Lightning Pictures release for 1987, Street Trash, would become one of the most infamous horror comedy films of the year. An expansion of a short student film by then nineteen year old Jim Muro, Street Trash told the twin stories of a Greenpoint, Brooklyn shop owner who sell a case of cheap, long-expired hooch to local hobos, who hideously melt away shortly after drinking it, while two homeless brothers try to deal with their situation as best they can while all this weirdness is going on about them.

After playing several weeks of midnight shows at the Waverly Theatre near Washington Square, Street Trash would open for a regular run at the 8th Street Playhouse on September 18th, one week after Blood Diner left the same theatre. However, Street Trash would not replace Blood Diner, which was kicked to the curb after one week, but another long forgotten movie, the Christopher Walken-starrer Deadline. Street Trash would do a bit better than Blood Diner, $9,000 in its first three days, enough to get the film a full two week run at the Playhouse. But its second week gross of $5,000 would not be enough to give it a longer playdate, or get another New York theatre to pick it up. The film would get other playdates, including one in my secondary hometown of Santa Cruz starting, ironically, on Thanksgiving Day, but the film would barely make $100k in its theatrical run.

While this would be the only film Jim Muro would direct, he would become an in demand cinematographer and Steadicam operator, working on such films as Field of Dreams, Dances with Wolves, Sneakers, L.A. Confidential, the first Fast and Furious movie, and on The Abyss, Terminator 2, True Lies and Titanic for James Cameron. And should you ever watch the film and sit through the credits, yes, it’s that Bryan Singer who worked as a grip and production assistant on the film. It would be his very first film credit, which he worked on during a break from going to USC film school.

People who know me know I am not the biggest fan of horror films. I may have mentioned it once or twice on this podcast. But I have a soft spot for Troma Films and Troma-like films, and Street Trash is probably the best Troma movie not made or released by Troma. There’s a reason why Lloyd Kaufman is not a fan of the movie. A number of people who have seen the movie think it is a Troma movie, not helped by the fact that a number of people who did work on The Toxic Avenger went to work on Street Trash afterwards, and some even tell Lloyd at conventions that Street Trash is their favorite Troma movie. It’s looks like a Troma movie. It feels like a Troma movie. And to be honest, at least to me, that’s one hell of a compliment. It’s one of the reasons I even went to see Street Trash, the favorable comparison to Troma. And while I, for lack of a better word, enjoyed Street Trash when I saw it, as much as one can say they enjoyed a movie where a bunch of bums playing hot potato with a man’s severed Johnson is a major set piece, but I’ve never really felt the need to watch it again over the past thirty-five years.

Like several of the movies on this episode, Street Trash is not available for streaming on any service in the United States. And outside of Dirty Dancing, the ones you can stream, China Girl, Personal Services, Slaughter High and Steel Dawn, are mostly available for free with ads on Tubi, which made a huge splash last week with a confounding Super Bowl commercial that sent millions of people to figure what a Tubi was.

Now, if you were counting, that was only nine films released in 1987, and not the eighteen they had promised at the start of the year. Despite the fact they had a smash hit in Dirty Dancing, they decided to push most of their planned 1987 movies to 1988. Not necessarily by choice, though. Many of the films just weren’t ready in time for a 1987 release, and then the unexpected long term success of Dirty Dancing kept them occupied for most of the rest of the year. But that only meant that 1988 would be a stellar year for them, right?

We’ll find out next episode, when we continue the Vestron Pictures story.

Thank you for joining us. We’ll talk again next week.

Remember to visit this episode’s page on our website, The80sMoviePodcast.com, for extra materials about the movies we covered this episode.

The 80s Movies Podcast has been researched, written, narrated and edited by Edward Havens for Idiosyncratic Entertainment.

Thank you again.

Good night.

The Marvel Cinematic Universe of the 1980s

9 februari 2023 | 34 min

This week, we talk about the 1980s Marvel Cinematic Universe that could have been, and eventually was.

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TRANSCRIPT

From Los Angeles, California, the Entertainment Capital of the World, it’s The 80s Movies Podcast. I am your host, Edward Havens. Thank you for listening today.

The Marvel Cinematic Universe is the undisputed king of intellectual property in the entertainment industry. As of February 9th, 2023, the day I record this episode, there have been thirty full length motion pictures part of the MCU in the past fifteen years, with a combined global ticket sales of $28 billion, as well as twenty television shows that have been seen by hundreds of millions of people worldwide. It is a entertainment juggernaut that does not appear to be going away anytime soon.

This comes as a total shock to many of us who grew up in the 1970s and 1980s, who were witness of cheaply produced television shows featuring hokey special effects and a roster of has-beens and never weres in the cast. Superman was the king of superheroes at the movies, in large part because, believe it or not, there hadn’t even been a movie based on a Marvel Comics character released into theatres until the summer of 1986. But not for lack of trying.

And that’s what we’re going to talk about today. A brief history of the Marvel Cinematic Universe in the 1980s.

But first, as always, some backstory.

Now, I am not approaching this as a comic fan. When I was growing up in the 80s, I collected comics, but my collection was limited to Marvel’s Star Wars series, Marvel’s ROM The SpaceKnight, and Marvel’s two-issue Blade Runner comic adaptation in 1982. So I apologize to Marvel comics fans if I relay some of this information incorrectly. I have tried to do my due diligence when it comes to my research.

Marvel Comics got its start as Timely Comics back in 1939. On August 31, 1939, Timely would release its first comic, titled Marvel Comics, which would feature a number of short stories featuring versions of characters that would become long-running staples of the eventual publishing house that would bear the comic’s name, including The Angel, a version of The Human Torch who was actually an android hero, and Namor the Submariner, who was originally created for a unpublished comic that was supposed to be given to kids when they attended their local movie theatre during a Saturday matinee.

That comic issue would quickly sell out its initial 80,000 print run, as well as its second run, which would put another 800,000 copies out to the marketplace. The Vision would be another character introduced on the pages of Marvel Comics, in November 1940.

In December 1940, Timely would introduce their next big character, Captain America, who would find instant success thanks to its front cover depicting Cap punching Adolph Hitler square in the jaw, proving that Americans have loved seeing Nazis get punched in the face even a year before our country entered the World War II conflict. But there would be other popular characters created during this timeframe, including Black Widow, The Falcon, and The Invisible Man.

In 1941, Timely Comics would lose two of its best collaborators, artists Joe Simon and Jack Kirby, to rival company Detective Comics, and Timely owner Martin Goodman would promote one of his cousins, by marriage to his wife Jean no less, to become the interim editor of Timely Comics. A nineteen year old kid named Stanley Lieber, who would shorten his name to Stan Lee.

In 1951, Timely Comics would be rebranded at Atlas Comics, and would expand past superhero titles to include tales of crime, drama, espionage, horror, science fiction, war, western, and even romance comics.

Eventually, in 1961, Atlas Comics would rebrand once again as Marvel Comics, and would find great success by changing the focus of their stories from being aimed towards younger readers and towards a more sophisticated audience. It would be November 1961 when Marvel would introduce their first superhero team, The Fantastic Four, as well as a number of their most beloved characters including Black Panther, Carol Danvers, Iron Man, The Scarlet Witch, Spider-Man, and Thor, as well as Professor X and many of the X-Men.

And as would be expected, Hollywood would come knocking. Warner Brothers would be in the best position to make comic book movies, as both they and DC Comics were owned by the same company beginning in 1969. But for Marvel, they would not be able to enjoy that kind of symbiotic relationship. Regularly strapped for cash, Stan Lee would often sell movie and television rights to a variety of Marvel characters to whomever came calling. First, Marvel would team with a variety of producers to create a series of animated television shows, starting with The Marvel Super Heroes in 1966, two different series based on The Fantastic Four, and both Spider-Man and Spider-Woman series.

But movies were a different matter.

The rights to make a Spider-Man television show, for example, was sold off to a production company called Danchuck, who teamed with CBS-TV to start airing the show in September of 1977, but Danchuck was able to find a loophole in their contract that allowed them to release the two-hour pilot episode as a movie outside of the United States, which complicated the movie rights Marvel had already sold to another company.

Because the “movie” was a success around the world, CBS and Danchuck would release two more Spider-Man “movies” in 1978 and 1981. Eventually, the company that owned the Spider-Man movie rights to sell them to another company in the early 1980s, the legendary independent B-movie production company and distributor, New World Pictures, founded and operated by the legendary independent B-movie producer and director Roger Corman. But shortly after Corman acquired the film rights to Spider-Man, he went and almost immediately sold them to another legendary independent B-movie production company and distributor, Cannon Films.

Side note: Shortly after Corman sold the movie rights to Spider-Man to Cannon, Marvel Entertainment was sold to the company that also owned New World Pictures, although Corman himself had nothing to do with the deal itself. The owners of New World were hoping to merge the Marvel comic book characters with the studio’s television and motion picture department, to create a sort of shared universe. But since so many of the better known characters like Spider-Man and Captain America had their movie and television rights sold off to the competition, it didn’t seem like that was going to happen anytime soon, but again, I’m getting ahead of myself.

So for now, we’re going to settle on May 1st, 1985. Cannon Films, who loved to spend money to make money, made a big statement in the pages of the industry trade publication Variety, when they bought nine full pages of advertising in the Cannes Market preview issue to announce that buyers around the world needed to get ready, because he was coming.

Spider-Man.

A live-action motion picture event, to be directed by Tobe Hooper, whose last movie, Poltergeist, re-ignited his directing career, that would be arriving in theatres for Christmas 1986. Cannon had made a name for themselves making cheapie teen comedies in their native Israel in the 1970s, and then brought that formula to America with films like The Last American Virgin, a remake of the first Lemon Popsicle movie that made them a success back home. Cannon would swerve into cheapie action movies with fallen stars like Lee Marvin and Charles Bronson, and would prop up a new action star in Chuck Norris, as well as cheapie trend-chasing movies like Breakin’ and Breakin’ 2: Electric Boogaloo. They had seen enough success in America where they could start spending even bigger, and Spider-Man was supposed to be their first big splash into the superhero movie genre. With that, they would hire Leslie Stevens, the creator of the cult TV series The Outer Limits, to write the screenplay.

There was just one small problem.

Neither Stevens nor Cannon head honcho Menachem Golan understood the Spider-Man character.

Golan thought Spider-Man was a half-spider/half-man creature, not unlike The Wolf Man, and instructed Stevens to follow that concept. Stevens’ script would not really borrow from any of the comics’ twenty plus year history. Peter Parker, who in this story is a twenty-something ID photographer for a corporation that probably would have been Oscorp if it were written by anyone else who had at least some familiarity with the comics, who becomes intentionally bombarded with gamma radiation by one of the scientists in one of the laboratories, turning Bruce Banner… I mean, Peter Parker, into a hairy eight-armed… yes, eight armed… hybrid human/spider monster. At first suicidal, Bruce… I mean, Peter, refuses to join forces with the scientist’s other master race of mutants, forcing Peter to battle these other mutants in a basement lab to the death.

To say Stan Lee hated it would be an understatement.

Lee schooled Golan and Golan’s partner at Cannon, cousin Yoram Globus, on what Spider-Man was supposed to be, demanded a new screenplay. Wanting to keep the head of Marvel Comics happy, because they had big plans not only for Spider-Man but a number of other Marvel characters, they would hire the screenwriting team of Ted Newsom and John Brancato, who had written a screenplay adaptation for Lee of Sgt. Fury and His Howling Commandos, to come up with a new script for Spider-Man.

Newsom and Brancato would write an origin story, featuring a teenage Peter Parker who must deal with his newfound powers while trying to maintain a regular high school existence, while going up against an evil scientist, Otto Octavius. But we’ll come back to that later.

In that same May 1985 issue of Variety, amongst dozens of pages of ads for movies both completed and in development, including three other movies from Tobe Hooper, was a one-page ad for Captain America. No director or actor was attached to the project yet, but comic book writer James L. Silke, who had written the scripts for four other Cannon movies in the previous two years, was listed as the screenwriter.

By October 1985, Cannon was again trying to pre-sell foreign rights to make a Spider-Man movie, this time at the MIFED Film Market in Milan, Italy. Gone were Leslie Stevens and Tobe Hooper. Newsom and Brancato were the new credited writers, and Joseph Tito, the director of the Chuck Norris/Cannon movies Missing in Action and Invasion U.S.A., was the new director. In a two-page ad for Captain America, the film would acquire a new director in Michael Winner, the director of the first three Death Wish movies.

And the pattern would continue every few months, from Cannes to MIFED to the American Film Market, and back to Cannes. A new writer would be attached. A new director. A new release date. By October 1987, after the twin failures of Superman IV: The Quest for Peace and Masters of the Universe, Cannon had all but given up on a Captain America movie, and downshifted the budget on their proposed Spider-Man movie. Albert Pyun, whose ability to make any movie in any genre look far better than its budget should have allowed, was brought in to be the director of Spider-Man, from a new script written by Shepard Goldman.

Who?

Shepard Goldman, whose one and only credit on any motion picture was as one of three screenwriters on the 1988 Cannon movie Salsa.

Don’t remember Salsa? That’s okay. Neither does anyone else.

But we’ll talk a lot more about Cannon Films down the road, because there’s a lot to talk about when it comes to Cannon Films, although I will leave you with two related tidbits…

Do you remember the 1989 Jean-Claude Van Damme film Cyborg? Post-apocalyptic cyberpunk martial-arts action film where JCVD and everyone else in the movie have names like Gibson Rickenbacker, Fender Tremolo, Marshall Strat and Pearl Prophet for no damn good reason? Stupid movie, lots of fun. Anyway, Albert Pyun was supposed to shoot two movies back to back for Cannon Films in 1988, a sequel to Masters of the Universe, and Spider-Man. To save money, both movies would use many of the same sets and costumes, and Cannon had spent more than $2m building the sets and costumes at the old Dino DeLaurentiis Studios in Wilmington, North Carolina, where David Lynch had shot Blue Velvet. But then Cannon ran into some cash flow issues, and lost the rights to both the He-Man toy line from Mattel and the Spider-Man characters they had licensed from Marvel. But ever the astute businessman, Cannon Films chairman Menahem Golan offered Pyun $500,000 to shoot any movie he wanted using the costumes and sets already created and paid for, provided Pyun could come up with a movie idea in a week. Pyun wrote the script to Cyborg in five days, and outside of some on-set alterations, that first draft would be the shooting script. The film would open in theatres in April 1989, and gross more than $10m in the United States alone.

A few months later, Golan would gone from Cannon Films. As part of his severance package, he would take one of the company’s acquisitions, 21st Century Films, with him, as well as several projects, including Captain America. Albert Pyun never got to make his Spider-Man movie, but he would go into production on his Captain America in August 1989. But since the movie didn’t get released in any form until it came out direct to video and cable in 1992, I’ll leave it to podcasts devoted to 90s movies to tell you more about it. I’ve seen it. It’s super easy to find on YouTube. It really sucks, although not as much as that 1994 version of The Fantastic Four that still hasn’t been officially released nearly thirty years later.

There would also be attempts throughout the decade to make movies from the aforementioned Fantastic Four, the X-Men, Daredevil, the Incredible Hulk, Silver Surfer and Iron Man, from companies like New Line, 20th Century-Fox and Universal, but none of those would ever come to fruition in the 1980s.

But the one that would stick?

Of the more than 1,000 characters that had been featured in the pages of Marvel Comics over the course of forty years?

The one that would become the star of the first ever theatrically released motion picture based on a Marvel character?

Howard the Duck.

Howard the Duck was not your average Marvel superhero.

Howard the Duck wasn’t even a superhero.

He was just some wise crackin’, ill-tempered, anthropomorphic water fowl that was abducted away from his home on Duckworld and forced against his will to live with humans on Earth. Or, more specifically, first with the dirty humans of the Florida Everglades, and then Cleveland, and finally New York City.

Howard the Duck was metafiction and existentialist when neither of these things were in the zeitgeist. He smoked cigars, wore a suit and tie, and enjoy drinking a variety of libations and getting it on with the women, mostly his sometimes girlfriend Beverly.

The perfect character to be the subject of the very first Marvel movie.

A PG-rated movie.

Enter George Lucas.

In 1973, George Lucas had hit it big with his second film as a director, American Graffiti. Lucas had written the screenplay, based in part on his life as an eighteen year old car enthusiast about to graduate high school, with the help of a friend from his days at USC Film School, Willard Huyck, and Huyck’s wife, Gloria Katz. Lucas wanted to show his appreciation for their help by producing a movie for them. Although there are variations to the story of how this came about, most sources say it was Huyck who would tell Lucas about this new comic book character, Howard the Duck, who piqued his classmate’s interest by describing the comic as having elements of film noir and absurdism.

Because Universal dragged their feet on American Graffiti, not promoting it as well as they could have upon its initial release and only embracing the film when the public embraced its retro soundtrack, Lucas was not too keen on working with Universal again on his next project, a sci-fi movie he was calling The Journal of the Whills. And while they saw some potential in what they considered to be some minor kiddie movie, they didn’t think Lucas could pull it off the way he was describing it for the budget he was asking for.

“What else you got, kid?” they’d ask.

Lucas had Huyck and Katz, and an idea for a live-action comic book movie about a talking duck.

Surprisingly, Universal did not slam the door shut in Lucas’s face. They actually went for the idea, and worked with Lucas, Stan Lee of Marvel Comics and Howard’s creator, Steve Gerber, to put a deal together to make it happen.

Almost right away, Gerber and the screenwriters, Huyck and Katz, would butt heads on practically every aspect of the movie’s storyline. Katz just thought it was some funny story about a duck from outer space and his wacky adventures on Earth, Gerber was adamant that Howard the Duck was an existential joke, that the difference between life’s most serious moments and its most incredibly dumb moments were only distinguishable by a moment’s point of view. Huyck wanted to make a big special effects movie, while Katz thought it would be fun to set the story in Hawaii so she and her husband could have some fun while shooting there. The writers would spend years on their script, removing most everything that made the Howard the Duck comic book so enjoyable to its readers. Howard and his story would be played completely straight in the movie, leaning on subtle gags not unlike a Zucker/Abrahams/Zucker movie, instead of embracing the surreal ridiculousness of the comics. They would write humongous effects-heavy set pieces, knowing they would have access to their producer’s in-house special effects team, Industrial Light and Magic, instead of the comics’ more cerebral endings. And they’d tone down the more risqué aspects of Howard’s personality, figuring a more family-friendly movie would bring in more money at the box office.

It would take nearly twelve years for all the pieces to fall into place for Howard the Duck to begin filming. But in the spring of 1985, Universal finally gave the green light for Lucas and his tea to finally make the first live-action feature film based on a Marvel Comics character.

For Beverly, the filmmakers claimed to have looked at every young actress in Hollywood before deciding on twenty-four year old Lea Thompson, who after years of supporting roles in movies like Jaws 3-D, All the Right Moves and Red Dawn, had found success playing Michael J. Fox’s mother in Back to the Future. Twenty-six year old Tim Robbins had only made two movies up to this point, at one of the frat boys in Fraternity Vacation and as one of the fighter pilots in Top Gun, and this was his first chance to play a leading role in a major motion picture. And Jeffrey Jones would be cast as the bad guy, the Dark Overlord, based upon his work in the 1984 Best Picture winner Amadeus, although he would be coming to the set of Howard the Duck straight off of working on a John Hughes movie, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.

Howard the Duck would begin shooting on the Universal Studios lot of November 11th, 1985, and on the very first day of production, the duck puppet being used to film would have a major mechanical failure, not unlike the mechanical failure of the shark in Jaws that would force Steven Spielberg to become more creative with how he shot that character.

George Lucas, who would be a hands-on producer, would suggest that maybe they could shoot other scenes not involving the duck, while his crew at ILM created a fully functional, life-sized animatronic duck costume for a little actor to wear on set. At first, the lead actor in the duck suit was a twelve-year old boy, but within days of his start on the film, he would develop a severe case of claustrophobia inside the costume. Ed Gale, originally hired to be the stuntman in the duck costume, would quickly take over the role. Since Gale could work longer hours than the child, due to the very restrictive laws surrounding child actors on movie and television sets, this would help keep the movie on a good production schedule, and make shooting the questionable love scenes between Howard and Beverly easier for Ms. Thompson, who was creeped out at the thought of seducing a pre-teen for a scene.

To keep the shoot on schedule, not only would the filmmakers employ a second shooting unit to shoot the scenes not involving the main actors, which is standard operating procedure on most movies, Lucas would supervise a third shooting unit that would shoot Robbins and Gale in one of the film’s more climactic moments, when Howard and Phil are trying to escape being captured by the authorities by flying off on an ultralight plane. Most of this sequence would be shot in the town of Petaluma, California, on the same streets where Lucas had shot American Graffiti’s iconic cruising scenes thirteen years earlier.

After a month-long shoot of the film’s climax at a naval station in San Francisco, the film would end production on March 26th, 1986, leaving the $36m film barely four months to be put together in order to make its already set in stone August 1st, 1986, release date.

Being used to quick turnaround times, the effects teams working on the film would get all their shots completed with time to spare, not only because they were good at their jobs but they had the ability to start work before the film went into production. For the end sequence, when Jones’ character had fully transformed into the Dark Overlord, master stop motion animator Phil Tippett, who had left ILM in 1984 to start his own effects studio specializing in that style of animation, had nearly a year to put together what would ultimately be less than two minutes of actual screen time.

As Beverly was a musician, Lucas would hire English musician and composer Thomas Dolby, whose 1982 single She Blinded Me With Science became a global smash hit, to write the songs for Cherry Bomb, the all-girl rock group lead by Lea Thompson’s Beverly. Playing KC, the keyboardist for Cherry Bomb, Holly Robinson would book her first major acting role. For the music, Dolby would collaborate with Allee Willis, the co-writer of Earth Wind and Fire’s September and Boogie Wonderland, and funk legend George Clinton. But despite this powerhouse musical trio, the songs for the band were not very good, and, with all due respect to Lea Thompson, not very well sung.

By August 1986, Universal Studios needed a hit. Despite winning the Academy Award for Best Picture in March with Sydney Pollack’s Out of Africa, the first six films they released for the year were all disappointments at the box office and/or with the critics.

The Best of Times, a comedy featuring Robin Williams and Kurt Russell as two friends who try to recreate a high school football game which changed the direction of both their lives. Despite a script written by Ron Shelton, who would be nominated for an Oscar for his next screenplay, Bull Durham, and Robin Williams, the $12m film would gross less than $8m.

The Money Pit, a comedy with Tom Hanks and Shelley Long, would end up grossing $37m against a $10m budget, but the movie was so bad, its first appearance on DVD wouldn’t come until 2011, and only as part of a Tom Hanks Comedy Favorites Collection along with The ‘Burbs and Dragnet.

Legend, a dark fantasy film directed by Ridley Scott and starring Tom Cruise, was supposed to be one of the biggest hits… of 1985. But Scott and the studio would fight over the film, with the director wanting them to release a two hour and five minute long version with a classical movie score by Jerry Goldsmith, while the studio eventually cut the film down an hour and twenty-nine minutes with a techno score by Tangerine Dream. Despite an amazing makeup job transforming Tim Curry into the Lord of Darkness as well as sumptuous costumes and cinematography, the $24.5m film would just miss recouping its production budget back in ticket sales.

Tom Cruise would become a superstar not three weeks later, when Paramount Pictures released Top Gun, directed by Ridley’s little brother Tony Scott.

Sweet Liberty should have been a solid performer for the studio. Alan Alda, in his first movie since the end of MASH three years earlier, would write, direct and star in this comedy about a college history professor who must watch in disbelief as a Hollywood production comes to his small town to film the movie version of one of the books. The movie, which also starred Michael Caine, Bob Hoskins, Michelle Pfieffer and screen legend Lillian Gish, would get lost in the shuffle of other comedies that were already playing in theatres like Ferris Bueller and Short Circuit.

Legal Eagles was the movie to beat for the summer of 1986… at least on paper. Ivan Reitman’s follow-up film to Ghostbusters would feature a cast that included Robert Redford, Debra Winger and Daryl Hannah, along with Brian Denny, Terence Stamp, and Brian Doyle-Murray, and was perhaps too much movie, being a legal romantic comedy mystery crime thriller.

Phew.

If I were to do an episode about agency packaging in the 1980s, the process when a talent agency like Creative Artists Agency, or CAA, put two or more of their clients together in a project not because it might be best for the movie but best for the agency that will collect a 10% commission from each client attached to the project, Legal Eagles would be the example of packaging gone too far. Ivan Reitman was a client of CAA. As were Redford, and Winger, and Hannah. As was Bill Murray, who was originally cast in the Redford role. As were Jim Cash and Jack Epps, the screenwriters for the film. As was Tom Mankewicz, the co-writer of Superman and three Bond films, who was brought in to rewrite the script when Murray left and Redford came in. As was Frank Price, the chairman of Universal Pictures when the project was put together. All told, CAA would book more than $1.5m in commissions for themselves from all their clients working on the film.

And it sucked.

Despite the fact that it had almost no special effects, Legal Eagles would cost $40m to produce, one of the most expensive movies ever made to that point, nearly one and a half times the cost of Ghostbusters. The film would gross nearly $50m in the US, which would make it only the 14th highest grossing film of the year. Less than Stand By Me. Less than The Color of Money. Less than Down and Out in Beverly Hills.

And then there was Psycho III, the Anthony Perkins-directed slasher film that brought good old Norman Bates out of mothballs once again. An almost direct follow-up to Psycho II from 1983, the film neither embraced by horror film fans or critics, the film would only open in eighth place, despite the fact there hadn’t been a horror movie in theatres for months, and its $14m gross would kill off any chance for a Psycho IV in theatres.

In late June, Universal would hold a series of test screenings for Howard the Duck. Depending on who you talk to, the test screenings either went really well, or went so bad that one of the writers would tear up negative response cards before they could be given to the score compilers, to goose the numbers up, pun only somewhat intended. I tend to believe the latter story, as it was fairly well reported at the time that the test screenings went so bad, Sid Sheinberg, the CEO of Universal, and Frank Price, the President of the studio, got into a fist fight in the lobby of one of the theatres running one of the test screenings, over who was to blame for this impending debacle.

And a debacle it was.

But just how bad?

So bad, copywriters from across the nation reveled in giddy glee over the chances to have a headline that read “‘Howard the Duck’ Lays an Egg!”

And it did.

Well, sort of.

When it opened in 1554 theatres on August 1st, the film would gross $5.07m, the second best opener of the weekend, behind the sixth Friday the 13th entry, and above other new movies like the Tom Hanks/Jackie Gleason dramedy Nothing in Common and the cult film in the making Flight of the Navigator. And $5m in 1986 was a fairly decent if unspectacular opening weekend gross. The Fly was considered a massive success when it opened to $7m just two weeks later. Short Circuit, which had opened to $5.3m in May, was also lauded as being a hit right out of the gate.

And the reviews were pretty lousy. Gene Siskel gave the film only one star, calling it a stupid film with an unlikeable lead in the duck and special effects that were less impressive than a sparkler shoved into a birthday cake. Both Siskel and Ebert would give it the dreaded two thumbs down on their show. Leonard Maltin called the film hopeless. Today, the film only has a 14% rating on Rotten Tomatoes with 81 reviews.

But despite the shellacking the film took, it wouldn’t be all bad for several of the people involved in the making of the film.

Lea Thompson was so worried her career might be over after the opening weekend of the film, she accepted a role in the John Hughes movie Some Kind of Wonderful that she had turned down multiple times before. As I stated in our March 2021 episode about that movie, it’s my favorite of all John Hughes movies, and it would lead to a happy ending for Thompson as well. Although the film was not a massive success, Thompson and the film’s director, Howard Deutch, would fall in love during the making of the film. They would marry in 1989, have two daughters together, and as of the writing of this episode, they are still happily married.

For Tim Robbins, it showed filmmakers that he could handle a leading role in a movie. Within two years, he would be starring alongside Kevin Costner and Susan Sarandon in Bull Durham, and he career would soar for the next three decades.

And for Ed Gale, his being able to act while in a full-body duck suit would lead him to be cast to play Chucky in the first two Child’s Play movies as well as Bride of Chucky.

Years later, Entertainment Weekly would name Howard the Duck as the biggest pop culture failure of all time, ahead of such turkeys as NBC’s wonderfully ridiculous 1979 show Supertrain, the infamous 1980 Western Heaven’s Gate, Warren Beatty and Dustin Hoffman’s Ishtar, and the truly wretched 1978 Bee Gees movie Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.

But Howard the Duck, the character, not the movie, would enjoy a renaissance in 2014, when James Gunn included a CG-animated version of the character in the post-credit sequence for Guardians of the Galaxy. The character would show up again in the Disney animated Guardians television series, and in the 2021 Disney+ anthology series Marvel’s What If…

There technically would be one other 1980s movie based on a Marvel character, Mark Goldblatt’s version of The Punisher, featuring Dolph Lundgren as Frank Castle. Shot in Australia in 1988, the film was supposed to be released by New World Pictures in August of 1989. The company even sent out trailers to theatres that summer to help build awareness for the film, but New World’s continued financial issues would put the film on hold until April 1991, when it was released directly to video by Live Entertainment.

It wouldn’t be until the 1998 release of Blade, featuring Wesley Snipes as the titular vampire, that movies based on Marvel Comics characters would finally be accepted by movie-going audiences. That would soon be followed by Bryan Singer’s X-Men in 2000, and Sam Raimi’s Spider-Man in 2002, the success of both prompting Marvel to start putting together the team that would eventually give birth to the Marvel Cinematic Universe we all know and love today.

Thank you for joining us. We’ll talk again soon, when Episode 102, the first of two episodes about the 1980s distribution company Vestron Pictures, is released.

Remember to visit this episode’s page on our website, The80sMoviePodcast.com, for extra materials about Howard the Duck, and the other movies, both existing and non-existent, we covered this episode.

The 80s Movies Podcast has been researched, written, narrated and edited by Edward Havens for Idiosyncratic Entertainment.

Thank you again.

Good night.

The Abyss

27 januari 2023 | 29 min

On this, our 100th episode, we eschew any silly self-congratulatory show to get right into one of James Cameron's most under appreciated films, his 1989 anti-nuke allegory The Abyss.

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TRANSCRIPT

From Los Angeles, California, the Entertainment Capital of the World, it’s The 80s Movies Podcast. I am your host, Edward Havens. Thank you for listening today.

We're finally here.

Episode 100.

In the word of the immortal Owen Wilson, wow.

But rather than throw myself a celebratory show basking in my own modesty, we’re just going to get right into another episode. And this week’s featured film is one of my favorites of the decade. A film that should have been a hit, that still informs the work of its director more than thirty years later.

But, as always, a little backstory.

As I quite regularly say on this show, I often do not know what I’m going to be talking about on the next episode as I put the finishing touches on the last one. And once again, this was the case when I completed the show last week, on Escape to Victory, although for a change, I finished the episode a day earlier than I usually do, so that would give me more time to think about what would be next.

Thursday, Friday, Saturday. All gone. Still have no clue what I’m going to write about.

Sunday arrives, and my wife and I decide to go see Avatar: The Way of Water in 3D at our local IMAX theatre. I was hesitant to see the film, because the first one literally broke my brain in 2009, and I’m still not 100% sure I fully recovered. It didn’t break my brain because it was some kind of staggering work of heartbreaking genius, but because the friend who thought he was being kind by buying me a ticket to see it at a different local IMAX theatre misread the seating chart for the theatre and got me a ticket in the very front row of the theatre. Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a movie in IMAX 3D, but that first row is not the most advantageous place to watch an IMAX movie in 3D. But because the theatre was otherwise sold out, I sat there, watching Avatar in 3D from the worst possible seat in the house, and I could not think straight for a week. I actually called off work for a few days, which was easy to do considering I was the boss at my theatre, but I have definitely seen a cognitive decline since I saw Avatar in IMAX 3D in the worst possible conditions. I’ve never felt the need to see it again, and I was fine not seeing the new one. But my wife wanted to see it, and we had discount tickets to the theatre, so off we went.

Thankfully, this time, I chose the seats for myself, and got us some very good seats in a not very crowded theatre, nearly in the spot that would be the ideal viewing position for that specific theatre. And I actually enjoyed the movie.

There are very few filmmakers who can tell a story like James Cameron, and there are even fewer who could get away with pushing a pro-conservation, pro-liberal, pro-environment agenda on an unsuspecting populace who would otherwise never go for such a thing.

But as I was watching it, two things hit me.

One, I hate high frame rate movies. Especially when the overall look of the movie was changing between obviously shot on video and mimicking the feel of film so much, it felt like a three year old got ahold of the TV remote and was constantly pushing the button that turned motion smoothing off and on and off and on and off and on, over and over and over again, for three and a half hours.

Two, I couldn’t also help but notice how many moments and motifs Cameron was seemingly borrowing from his under-appreciated 1989 movie The Abyss.

And there it was.

The topic for our 100th episode.

The Abyss.

And, as always, before we get to the movie itself, some more background.

James Francis Cameron was born in 1954 in small town in the middle eastern part of the Ontario province of Canada, about a nine hour drive north of Toronto, a town so small that it wouldn’t even get its first television station until 1971, the year his family would to Brea, California. After he graduated from high school in 1973, Cameron would attend Fullerton College in Orange County, where would initially study physics before switching to English a year later. He’d leave school in 1974 and work various jobs including as a truck driver and a janitor, while writing screenplays in his spare time, when he wasn’t in a library learning about movie special effects.

Like many, many people in 1977, including myself, Star Wars would change his life. After seeing the movie, Cameron quit his job as a truck driver and decided he was going to break into the film industry by any means necessary.

If you’ve ever followed James Cameron’s career, you’ve no doubt heard him say on more than one occasion that if you want to be a filmmaker, to just do it. Pick up a camera and start shooting something. And that’s exactly what he did, not a year later.

In 1978, he would co-write, co-produce, co-direct and do the production design for a 12 minute sci-fi short called Xenogenesis. Produced at a cost of $20,000 raised from a dentist and starring his future T2 co-writer William Wisher, Xenogenesis would show just how creative Cameron could be when it came to making something with a low budget look like it cost far more to produce. There’s a not very good transfer of the short available on YouTube, which I will link to in the transcript for this episode on our website, at The80sMoviePodcast.com (). But it’s interesting to watch because you can already see themes that Cameron will revisit time and time again are already fully formed in the storyteller’s mind.

Once the short was completed, Cameron screened it for the dentist, who hated it and demanded his money back. But the short would come to the attention of Roger Corman, The Pope of Pop Cinema, who would hire Cameron to work on several of his company’s upcoming feature films. After working as a production assistant on Rock ’n’ Roll High School, Cameron would move up becoming the art director on Battle Beyond the Stars, which at the time, at a cost of $2m, would be the most expensive movie Corman would have produced in his then-26 year career, as the production designer on Galaxy of Terror, and help to design the title character for Aaron Lipstadt’s Android.

Cameron would branch out from Corman to work on the special effects for John Carpenter’s Escape from New York, but Corman would bring Cameron back into the fold with the promise of running the special effects department for the sequel to Joe Dante’s surprise 1978 hit Piranha. But the film’s original director, Miller Drake, would leave the production due to continued differences with the Italian producer, and Cameron would be moved into the director’s chair. But like Drake, Cameron would struggle with the producer to get the film completed, and would eventually disavow the film as something he doesn’t consider to be his actual work as a director. And while the film would not be any kind of success by any conceivable measure, as a work of storytelling or as a critical or financial success, it would give him two things that would help him in his near future.

The first thing was an association with character actor Lance Henriksen, who would go on to be a featured actor in Cameron’s next two films.

The second thing would be a dream he would have while finishing the film in Rome. Tired of being in Italy to finish the film, and sick with a high grade fever, Cameron would have a nightmare about an invincible cyborg hit-man from the future who had been sent to assassinate him.

Sound familiar?

We’ve already discussed how The Terminator came to be in our April 2020 episode on Hemdale Films, so we’ll skip over that here. Suffice it to say that the film was a global success, turning Arnold Schwarzenegger into a beloved action star, and giving Cameron the clout to move on to ever bigger films.

That even bigger film was, of course, the 1986 blockbuster Aliens, which would not only become Cameron’s second big global box office success, but would be nominated for seven Academy Awards, including a well deserved acting nomination for Sigourney Weaver, which came as a surprise to many at the time because actors in what are perceived to be horror, action and/or sci-fi movies usually don’t get such an accolade.

After the success of Aliens, Twentieth Century-Fox would engage Cameron and his producing partner, Gale Anne Hurd, who during the making of Aliens would become his second wife, on a risky project.

The Abyss.

Cameron had first come up with the idea for The Abyss while he was still a student in high school, inspired by a science lecture he attended that featured Francis J. Falejczyk, the first human to breathe fluid through his lungs in experiments held at Duke University. Cameron’s story would involve a group of underwater scientists who accidentally discover aliens living at the bottom of the ocean floor near their lab.

Shortly after he wrote his initial draft of the story, it would be filed away and forgotten about for more than a decade.

While in England shooting Aliens, Cameron and Hurd would watch a National Geographic documentary about remote operated vehicles operating deep in the North Atlantic Ocean, and Cameron would be reminded of his old story. When the returned to the United States once the film was complete, Cameron would turn his short story into a screenplay, changing the main characters from scientists to oil-rig workers, feeling audiences would be able to better connect to blue collar workers than white collar eggheads, and once Cameron’s first draft of the screenplay was complete, the couple agreed it would be their next film.

Cameron and Hurd would start the complex process of pre-production in the early days of 1988. Not only would they need to need to find a place large enough where they could film the underwater sequences in a controlled environment with life-size sets under real water, they would need to spend time designing and building a number of state of the art camera rigs and costumes that would work for the project and be able to capture the actors doing their craft in the water and keep them alive during filming, as well as a communications system that would not only allow Cameron to talk to his actors, but also allow the dialogue to be recorded live underwater for the first time in cinema history.

After considering filming in the Bahamas and in Malta, the later near the sets constructed for Robert Altman’s Popeye movie nearly a decade before, Cameron and Hurd would find their perfect shooting location outside Gaffney, South Carolina: an uncompleted and abandoned $700m nuclear power plant that had been purchased by local independent filmmaker Earl Owensby, who we profiled to a certain degree in our May 2022 episode about the 3D Movie craze of the early 1980s.

In what was supposed to be the power plant’s primary reactor containment vessel, 55 feet deep and with a 209 foot circumference, the main set of the Deepcore rig would be built. That tank would hold seven and a half million gallons of water, and after the set was built, would take five days to completely fill. Next to the main tank was a secondary tank, an unused turbine pit that could hold two and a half million gallons of water, where most of the quote unquote exteriors not involving the Deepcore rig would be shot.

I’m going to sidetrack for a moment to demonstrate just how powerful a force James Cameron already was in Hollywood by the end of 1987. When word about The Abyss was announced in the Hollywood trade papers, both MGM and Tri-Star Pictures started developing their own underwater action/sci-fi films, in the hopes that they could beat The Abyss to theatres, even if there was scant information about The Abyss announced at the time.

Friday the 13th director Sean S. Cunningham’s DeepStar Six would arrive in theatres first, in January 1989, while Rambo: First Blood Part Two director George P. Cosmastos’ Leviathan would arrive in March 1989. Like The Abyss, both films would feature deep-sea colonies, but unlike The Abyss, both featured those underwater workers being terrorized by an evil creature. Because if you’re trying to copy the secret underwater action/sci-fi movie from the director of The Terminator and Aliens, he’s most definitely going to do evil underwater creatures and not peace-loving aliens who don’t want to hurt humanity.

Right?

Suffice it to say, neither DeepStar Six or Leviathan made any kind of impact at the box office or with critics. DeepStar Six couldn’t even muster up its modest $8.5m budget in ticket sales, while Leviathan would miss making up its $25m budget by more than $10m. Although, ironically, Leviathan would shoot in the Malta water tanks Cameron would reject for The Abyss.

Okay. Back to The Abyss.

Rather than cast movie stars, Cameron would bring in two well-respected actors who were known to audiences but not really that famous.

For the leading role of Bud Brigman, the foreman for the underwater Deepcore rig, Cameron would cast Ed Harris, best known at the time for playing John Glenn in The Right Stuff, while Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio would be recognizable to some for playing Tom Cruise’s girlfriend in The Color of Money, for which she was nominated for an Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress. Other actors would include Michael Biehn, Cameron’s co-star from The Terminator and Aliens, Leo Burmester, who had been featured in Broadcast News and The Last Temptation of Christ, Todd Graff, who had starred in Tony Bill’s Five Corners alongside Jodie Foster and John Turturro, character actor John Bedford Lloyd, Late Night with David Letterman featured actor Chris Elliott in a rare non-comedy role, and Ken Jenkins, who would become best known as Doctor Kelso on Scrubs years down the road who had only made two movies before this point of his career.

More than two millions dollars would be spent creating the underwater sets for the film while Cameron, his actors and several major members of the crew including cinematographer Mikael Salomon, spent a week in the Cayman Islands, training for underwater diving, as nearly half of the movie would be shot underwater. It was also a good distraction for Cameron himself, as he and Hurd had split up as a couple during the earliest days of pre-production.

While they would go through their divorce during the filming of the movie, they would remain professional partners on the film, and do their best to not allow their private lives to seep into the production any more than it already had in the script.

Production on The Abyss would begin on August 15th, 1988, and would be amongst the toughest shoots for pretty much everyone involved. The film would endure a number of technical mishaps, some due to poorly built supports, some due to force majeure, literal Acts of God, that would push the film’s production schedule to nearly six months in length and its budget from $36m to $42m, and would cause emotional breakdowns from its director on down. Mastrantonio would, during the shooting of the Lindsey resuscitation scene, stormed off the set when the camera ran out of film during the fifteenth take, when she was laying on the floor of the rig, wet, partially naked and somewhat bruised from being slapped around by Harris during the scene. “We are not animals!” she would scream at Cameron as she left. Harris would have to continue shooting the scene, yelling at nothing on the ground while trying to save the life of his character’s estranged wife. On his way back to his hotel room after finishing that scene, Harris would have to pull over to the side of the road because he couldn’t stop crying.

Biehn, who had already made a couple movies with the meticulous director, noted that he spent five months in Gaffney, but maybe only worked three or four weeks during that entire time. He would note that, during the filming of one of his scenes underwater, the lights went out. He was thirty feet underwater. It was so dark he couldn’t see his own hand in front of him, and he genuinely wondered right then and there if this was how he was going to die. Harris was so frustrated with Cameron by the end of the shoot that he threatened to not do any promotion for the film when it was released into theatres, although by the time that happened, he would be making the rounds with the press.

After 140 days of principal photography, and a lawsuit Owensby filed against the production that tried to kick them out of his studio for damaging one of the water tanks, the film would finally finish shooting on December 8th, by which time, Fox had already produced and released a teaser trailer for the movie which featured absolutely no footage from the film. Why? Because they had gotten word that Warners was about to release their first teaser trailer for their big movie for 1989, Tim Burton’s Batman, and Fox didn’t want their big movie for 1989 to be left in the dust.

Thirty-four years later, I still remember the day we got both trailers in, because they both arrived at my then theatre, the 41st Avenue Playhouse in Capitola, Calfornia, within five minutes of each other. For the record, The Abyss did arrive first. It was the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, the day before we opened the Bill Murray comedy Scrooged, and both Fox and Warners wanted theatres to play their movie’s trailer, but not the other movie’s trailer, in front of the film. I programmed both of them anyway, with Batman playing before The Abyss, which would be the last trailer before the film, because I was a bigger Cameron fan than Burton. And as cool as the trailer for Batman was, the trailer for The Abyss was mind-blowing, even if it had no footage from the film. I’ll provide a link to that first Abyss teaser trailer on the website as well.

But I digress.

While Cameron worked on editing the film in Los Angeles, two major teams were working on the film’s effects. The artists from Dreamquest Images would complete eighty effects shots for the film, including filming a seventy-five foot long miniature submarine being tossed around through a storm, while Industrial Lights and Magic pushed the envelope for computer graphics, digitally creating a water tentacle manipulated by the aliens that would mimic both Bud and Lindsey in an attempt to communicate with the humans.

It would take ILM six months to create the minute and fifteen second long sequence.

Originally slated to be released in time for the Fourth of July holiday weekend, one of the busiest and most important weekends of the year for theatres, The Abyss would be held back until August 9th, 1989, due to some effects work not being completed in time, and for Cameron to rework the ending, which test audiences were not too fond of.

We’ll get back to that in a moment.

When The Abyss opened in 1533 theatres, it would open to second place that weekend with $9.3m, only $350k behind the Ron Howard family dramedy Parenthood. The reviews from critics was uniformly outstanding, with many praising the acting and the groundbreaking special effects, while some would lament on the rather abrupt ending of the storyline.

We’ll get back to that in a moment.

In its second week, The Abyss would fall to third place, its $7.2m haul behind Parenthood again, at $7.6m, as well as Uncle Buck, which would gross $8.8m. The film would continue to play in theatres for several weeks, never losing more than 34% of its audience in any given week, until Fox abruptly stopped tracking the film after nine weeks and $54.2m in ticket sales.

By the time the film came out, I was managing a dollar house in San Jose, a point I know I have mentioned a number of times and even did an episode about in September 2021, but I can tell you that we did pretty good business for The Abyss when we got the film in October 1989, and I would hang on to the film until just before Christmas, not because the film was no longer doing any business but because, as I mentioned on that episode, I wanted to play more family friendly films for the holidays, since part of my pay was tied to my concessions sales, and I wanted to make a lot of money then, so I could buy my girlfriend of nearly a year, Tracy, a nice gift for Christmas. Impress her dad, who really didn’t like me too much.

The film would go on to be nominated for four Academy Awards, including for Mikael Salomon’s superb cinematography, winning for its special effects, and would enjoy a small cult following on home video… until shortly after the release of Cameron’s next film, Terminator 2.

Rumors would start to circulate that Cameron’s original cut of The Abyss was nearly a half-hour longer than the one released into theatres, and that he was supposedly working on a director’s cut of some kind. The rumor was finally proven true when a provision in James Cameron’s $500m, five year financing deal between Fox and the director’s new production company, Lightstorm Entertainment, included a $500k allotment for Cameron to complete his director’s cut.

Thanks to the advancements in computer graphics between 1989 and 1991, Industrial Lights and Magic was able to apply what they created for T2 into the never fully completed tidal wave sequence that was supposed to end the movie. Overall, what was now being called The Abyss: Special Edition would see its run time expanded by 28 minutes, and Cameron’s anti-nuke allegory would finally be fully fleshed out.

The Special Edition would open at the Loews Village VII in New York City and the Century Plaza Cinemas in Century City, literally down the street from the Fox lot, on land that used to be part of the Fox lot, on February 26th, 1993. Unsurprisingly, the critical consensus for the expanded film was even better, with critics noting the film’s story scope had been considerably broadened. The film would do fairly well for a four year old film only opening on two screens, earning $21k, good enough for Fox to expand the footprint of the film into more major markets. After eight weeks in only a total of twelve theatres, the updated film would finish its second run in theatres with more than $238k in ticket sales.

I love both versions of The Abyss, although, like with Aliens and Cameron Crowe’s untitled version of Almost Famous, I prefer the longer, Special Edition cut. Harris and Mastrantonio gave two of the best performances of 1989 in the film. For me, it solidified what I already knew about Harris, that he was one of the best actors of his generation.

I had seen Mastrantonio as Tony Montana’s sister in Scarface and in The Color of Money, but what she did on screen in The Abyss, it still puzzles me to this day how she didn’t have a much stronger career. Did you know her last feature film was The Perfect Storm, with George Clooney and Mark Wahlberg, 23 years ago? Not that she stopped working. She’s had main or recurring roles on a number of television shows since then, including Law and Order: Criminal Intent, Blindspot and The Punisher, but it feels like she should have had a bigger and better career in movies.

Cameron, of course, would become The King of the World. Terminator 2, True Lies, Titanic, and his two Avatar movies to date were all global box office hits. His eight feature films have grossed over $8b worldwide to date, and have been nominated for 45 Academy Awards, winning 21.

There’s a saying amongst Hollywood watchers. Never bet against James Cameron. Personally, I wish I could have not bet against James Cameron more often. Since the release of The Abyss in 1989, Cameron has only made five dramatic narratives, taking twelve years off between Titanic and Avatar, and another thirteen years off between Avatar and Avatar 2. And while he was partially busy with two documentaries about life under water, Ghosts of the Abyss and Aliens of the Deep, it seems that there were other stories he could have told while he was waiting for technology to catch up to his vision of how he wanted to make the Avatar movies.

Another action film with Arnold Schwarzenegger. An unexpected foray into romantic comedy. The adaptation of Taylor Stevens’ The Informationalist that Cameron has been threatening to make for more than a decade. The adaptation of Charles Pelligrino’s The Last Train from Hiroshima he was going to make after the first Avatar. Anything. Filmmakers only have so many films in them, and Cameron has only made eight films in nearly forty years. I’m greedy. I want more from him, and not just more Avatar movies.

In the years after its initial release, both Ed Harris and Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio have refused to talk about the film with interviewers and at audience Q&As for other movies. The last time Harris has ever mentioned The Abyss was more than twenty years ago, when he said he was never going to talk about the film again after stating "Asking me how I was treated on The Abyss is like asking a soldier how he was treated in Vietnam.” For her part, Mastrantonio would only say "The Abyss was a lot of things. Fun to make was not one of them.”

It bothers me that so many people involved in the making of a film I love so dearly were emotionally scarred by the making of it. It’s hard not to notice that none of the actors in The Abyss, including the star of his first three films, Michael Biehn, never worked with Cameron again. That he couldn’t work with Gale Anne Hurd again outside of a contractual obligation on T2.

My final thought for today is that I hope that we’ll someday finally get The Abyss, be it the theatrical version or the Special Edition but preferably both, in 4K Ultra HD. It’s been promised for years. It’s apparently been completed for years. Cameron says it was up to Fox, now Disney, to get it out. Fox, now Disney, says they’ve been waiting for Cameron to sign off on it. During a recent press tour for Avatar: The Way of Water, Cameron said everything is done and that a 4K UHD Blu-ray should be released no later than March of this year, but we’ll see. That’s just a little more than a month from the time I publish this episode, and there have been no official announcements from Disney Home Video about a new release of the film, which has never been available on Blu-ray after 15 years of the format’s existence, and has been out of print on DVD for almost as long.

So there it is. Our 100th episode. I thank you for finding the show, listening to the show, and sticking with the show.

We’ll talk again soon.

Remember to visit this episode’s page on our website, The80sMoviePodcast.com, for extra materials about James Cameron, The Abyss, and the other movies we covered this episode.

The 80s Movies Podcast has been researched, written, narrated and edited by Edward Havens for Idiosyncratic Entertainment.

Thank you again.

Good night.

Escape to Victory

20 januari 2023 | 13 min

For our second episode of 2023, we look back, as we did with Neil Diamond's only starring role last week, at the one and only acting role the late, great football star Pelé would ever make: Escape to Victory, a football-themed World War II drama that would also feature Michael Caine, Sylvester Stallone and Max von Sydow.

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TRANSCRIPT

From Los Angeles, California, the Entertainment Capital of the World, it’s The 80s Movies Podcast. I am your host, Edward Havens. Thank you for listening today.

On December 29th, while this show was on hiatus, the football world lost Edson Arantes de Nascimento, the legend known around the world by his single word nickname, Pelé. Even if you weren’t a particular fan of football in the 1960s and 1970s, you more than likely knew who Pelé was. The International Olympic Committee named him the Athlete of the Century in 1999. Time Magazine named him one of the 100 most important people of the Twentieth Century. In the Brazilian city of Santos, where a fifteen year old Pelé got his professional start in 1956, a museum dedicated to all things Pelé opened in 2014, with more than 2400 items devoted to his life and careers.

After he retired from football in 1977, in an exhibition game between the New York Cosmos of the North American Soccer League, where Pelé had been playing for three years, and Santos, his former club of nineteen years, Pelé would become a global ambassador for the sport, and record an album of music alongside fellow Brazilian Sergio Mendes to accompany a documentary about his life.

And because this is a podcast about 80s movies, he would, of course, attempt a career in motion pictures.

And those who were going to be responsible for making Pelé a movie star were not going to take any chances.

Because Pelé was the most famous footballer on the planet, the movie was going to somehow be about football. American film producer Freddie Fields and his partner on the film, future Carolco Films co-owner Mario Kassar, would find their story for Escape to Victory in a Hungarian movie from 1961 called Two Halves in Hell. The film was based on a tale of a 1942 football match between German soldiers and their Ukrainian prisoners of war during World War II, known as the Death Match. That film, directed by Zoltán Fábri, would win several awards at film festivals worldwide, and was ripe for the American remake treatment.

However, there would need to be some changes to the story. The action would be moved from Soviet Russia to France, and the character being built for Pelé, Corporal Luis Fernandez, would be identified as being from Trinidad, as Brazil would not enter the European theatre of war until July of 1944.

While the script was being written, Fields and Kassar would get busy putting the film together.

In July 1979, it was announced that Brian Hutton, who had directed two other World War II-set movies, 1968’s Where Eagles Dare and 1970’s Kelly’s Heroes, would helm this new movie, and that Lloyd Bridges was being considered for a role.

A writer for Daily Variety reporting on Hutton’s hire speculated that Clint Eastwood, who had starred in both Where Eagles Dare and Kelly’s Heroes, would also star in the film, but that never happened.

In mid-September 1979, it was announced that legendary French actor Alain Delon would star in the film, and that Hutton had already left the project. Two weeks later, it was announced that two-time Academy Award-winning filmmaker John Huston would direct the project, which would now star Michael Caine and Sylvester Stallone. Amongst the locations Huston scouted to shoot the film at included Austria, Canada, England, Germany, and Ireland, but in the end, they would shoot in and around Budapest, Hungary, because they could shoot the film in the then-communist country for around $12m, versus $30m to $35m it would have cost to shoot in a more democratic country.

On a side note, Stallone ended up coming on to the film in a most unusual way. The actor was looking to buy a beach house in Malibu, and one of the houses he looked at was owned by Freddie Fields. After touring the house, Stallone found Fields sitting on the sundeck, and the actor informed the producer that the house was not quite big enough for himself, his wife and two sons. The two men got to talking, and Fields started to tell Stallone about this sports-based World War II movie he was about to make with John Huston as director. Although Stallone knew almost nothing about football, he was intrigued by the idea of getting to work with a director of Huston’s stature.

And wouldn’t you know it, Fields just happened to have a copy of the script right here. Stallone took the script home, and agreed to be in the film three days later.

Not only would Pelé star in the film alongside Caine and Stallone, he would also work with Huston and the crew to design the football action in the film. Nearly two dozen professional football players, including Bobby Moore, the captain of the World Cup-winning 1966 British football team, would either have major roles in the film or play secondary characters in the film. Another member of that team, goalkeeper Gordon Banks, would assist Pelé in getting Stallone to look more like a goalkeeper on camera.

The movie would also hire Desmond Llewelyn, the beloved British character actor best known as Q in 17 James Bond movies made between 1963 and 1999, as a technical advisor, as Llewelyn had spent five years as a POW in German prison camps during World War II.

In early 1980, Max von Sydow, still shooting his role as Ming the Merciless in Mike Hedges’ big screen adaptation of Flash Gordon, would be cast as Von Steiner, the Nazi Major who operates the POW camp.

Shooting would begin on May 26, 1980, after Stallone was done shooting Nighthawks in New York City.

Stallone would spend his weekends off that film to work with Gordon Banks on how to better look like a goalie, and to lose no less than forty pounds to better look like a prisoner of war, a sort of method acting Stallone was not really known for. But apparently, Stallone didn’t really listen to Banks at first, as on his first day of shooting, the actor would throw himself around his goal area with a kind of reckless abandon, dislocating his shoulder and breaking a rib. The production would need to rearrange the shooting schedule to give Stallone time to heal. After he returned to the set, he would better heed Banks’ advice, although he would end up breaking another rib and, in one scene with Pelé, breaking a finger trying to stop one of the superstar footballer’s shots.

Other than Stallone’s injuries, production on the film ran rather smoothly for nearly two months, until they were forced to shut production down completely on July 29th, eight days after the American Screen Actors Guild went on strike over residuals from emerging revenue streams like videocassettes and pay television. Since several actors like Stallone were SAG members, they had to stop working on the 21st, and the film completed all shots not using those actors a week later. Although the strike would last for slightly more than three months, Fields and Kassar were able to sign an interim agreement with the Guild to allow the film, which only had five days of shooting left when production was shut down, to resume shooting on August 31st.

Huston would spend the rest of 1980 and the first four months of 1981 working with his production team to get the film edited and ready for release. At the suggestion of Sylvester Stallone, Huston would hire Bill Conti to compose the score, the fifth movie starring Stallone that Conti would write the score to in as many years.

In May 1981, two months before the film’s release, its American distributor, announced a slight change in the name of the movie. Instead of Escape to Victory, which would be retained by most every other distributor around the world, the film would simply be called Victory when it hit theatres on July 31st. Because the studio was worried that the full title would be a spoiler. And it actually would be. You’ll notice I have not really said anything about the story, because if you haven’t seen the movie yet, and you feel compelled to check it out because of this episode, I don’t want to spoil it for you. And if you have seen the movie before, you already know what happens.

Victory would face very stiff competition when it opened at 692 theatres on July 31st. In addition to the Chevy Chase comedy Under the Rainbow, the film would go up against a re-release of The Empire Strikes Back and also contend with the continued success of Raiders of the Lost Ark and and Superman II.

The film would gross $2.4m in its first weekend, which would place it sixth on the box office charts, but that was slightly more than a third of what the Star Wars sequel would bring in that weekend, after having initially opened in theatres 14 months earlier. Victory would barely beat Arthur, which was in its third week of release but hadn’t become the breakout success it would be in the weeks to come, but it lose out to the critically panned disaster known as John Derek’s Tarzan the Ape Man in its second week. But hey, naked Bo Derek on the big screen, even more naked than in 10. Can’t blame horny guys at the time for that.

In its second week of release, Victory would drop from sixth place to twelfth, with only $1.6m in ticket sales, and lose half of its screens in its third week, falling to thirteenth place with barely $1m taken in at the box office. After that fourth week, the film was no longer being tracked by Paramount, having earned just $10.85m. Internationally, the film would gross another $16m, since football was a more popular sport outside America. In fact, it was the seventh most popular movie released in 1981, outside of America. The film would barely break even once it was gone from theatres, but it would never become much of a cult film once it was released on videotape and to cable channels.

Although audiences didn’t quite go for the movie, critics were rather kind to the film.

Vincent Canby of the New York Times would note that while the form of the film was highly conventional, the manner in which it was executed was not. An unnamed critic for the Hollywood trade publication would call the film “old fashioned,” and meant it as a compliment. And Gavin Bainbridge of the UK movie magazine Empire would highlight how John Huston created enough on-field magic and nostalgia for the game, and would note the kind of sportsmanship shown in the film that had sadly become extinct in the succeeding forty years.

In later years, Huston would admit he hated the idea of the movie and only did it for the paycheck, while Caine would tell one reporter while doing press for another movie that the only reason he made Victory was to meet and work with Pelé. Stallone would admit that shooting his scenes as a goalie were more physically and mentally demanding than on either of the Rocky movies that had been made up to that time.

Of course, Michael Caine and Sylvester Stallone would see far greater successes in their careers as the 80s continued on, while Pelé pretty much kept future on-screen appearances more rooted in reality, appearing as himself on a few global television shows and movie documentaries.

We’re actually planning on a small series for the final decade of John Huston’s directing career, with a diverse set of movies that include the musical Annie, the mob comedy Prizzi’s Honor, and the lyrical adaptation of James Joyce’s The Dead.

Look for that to come later this year.

Thank you for joining us. We’ll talk again soon, when Episode 100 is released.

Remember to visit this episode’s page on our website, The80sMoviePodcast.com, for extra materials about Pelé and the movie Victory.

The 80s Movies Podcast has been researched, written, narrated and edited by Edward Havens for Idiosyncratic Entertainment.

Thank you again.

Good night.

The Jazz Singer

12 januari 2023 | 25 min

Welcome to our first episode of the new year, which is also our first episode of Season 5. Thank you for continuing to join us on this amazing journey.

On today's episode, we head back to Christmas of 1980, when pop music superstar Neil Diamond would be making his feature acting debut in a new version of The Jazz Singer.

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EPISODE TRANSCRIPT

From Los Angeles, California, the entertainment capital of the world, this is The 80s Movies Podcast. I am your host, Edward Havens. Thank you for listening today.

It’s 2023, which means we are starting our fifth season. And for our first episode of this new season, we’re going back to the end of 1980, to take a look back at what was supposed to be the launch of a new phase in the career of one of music’s biggest stars. That musical star was Neil Diamond, and this would end up becoming his one and only attempt to act in a motion picture.

We’re talking about The Jazz Singer.

As I have said time and time again, I don’t really have a plan for this show. I talk about the movies and subjects I talk about often on a whim. I’ll hear about something and I’ll be reminded of something, and a few days later, I’ve got an episode researched, written, recorded, edited and out there in the world. As I was working on the previous episode, about The War of the Roses just before my trip to Thailand, I saw a video of Neil Diamond singing Sweet Caroline on opening night of A Beautiful Noise, a new Broadway musical about the life and music of Mr. Diamond. I hadn’t noticed Diamond had stopped performing live five years earlier due to a diagnosis of Parkinson’s, and it was very touching to watch a thousand people joyously singing along with the man.

But as I was watching that video, I was reminded of The Jazz Singer, a movie we previously covered very lightly three years ago as part of our episode on the distribution company Associated Film Distribution. I was reminded that I haven’t seen the movie in over forty years, even though I remember rather enjoying it when it opened in theatres in December 1980. I think I saw it four or five times over the course of a month, and I even went out and bought the soundtrack album, which I easily listened to a hundred times before the start of summer.

But we’re getting ahead of ourselves yet again.

The Jazz Singer began its life in 1917, when Samson Raphaelson, a twenty-three year old undergraduate at the University of Illinois, attended a performance of Robinson Crusoe, Jr., in Champaign, IL. The star of that show was thirty-year-old Al Jolson, a Russian-born Jew who had been a popular performer on Broadway stages for fifteen years by this point, regularly performing in blackface. After graduation, Raphaelson would become an advertising executive in New York City, but on the side, he would write stories. One short story, called “The Day of Atonement,” would be a thinly fictionalized account of Al Jolson’s life. It would be published in Everybody’s Magazine in January 1922.

At the encouragement of his secretary at the advertising firm, Raphaelson would adapted his story into a play, which would be produced on Broadway in September 1925 with a new title…

The Jazz Singer.

Ironically, for a Broadway show based on the early life of Al Jolson, Jolson was not a part of the production. The part of Jake Rabinowitz, the son of a cantor who finds success on Broadway with the Anglicized named Jack Robin, would be played by George Jessel. The play would be a minor hit, running for 303 performances on Broadway before closing in June 1926, and Warner Brothers would buy the movie rights the same week the show closed. George Jessel would be signed to play his stage role in the movie version. The film was scheduled to go into production in May 1927.

There are a number of reasons why Jessel would not end up making the movie. After the success of two Warner movies in 1926 using Vitaphone, a sound-on-disc system that could play music synchronized to a motion picture, Warner Brothers reconcieved The Jazz Singer as a sound movie, but not just a movie with music synchronized to the images on screen, but a “talkie,” where, for the first time for a motion picture, actual dialogue and vocal songs would be synchronized to the pictures on screen. When he learned about this development, Jessel demanded more money.

The Warner Brothers refused.

Then Jessel had some concerns about the solvency of the studio. These would be valid concerns, as Harry Warner, the eldest of the four eponymous brothers who ran the studio, had sold nearly $4m worth of his personal stock to keep the company afloat just a few months earlier.

But what ended up driving Jessel away was a major change screenwriter Alfred A. Cohen made when adapting the original story and the play into the screenplay. Instead of leaving the theatre and becoming a cantor like his father, as it was written for the stage, the movie would end with Jack Robin performing on Broadway in blackface while his mom cheers him on from one of the box seats.

With Jessel off the project, Warner would naturally turn to… Eddie Cantor. Like Al Jolson, Eddie Cantor was a Jew of Russian descent, although, unlike Jolson, he had been born in New York City. Like Jolson, he had been a star on Broadway for years, regularly performing in and writing songs for Florenz Ziegfeld’ annual Follies shows. And like Jolson, Cantor would regularly appear on stage in blackface. But Cantor, a friend of Jessel’s, instead offered to help the studio get Jessel back on the movie. The studio instead went to their third choice…

Al Jolson.

You know. The guy whose life inspired the darn story to begin with.

Many years later, film historian Robert Carringer would note that, in 1927, George Jessel was a vaudeville comedian with one successful play and one modestly successful movie to his credit, while Jolson was one of the biggest stars in America. In fact, when The Vitaphone Company was trying to convince American studios to try their sound-on-disc system for movies, they would hire Jolson in the fall of 1926 for a ten minute test film. It would be the success of the short film, titled A Plantation Act and featuring Jolson in blackface singing three songs, that would convince Warners to take a chance with The Jazz Singer as the first quote unquote talkie film.

I’ll have a link to A Plantation Act on our website, The80sMoviePodcast.com, if you’re interested in seeing it.

Al Jolson signed on to play the character inspired by himself for $75,000 in May 1927, the equivalent to $1.28m today. Filming would be pushed back to June 1927, in part due to Jolson still being on tour with another show until the end of the month. Warners would begin production on the film in New York City in late June, starting with second unit shots of the Lower East Side and The Winter Garden Theatre on Broadway, shooting as much as they could until Jolson arrived on set on July 11th.

Now, while the film has been regularly touted for nearly a century now as the first talking motion picture, the truth is, there’s very little verbal dialogue in the film. The vast majority of dialogue in the movie was still handled with the traditional silent movie use of caption cards, and the very few scenes featuring what would be synchronized dialogue were saved for the end of production, due to the complexity of how those scenes would be captured. But the film would finish shooting in mid-September.

The $422k movie would have its world premiere at the Warner Brothers theatre in New York City not three weeks later, on October 6th, 1927, where the film would become a sensation. Sadly, none of the Warner Brothers would attend the premiere, as Sam Warner, the strongest advocate for Vitaphone at the studio, had died of pneumonia the night before the premiere, and his remaining brothers stayed in Los Angeles for the funeral. The reviews were outstanding, and the film would bring more than $2.5m in rental fees back to the studio.

At the first Academy Awards, held in May 1929 to honor the films released between August 1927 and July 1928, The Jazz Singer was deemed ineligible for the two highest awards, Outstanding Production, now known as Best Picture, and Unique and Artistic Production, which would only be awarded this one time, on the grounds that it would have been unfair to a sound picture compete against all the other silent films. Ironically, by the time the second Academy Awards were handed out, in April 1930, silent films would practically be a thing of the past. The success of The Jazz Singer had been that much a tectonic shift in the industry. The film would receive one Oscar nomination, for Alfred Cohn’s screenplay adaptation, while the Warner Brothers would be given a special award for producing The Jazz Singer, the “pioneer outstanding talking picture which has revolutionized the industry,” as the inscription on the award read.

There would be a remake of The Jazz Singer produced in 1952, starring Danny Thomas as Korean War veteran who, thankfully, leaves the blackface in the past, and a one-hour television adaptation of the story in 1959, starring Jerry Lewis. And if that sounds strange to you, Jerry Lewis, at the height of his post-Lewis and Martin success, playing a man torn between his desire to be a successful performer and his shattered relationship with his cantor father… well, you can see it for yourself, if you desire, on the page for this episode on our website. It is as strange as it sounds.

At this point, we’re going to fast forward a number of years in our story.

In the 1970s, Neil Diamond became one of the biggest musical stars in America. While he wanted to be a singer, Diamond would get his first big success in music in the 1960s as a songwriter, including writing two songs that would become big hits for The Monkees: I’m a Believer and A Little Bit Me, A Little Bit You.

And really quickly, let me throw out a weird coincidence here… Bob Rafelson, the creator of The Monkees who would go on to produce and/or direct such films as Easy Rider and Five Easy Pieces, was the nephew of Samson Raphaelson, the man who wrote the original story on which The Jazz Singer is based.

Anyway, after finding success as a songwriter, Diamond would become a major singing star with hits like Girl, You’ll Be a Woman Soon, Sweet Caroline, and Song Sung Blue. And in another weird coincidence, by 1972, Neil Diamond would become the first performer since Al Jolson to stage a one-man show at the Winter Garden Theatre on Broadway.

By 1976, Neil Diamond is hosting specials on television, and one person who would see one of Diamond’s television specials was a guy named Jerry Leider, an executive at Warner Brothers in charge of foreign feature production. Leider sees something in Diamond that just night be suited for the movies, not unlike Elvis Presley or Barbra Streisand, who in 1976 just happens to be the star of a remake of A Star Is Born for Warner Brothers that is cleaning up at the box office and at records stores nationwide. Leider is so convinced Neil Diamond has that X Factor, that unquantifiable thing that turns mere mortals into superstars, that Leider quits his job at Warners to start his own movie production company, wrestling the story rights to The Jazz Singer from Warner Brothers and United Artists, both of whom claimed ownership of the story, so he can make his own version with Diamond as the star.

So, naturally, a former Warners Brothers executive wanting to remake one of the most iconic movies in the Warner Brothers library is going to set it up at Warner Brothers, right?

Nope!

In the fall of 1977, Leider makes a deal with MGM to make the movie. Diamond signs on to play the lead, even before a script is written, and screenwriter Stephen H. Foreman is brought in to update the vaudeville-based original story into the modern day while incorporating Diamond’s strengths as a songwriter to inform the story. But just before the film was set to shoot in September 1978, MGM would drop the movie, as some executives were worried the film would be perceived as being, and I am quoting Mr. Foreman here, “too Jewish.”

American Film Distribution, the American distribution arm of British production companies ITC and EMI, would pick the film up in turnaround, and set a May 1979 production start date. Sidney J. Furie, the Canadian filmmaker who had directed Diana Ross in Lady Sings the Blues, would be hired to direct, and Jacqueline Bisset was pursued to play the lead female role, but her agent priced their client out of the running. Deborah Raffin would be cast instead. And to help bring the kids in, the producers would sign Sir Laurence Olivier to play Diamond’s father, Cantor Rabinovitch. Sir Larry would get a cool million dollars for ten weeks of work.

There would, as always is with the case of making movies, be setbacks that would further delay the start of production. First, Diamond would hurt his back at the end of 1978, and needed to go in for surgery in early January 1979. Although Diamond had already written and recorded all the music that was going to be used in the movie, AFD considered replacing Diamond with Barry Manilow, who had also never starred in a movie before, but they would stick with their original star.

After nearly a year of rest, Diamond was ready to begin, and cameras would roll on the $10m production on January 7th, 1980. And, as always is with the case of making movies, there would be more setbacks as soon as production began. Diamond, uniquely aware of just how little training he had as an actor, struggled to find his place on set, especially when working with an actor of Sir Laurence Olivier’s stature. Director Furie, who was never satisfied with the screenplay, ordered writer Foreman to come up with new scenes that would help lessen the burden Diamond was placing on himself and the production. The writer would balk at almost every single suggestion, and eventually walked off the film.

Herbert Baker, an old school screenwriter who had worked on several of the Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis movies, was brought in to punch up the script, but he would end up completely rewriting the film, even though the movie had been in production for a few weeks. Baker and Furie would spend every moment the director wasn’t actively working on set reworking the story, changing the Deborah Raffin character so much she would leave the production. Her friend Lucie Arnaz, the daughter of Desi Arnaz and Lucille Ball, would take over the role, after Cher, Liza Minnelli and Donna Summer were considered.

Sensing an out of control production, Sir Lew Grade, the British media titan owner of AFD, decided a change was needed. He would shut the production down on March 3rd, 1980, and fire director Furie. While Baker continued to work on the script, Sir Grade would find a new director in Richard Fleischer, the journeyman filmmaker whose credits in the 1950s and 1960s included such films as 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, Compulsion, Fantastic Voyage and Doctor Doolittle, but had fallen out of favor with most studios after a string of flops. In fact, this would be the second film in a year where Fleischer was hired to replace another director during the middle of production, having replaced Richard C. Sarafian on the action-adventure film Ashanti in 1979.

With Fleischer aboard, production on The Jazz Singer would resume in late March, and there was an immediate noticeable difference on set. Where Furie and many members of the crew would regularly defer to Diamond due to his stature as an entertainer, letting the singer spiral out of control if things weren’t working right, Fleischer would calm the actor down and help work him back into the scene. Except for one scene, set in a recording studio, where Diamond’s character needed to explode into anger. After a few takes that didn’t go as well as he hoped, Diamond went into the recording booth where his movie band was stationed while Fleischer was resetting the shot, when the director noticed Diamond working himself into a rage. The director called “action,” and Diamond nailed the take as needed. When the director asked Diamond how he got to that moment, the singer said he was frustrated with himself that he wasn’t hitting the scene right, and asked the band to play something that would make him angry. The band obliged.

What did they play?

A Barry Manilow song.

Despite the recasting of the leading female role, a change of director and a number of rewrites by two different writers during the production, the film was able to finish shooting at the end of April with only $3m added to the budget.

Associated Film would set a December 19th, 1980 release date for the film, while Capitol Records, owned at the time by EMI, would release the first single from the soundtrack, a soft-rock ballad called Love on the Rocks, in October, with the full soundtrack album arriving in stores a month later.

As expected for a new Neil Diamond song, Love on the Rocks was an immediate hit, climbing the charts all the way to #2 on the Billboard Hot 100.

Several days before the film opened in 241 theatres on December 19th, there was a huge, star-studded premiere at the Plitt Century Plaza Cinemas in Los Angeles. Peter Falk, Harvey Korman, Ed McMahon, Gregory Peck, Cesar Romero and Jon Voight were just a handful of the Hollywood community who came out to attend what was one of the biggest Hollywood premieres in years. That would seem to project a confidence in the movie from the distributor’s standpoint.

Or so you’d think.

But as it turned out, The Jazz Singer was one of three movies Associated Film would release that day. Along with The Jazz Singer, they would release the British mystery film The Mirror Crack’d starring Angela Lansbury and Elizabeth Taylor, and the Richard Donner drama Inside Moves. Of the three movies, The Jazz Singer would gross the most that weekend, pulling in a modest $1.167m, versus The Mirror Crack’d’s $608k from 340 screens, and Inside Moves’s $201k from 67 screens.

But compared to Clint Eastwood’s Any Which Way You Can, the Richard Pryor/Gene Wilder comedy Stir Crazy, and Dolly Parton/Lily Tomlin/Jane Fonda comedy 9 to 5, it wasn’t the best opening they could hope for.

But the film would continue to play… well, if not exceptional, at least it would hold on to its intended audience for a while. Sensing the film needed some help, Capitol Records released a second single from the soundtrack, another power ballad called Hello Again, in January 1981, which would become yet another top ten hit for Diamond. A third single, the pro-immigration power-pop song America, would arrive in April 1981 and go to number eight on the charts, but by then, the film was out of theatres with a respectable $27.12m in tickets sold.

Contemporary reviews of the film were rather negative, especially towards Diamond as an actor. Roger Ebert noted in his review that there were so many things wrong in the film that the review was threatening to become a list of cinematic atrocities. His review buddy Gene Siskel did praise Lucie Arnaz’s performance, while pointing out how out of touch the new story was with the immigrant story told by the original film. Many critics would also point out the cringe-worthy homage to the original film, where Diamond unnecessarily performs in blackface, as well as Olivier’s overacting.

I recently watched the film for the first time since 1981, and it’s not a great movie by any measurable metric. Diamond isn’t as bad an actor as the reviews make him out to be, especially considering he’s essentially playing an altered version of himself, a successful pop singer, and Lucie Arnaz is fairly good. The single best performance in the film comes from Caitlin Adams, playing Jess’s wife Rivka, who, for me, is the emotional center of the film. And yes, Olivier really goes all-in on the scenery chewing. At times, it’s truly painful to watch this great actor spin out of control.

There would be a few awards nominations for the film, including acting nominations for Diamond and Arnaz at the 1981 Golden Globes, and a Grammy nomination for Best Soundtrack Album, but most of its quote unquote awards would come from the atrocious Golden Raspberry organization, which would name Diamond the Worst Actor of the year and Olivier the Worst Supporting Actor during its first quote unquote ceremony, which was held in some guy’s living room.

Ironically but not so surprisingly, while the film would be vaguely profitable for its producers, it would be the soundtrack to the movie that would bring in the lion’s share of the profits. On top of three hit singles, the soundtrack album would sell more than five million copies just in the United States in 1980 and 1981, and would also go platinum in Canada, South Africa, and the United Kingdom. While he would earn less than half a million dollars from the film, Diamond’s cut of the soundtrack would net him a dollar per unit sold, earning him more than ten times his salary as an actor.

And although I fancied myself a punk and new wave kid at the end of 1980, I bought the soundtrack to The Jazz Singer, ostensibly as a gift for my mom, who loved Neil Diamond, but I easily wore out the grooves of the album listening to it over and over again. Of the ten new songs he wrote for the soundtrack, there’s a good two or three additional tracks that weren’t released as singles, including a short little ragtime-inspired ditty called On the Robert E. Lee, but America is the one song from the soundtrack I am still drawn to today. It’s a weirdly uplifting song with its rhythmic “today” chants that end the song that just makes me feel good despite its inherent cheesiness.

After The Jazz Singer, Neil Diamond would only appear as himself in a film. Lucie Arnaz would never quite have much of a career after the film, although she would work quote regularly in television during the 80s and 90s, including a short stint as the star of The Lucie Arnaz Show, which lasted six episodes in 1985 before being cancelled. Laurence Olivier would continue to play supporting roles in a series of not so great motion pictures and television movies and miniseries for several more years, until his passing in 1989. And director Richard Fleischer would make several bad movies, including Red Sonja and Million Dollar Mystery, until he retired from filmmaking in 1987.

As we noted in our February 2020 episode about AFD, the act of releasing three movies on the same day was a last, desperate move in order to pump some much needed capital into the company. And while The Jazz Singer would bring some money in, that wasn’t enough to cover the losses from the other two movies released the same day, or several other underperforming films released earlier in the year such as the infamous Village People movie Can’t Stop the Music and Raise the Titanic. Sir Lew Grade would close AFD down in early 1981, and sell several movies that were completed, in production or in pre-production to Universal Studios. Ironically, those movies might have saved the company had they been able to hang on a little longer, as they included such films as The Dark Crystal, Frances, On Golden Pond, Sophie’s Choice and Tender Mercies.

Thank you for joining us. We’ll talk again soon, when Episode 99 is released.

Remember to visit this episode’s page on our website, The80sMoviePodcast.com, for extra materials about Neil Diamond and The Jazz Singer.

The 80s Movies Podcast has been researched, written, narrated and edited by Edward Havens for Idiosyncratic Entertainment.

Thank you again.

Good night.

The War of the Roses

13 december 2022 | 18 min

On this actual final episode of 2022, we take a look back at our favorite Christmas movie of the decade, Danny DeVito's 1989 film The War of the Roses.

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TRANSCRIPT

Hello, and welcome to The 80s Movies Podcast. I am your host, Edward Havens. Thank you for listening today.

Before we get started, yes, I said our previous episode, on Michael Jackson’s Thriller, was going to be our last episode of 2022. When I wrote that, and when I said that, I meant it. But then, after publishing that episode, I got to thinking about Christmas, and some of my favorite Christmas movies, and it reminded me I have considering doing an episode about my favorite Christmas movie from the 1980s, and decided to make myself an unintentional liar by coming back one more time.

So, for the final time in 2022, this time for real, I present this new episode of The 80s Movie Podcast. This time, we’ll be talking about Danny DeVito’s best film as a director, The War of the Roses.

The genesis of War of the Roses was a novel by American author and playwright Warren Adler. After graduating from NYU with a degree in English literature, in a class that included Mario Puzo, the author of The Godfather, and William Styron, who won the 1968 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction for his novel The Confessions of Nat Turner, Adler paved an interesting road before becoming a novelist. He worked as a journalist at the New York Daily News, before becoming the editor of the Queens Post, an independent weekly newspaper devoted to all things happening in that New York City borough.

He would buy four radio stations and a television station in New York City, before opening his own advertising and public relations firm in Washington D.C.

Adler would create ads for politicians, businesses and communities all across the nation. In fact, it was Warren Adler who would create the name of the DC complex whose name is now synonymous with high crimes: Watergate. In 1974, he would sell the firm, and the stations, after the publication of his first novel, Undertow.

The War of the Roses would be Adler’s seventh novel to be published in as many years, and the first of four to be published in 1981 alone. The novel follows Jonathan and Barbara Rose, who, initially, seem to be the perfect couple. He has a thriving career as a lawyer, she is an up-an-coming entrepreneur with an exceptional pâté recipe. Their extravagant home holds a collection of antiquities purchased over the years, and they enjoy their life with their children Evie and Josh. One day, Jonathan suffers what seems to be a heart attack, to which Barbara responds by asking for a divorce. Very quickly, their mutual love turns to a destructive hatred, especially after Jonathan, trying to save his marriage despite his wife’s de facto declaration of lost love for her husband, decides to invoke an old state law that allows a husband to remain in his house while in the process of divorce.

The novel became an immediate sensation, but Hollywood had already come knocking on Mr. Adler’s door seven months before the book’s publication.

Richard D. Zanuck, the son of legendary Fox studio head Daryl Zanuck, and his producing partner David Brown, would purchase the movie rights to the book in September 1980 through their production deal at Fox. The producers, whose credits included The Sting and Jaws, would hire Adler to write the screenplay adaptation of his novel, but they seemingly would let the film rights lapse after two years.

James L. Brooks, the television writer and producer who created The Mary Tyler Moore Show and Taxi, was transitioning to movies, and purchased the movie rights to the book, which he would produce for Polly Platt, the former wife of filmmaker Peter Bogdanovich who had made a name for herself as an art director, costume designer, screenwriter and producer, including as the production designer and on-set sounding board for Brooks on Terms of Endearment.

At the time, Brooks was working at Paramount Pictures, but in 1986, he would end his association with that studio when Fox would offer Brooks the opportunity to create his own production company at the studio, Gracie Films. When the transfer of Brooks’ properties from Paramount to Fox was being worked on, it was discovered that Brooks didn’t actually own the movie rights to War of the Roses after all.

In fact, Arnon Milchan, an Israeli businessman who had been making a splash in the film industry financing movies like Martin Scorsese’s The King of Comedy, Ridley Scott’s Legend and Terry Gilliam’s Brazil, had actually purchased the movie rights to the novel before the Zanuck/Brown option seemingly lapsed, which would require Brooks to enter into a new round of negotiations to secure the rights once and for all. Milchan would sell them to Gracie Films for $300k and a producer credit on the final film.

Once the rights were finally and properly secured, Brooks would hire Michael Neeson, a writer Brooks had worked with on The Mary Tyler Moore, Rhoda and Taxi, to write the screenplay. But instead of spending time getting ready to make her directorial debut, Platt instead took a job as the production designer on George Miller’s adaptation of John Updike’s The Witches of Eastwick. In fact, Miller was so keen on getting Platt involved in his production that he would consider shooting a good portion of the movie in Platt’s hometown of Hingham, Massachusetts, although they would eventually spend most of the location shoot in nearby Colhasset, which had more of the historical buildings Miller wanted for the film.

Platt would finish her work on Witches before Brooks would begin shooting his Terms of Endearment follow-up, Broadcast News, on which Polly would serve as an executive producer, but her leaving Brooks for several months to work on someone else’s film would begin a fracture between the two that would lead to Platt leaving Gracie Films in a few years.

But not before she helped with the creation of The Tracy Ullman Show, one of the earliest shows on the then-brand new Fox television network, which included a short animated segment each week about a quirky family in a town called Springfield.

The Simpsons.

While Platt was in New England working on Witches, James L. Brooks would visit an old friend, Danny DeVito, who was shooting his feature directing debut, Throw Momma From the Train. DeVito had known about The War of the Roses for years, and really wanted to make it as a director, but knowing how important the project was to Platt, he would defer his interest in the film.

In a July 2020 episode of Karina Longworth’s excellent podcast You Must Remember This, Danny DeVito tells Longworth that he only became involved in the film when Brooks told him the project was not going to move forward with Polly Platt.

And sidebar, if you aren’t familiar with Polly Platt or her importance to cinema and pop culture, I highly encourage you to listen to Ms. Longworth’s entire season about Ms. Platt. Polly Platt was an amazing, complicated woman who deserves a better legacy. Just trust me on this. Please.

Okay, so now were at the end of 1986. Polly Platt was out as the director of The War of the Roses, even if she didn’t know she was out at the time.

So what could DeVito bring to the project that Platt could not?

DeVito had just finished his first feature film as a director. And while Momma wasn’t a big hit when it was released in December 1987, it was successful enough at the box office, and the film would garner an unlikely Oscar nomination for Anne Ramsay, the actress who played the film’s diminutive title character. But more importantly, DeVito could bring in Michael Douglas and Kathleen Turner, his co-stars on Romancing the Stone and The Jewel of the Nile, to play the now Oliver and Barbara Rose. The three actors had had spent years looking for another project unrelated to that other series they could make together. Douglas would sign on to the project before his amazing fall and winter 1987 run, first as the star of the mega-hit Fatal Attraction, and then as the star of Wall Street, which would garner him an Academy Award for Best Actor.

Turner had been taking some time off from acting after finishing Peggy Sue Got Married in July 1985, and was pregnant with her daughter Rachel when DeVito approached her about The War of the Roses. Turner was already working on a comedy called Switching Channels, which had to finish shooting by early July 1987, as Turner’s pregnancy would be rather visible if shooting lasted any longer. She had also committed to being a featured actor in Body Heat director Lawrence Kasdan’s The Accidental Tourist, which would also re-team Turner with William Hurt.

But she would agree to star in The War of the Roses if they could give her some time being a new mom before shooting began.

DeVito and Leeson would continue to work on the script. As there was no character in the novel that would work for the compact actor/director, the two would create a framing device for the story. DeVito would play Gavin D’Amato, a divorce lawyer who was friends with Oliver Rose, who tells the story of Oliver and Barbara Rose to a potential client, played by Dan Castellaneta, the voice of Homer Simpson, as a way of trying to get his client to reconsider splitting with his wife. The character of Gavin D’Amato would take the place of Murray Goldstein in the novel, an overweight former rabbi who would only meet Oliver Rose during the course of the story.

Sean Astin, who had made a splash a few years earlier as the lead in The Goonies, would be cast as the Rose’s teenage son Josh, while newcomer Heather Fairfield would get her first major movie role playing the Roses’ daughter Evie, who would be renamed Carolyn for the movie.

The other major change DeVito and Leeson would make to the story would be to change the Roses’ sitter from a teenager to a fortysomething woman, as they would be able to get German actress Marianne Sägebrecht, who had just found international stardom as the star of Percy Adlon’s surprise global hit Baghdad Cafe, to come aboard.

Although the $26m film took place on the East Coast, the scenes not shot on the sound stages at Fox Studios in Los Angeles were filmed in Coupeville, WA, a small town on Whidbey Island, about forty miles north of Seattle, which had never been used as a filming location before.

Filming would begin on Stage 6 on the Fox lot, which was set up as the main living area for the Roses’ house, on March 21st, 1989. The production would shoot as much of the film on the soundstages until April 7th, which was the first day they would be allowed to shoot in Coupeville. The evening of April 6th, though, would be spent on the backlot of Universal Studios, which was the only available space in Los Angeles at the time to accommodate shooting a massive, snowy Christmas Eve scene standing in for Cambridge, MA.

Two days after arriving in Coupeville, DeVito would discover a note on his rental car parked at the hotel where the production had its base, stating that thieves had stolen the dailies from the first day of location shooting, and demanded a ransom to have the footage returned. But DeVito was quickly able to find the dailies had not been stolen, and just laughed the note off as a prank.

After several weeks in Washington State, the production would return to Los Angeles to finish the remainder of the set shooting on the Fox Lot, as well as a few additional shots of homes in the Los Angeles neighborhood of Hancock Park, standing in suburban Washington D.C. Shooting would finish on July 25th, which would give DeVito and his team less than four and a half months to get the film ready for its planned December 8th release date.

Because the editing team lead by Lynne Klingman had been putting together an assembly cut for DeVito during production, the director was able to screen his first cut of the film for Fox executives in mid-August. That cut would run three hours and four minutes. But that’s what an assembly cut is for. You get to see all the stuff you shot put together, and see what you need to whittle down, what you need to move around, and what you need to get rid of completely.

Over the course of the next few months, DeVito and the editors would get the movie down to a tight one hour and fifty six minutes. And unlike many movies then and now, there were very few scenes that needed to be reshot or added in. One shot that would be added after the audiences at several test screenings was horrified at the suggestion that Barbara’s pâté may have been made with the family dog. DeVito would later state that he always meant to have a shot of the dog later in the movie, but it was definitely a late addition after the first few test screenings.

The War of the Roses would hold its world premiere at Century Plaza Cinemas in Century City, about a mile from the Fox lot, on December 4th, 1989. It would be a star-studded affair that included DeVito, Turner, and Douglas, who brought his father Kirk along with him, along with Courtney Cox, Olivia Newton-John, Kelly Preston, Mimi Rogers, Christian Slater and Samantha Morton, Oliver Stone, and Jennifer Tilly, followed by a New York City premiere two days later at the Gotham Theatre. The film would open in 1259 theatres on Friday, December 8th, and would be the highest grossing film in the nation, taking in $9.5m, knocking the previous week’s #1 film, National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, out of the top spot. It would fall to second place in its second week, as Christmas Vacation retook first place, and it would fall to third place during the long Christmas weekend. However, in its fourth week of release, the long New Years weekend, The War of the Roses would retake the top spot for the second and final time. At the end of the year, after 25 days of release, the film had grossed $43.85m, or the equivalent of $105m in 2022 dollars. The film would continue to stay strong for several more weeks, staying in the top ten until mid-February, before ending its run in theatres in the spring with $86.89m.

The reviews were pretty good, with particular praise heaped upon Douglas and Turner’s performances as well as DeVito’s direction. But, sadly, there would be little awards love for the film.

The Golden Globes would nominate the film for Best Comedy, and both Turner and Douglas for lead comedy performances, and the British Academy would nominate Michael Leeson for his screenplay, but would be completely shut out at the Academy Awards.

I love the movie. It was one of the first movies I bought on Laserdisc back in the early 1990s, and when I call it a box set, I mean it was actually two discs and a four page booklet about the movie not in an album-like slipcover but an actual box. The movie was on the first disc, with roughly an hour on each side, which included a separate audio track for DeVito’s commentary and a personal introduction to the film by DeVito, while the second disc featured deleted scenes, theatrical trailers, a copy of the shooting script, production stills, and a gallery of the theatrical posters. For a guy who had spent years building an enviable VHS videotape collection, this was next level stuff most people wouldn’t get to experience for nearly another decade.

More than thirty years after Warren Adler published The War of the Roses, he would release a sequel to his novel, entitled The Children of the Roses. Josh and Evie are now adults. Josh is married with two children himself, a boy and a girl, Michael and Emily. Much like his parents’ marriage, Josh’s marriage to Victoria seems to be picture perfect on the outside, but after their son gets caught up in a caper at his elite private school involving stolen Milky Way bars, Josh finds himself in his own War of the Roses.

Evie, who still copes with her depression by eating, comforts her niece and nephew with loads of food, since to Evie still, food is love, while Michael and Emily decide for themselves that their parents will stay together no matter what.

While the book was not a best seller like the first book, it would still sell quite well, as did almost every one of the other 43 books Adler would write and publish until his passing in 2019 at the age of 91.

Thank you for joining us for this year’s Christmas episode of The 80s Movie Podcast. We’ll talk again in early 2023, when Episode 98, about Neil Diamond’s sole attempt at movie acting, The Jazz Singer, is released.

Remember to visit this episode’s page on our website, The80sMoviePodcast.com, for extra materials about The War of the Roses.

The 80s Movies Podcast has been researched, written, narrated and edited by Edward Havens for Idiosyncratic Entertainment.

Thank you again.

Good night.

Thriller

30 november 2022 | 22 min

On our final episode of 2022, we look back at the music video/mini-movie for Michael Jackson's Thriller, on the fortieth anniversary on the release of the album which bore its name.

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Transcript:

Hello, and welcome to The 80s Movies Podcast. I am your host, Edward Havens. Thank you for listening today.

If you’re listening to this episode as I release it, on November 30th, 2022, today is the fortieth anniversary of the release of the biggest album ever released, Michael Jackson’s Thriller. Over the course of those forty years, it has sold more than seventy million copies. It won a record-breaking eight Grammy Awards. A performance of one of its signature songs, Billie Jean, for a televised concert celebrating the 25th anniversary of Motown Records would introduce The Moonwalk to an astonished audience, first in the auditorium and then on TV screens around the world. The album was so big, even MTV couldn’t ignore it. Michael Jackson would become the first black artist to be put into regular rotation on the two year old cable channel.

So what does all this have to do with movies, you ask.

That’s a good question.

Because out of this album came one of the most iconic moments in the entertainment industry. Not just for MTV or the music industry, but for the emerging home video industry that needed that one thing to become mainstream.

The music video for the album’s title song, Thriller.

Thriller was the sixth solo album by Michael Jackson, even though he was still a member of The Jacksons band alongside his brothers Jackie, Jermaine, Marlon, Randy and Tito. Although The Jacksons were still selling millions of albums with each release, Michael’s 1979 solo album Off the Wall made him a solo star, selling more than ten million copies worldwide in its first year of release, almost as much as all of the previous Jacksons albums combined. After the completion of The Jackson’s 1980 album Triumph, Jackson would re-team with his Off the Wall producer, the legendary Quincy Jones, to try and craft a new album that would blow Off the Wall out of the water. Jackson wanted every song on the album to be a killer. Every song a hit.

Over the course of 1981 and 1982, Jackson and Jones would work on no less than thirty songs that could be included on the final album, and assembled some of the biggest names in the music industry to play on it, including David Foster, James Ingram, Paul McCartney, Rob Temperton, Eddie Van Halen, and the members of the band Toto, who were having a great 1982 already with the release of their fourth album, which featured such seminal hits at Africa and Rosanna. Recording on the album would begin in April 1982 with the Jackson-penned The Girl is Mine, a duet with Paul McCartney that Jackson hoped would become even bigger than Ebony and Ivory, the former Beatle’s duet with Stevie Wonder which had been released a few weeks earlier and was be the number one song in a number of countries at that moment.

There would be three other songs on the final album written by Jackson, Beat It, Billie Jean, and Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’, which Jackson would co-produce with Jones. The other five songs, Baby Be Mine, Human Nature, The Lady in My Life, P.Y.T. and the title track, would be written by other artists like James Ingram, Steve Pocaro of Toto, and Rob Temperton, who were also working on the album as backup singers and/or musicians.

The final mixing of the album would continue up until three weeks before its expected November 30th, 1982 release, even though The Girl Is Mine had already been released as a single to radio stations and record stores on October 18th. While the song wouldn’t exactly set the world on fire or presage the massive success of the album it had come from, the single would sell more than a million copies, and hit number two on the Billboard Hot 100 charts.

When the album was released, it sold well, but it wouldn’t be until Billie Jean, the second single from the album, was released on January 2nd, 1983, that things really started to take off. Within three weeks, the song would already hit #1 on the Billboard R&B charts.

But it would still a few more weeks for white America to take notice.

In early 1983, the music world was dominated by the cable channel MTV, which in less than two years had gone from being a small cable channel launched in only portions of New Jersey to making global stars of such musical acts as Duran Duran, Eurythmics, U2 and even Weird Al Yankovich. But they just were not playing black artists. The lack of black music on MTV was so noticeable that, in an interview with MTV VJ Mark Goodman timed to the release of his comeback album Let’s Dance, David Bowie would admonish the VJ and the channel for not doing its part to promote black artists. MTV’s excuse, for lack of a better word, was that the network’s executives saw the channel as being rock centered, and Billie Jean was not “rock” enough for the channel.

The president of Jackson’s record label, CBS, was more than just enraged by the channel’s refusal to show the video for Billie Jean. He threatened to pull every single CBS act off the air, and never give MTV another music video to air. Could MTV really afford to lose Bruce Springsteen and Billy Joel and Journey and Toto and The Clash and Joe Jackson, Eddie Money, Chicago, Judas Priest, ELO, Adam Ant, Cheap Trick, Loverboy, Heart, Men at Work and a hundred other artists that accounted for more than a quarter of all the music videos in rotation on the channel at the time?

MTV would add Billie Jean to its rotation on March 10th, 1983.

Within a month, both the song and the album would hit #1 on their respective charts.

Lost in all the hubbub about Billie Jean was that Beat It, with its blistering Eddie Van Halen guitar solo, had been released as a single on February 14th, and it too would become a #1 hit song. In fact, after Billie Jean topped the charts for seven weeks, Beat It would become the #1 song in the nation, after a single week of Dexy’s Midnight Runners taking the top spot.

Ironically, despite how they felt about Billie Jean just a few weeks earlier, MTV would actually be the first outlet to show the Beat It video, not three weeks after it finally relented on Billie Jean.

Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’, Human Nature, and P.Y.T. were all released as singles between May and September 1983, but none of them would have the success enjoyed by Billie Jean and Beat It, and sales for the Thriller album were starting to wane. There were only three songs left on the album that hadn’t been released as singles yet, and neither Baby Be Mine not The Lady in My Life were the kinds of songs that would be featured as singles.

That left Thriller.

There never was a plan for Thriller to be released as a single. The label saw the song, with its vaguely spooky lyrics and ending narration by legendary horror actor Vincent Price, as a novelty song, not unlike a Weird Al Yankovic song.

In early August 1983, Jackson would see An American Werewolf in London. He loved the movie, especially the scenes where actor David Naughton would transform into a werewolf on screen. The film’s director, John Landis, was working in London at the time, and late one evening, the phone in his hotel room would ring. It was Michael Jackson. The singer wanted to know if Landis would come aboard to make a music video based on this song, and help turn him into a monster. “Michael, it’s 2am in London,” Landis would exclaim to the excited singer on the other end of the line. “I will call you when I get back to Los Angeles in a couple weeks,” he’d say, before hanging up the phone and went back to sleep.

Except Landis didn’t wait for his return to the States to call Jackson back. The filmmaker and the singer would, despite the eight hour time difference, speak several times over the phone about ideas for a music video.

For weeks, Landis, Landis’s costume designer wife Deborah Nadoolman, and Rick Baker, the genius behind the practical makeup effects for An American Werewolf in London, would meet with Jackson to discuss story, choreography, makeup and costuming.

Landis and his producing partner, George Foley Jr., would come up with a final story that featured a story about a young man and a young woman who find themselves being chased by zombies through the streets of Los Angeles, before the boy becomes, at various times, a zombie himself and a werewolf-like cat creature. It was going to be Landis’s homage to fun horror movies of the past, from I Was a Teenage Wereworld to Night of the Living Dead.

Landis and Folsey would present the president of CBS Records with a script for the project, and a $900,000 budget, ten times more than the average music video cost to make at the time and nearly triple the previous record for the highest budget for a music video at that time. And unlike most videos made at the time, it would be shot using 35mm film and Arriflex cameras.

It was not going to be just a music video.

This was going to be a mini-movie.

The record label president was not pleased.

Album sales for Thriller had been slowing, and it did not make sense for them to spend nearly a million dollars to make a video for what would be the seventh and riskiest single off the album.

They refused to pay for it.

So Folsey, Jackson and Landis would go to the major television networks, to see if they would be willing to finance the project, which they pitched as not only getting a fifteen minute music video from one of the biggest artists in the world, but also a thirty minute making-of documentary, so the entire program could be slotted for a full hour of airtime including commercials.

They would all say no.

Then they went to MTV, who had seen a dramatic spike in subscriptions since they started airing Billie Jean and Beat it, in the hopes they would want in on the action. They would also decline, because they had a policy of not financing ANY music videos. Music videos were promotions for the record labels. They should be paying for the making of them.

They then went to cable movie channels like HBO and Showtime. Imagine having exclusive rights to a fifteen minute mini-movie from the biggest music star on the planet, they would suggest, as well as a forty-five minute making-of feature that could be slotted for a full hour of programming. Imagine how many new subscribers you’d get if your channel was the only place to see it!

Showtime would agree to finance half the video in exchange for exclusive movie channel rights to screen Thriller.

Sensing there might actually be a market for this, Jackson’s record label would commit to throw in $100,000, if they could find another partner to cover the rest.

MTV would make up the difference, after deciding they were not financing a music video but indeed a short motion picture and a making-of featurette.

Landis would bring a number of his regular collaborators with him. In addition to producing partner George Foley Jr. and costume designer Deborah Nadoolman, Landis would have his American Werewolf in London cinematographer Robert Paynter behind the camera, Malcolm Campbell, who had edited American Werewolf and Trading Places, assembling the final footage, and the legendary music composer Elmer Bernstein, who created the scores for Animal House and American Werewolf, to provide an incidental musical score to the movie inside the movie, and other sequences not directly related to Jackson’s song.

The vast majority of the shoot, which took place over four nights in October, the 11th through the 14th, would take place around Downtown Los Angeles. The scenes at the movie theatre were filmed at the Palace Theatre on Broadway, while the zombie dance was filmed a couple miles to the south at Calzona Street and Union Pacific Avenue and the final house sequence was filmed in the Echo Park neighborhood just northwest of downtown.

Side note: the Palace Theatre is still there, and still occasionally shows movies to this day, and both the intersection where the dance sequence was filmed and the neighborhood where the final chase sequence took place still look remarkably similar to what they did forty years ago.

And how quickly did it take for Landis and his team to get the footage assembled?

Thriller would have its first screening at the Crest Theatre in Westwood Village on November 14th, 1983, not thirty days after filming was complete. John Landis would tell Nancy Griffin in a 2010 Vanity Fair oral history about Thriller that despite having been to events like the Oscars, the Emmys and the Golden Globes, he had never seen a turnout like the one he witnessed that night. Diana Ross, who had discovered the Jacksons nearly twenty years earlier, was there. As was Prince and Eddie Murphy and Warren Beatty. Ola Ray, Jackson’s co-star in the film, was there too, and before the screening, she noticed Jackson was nowhere to be found. She would find him a few moments later, hiding in the projection booth with the projector operator. Ray would do her best to lure Jackson out, to mingle with the crowd. This was his night, after all. But Jackson would only compliment Ray on her dress, and tell her to go enjoy herself.

Once the crowd was seated, Landis would warm the crowd up with some light banter and a screening of a new print of a Mickey Mouse cartoon, The Band Concert, that Jackson was able to get Disney to strike just for this occasion. It’s one of Disney’s best cartoons, and the crowd would enjoy it. But they were here to see what amazing thing Michael would pull off this time.

Finally, the main event would begin. And the first thing the audience would see was a disclaimer…

“Due to my strong personal convictions, I wish to stress that this film in no way endorses a belief in the occult. Michael Jackson.”

This was in reaction to word that Jackson had gotten a couple weeks earlier from the leaders of the Jehovah’s Witnesses, to which he was a practicing member of at the time, that he risked being excommunicated from the church. The church was worried the film, which, incidentally, they had not seen yet, would promote demonology to younger people. At first, Jackson would call his assistant and order them to destroy the negatives to the film. The assistant, with the help of the production team, would instead lock the negatives up in a safe place until a compromise could be reached. It would be Jackson’s assistant who came up with the pre-roll statement, which was acceptable to Jackson, to the church, and to the production team.

At the end of the screening, Jackson, Landis and the film received a standing ovation. Eddie Murphy screamed out “Show the damn thing again!” And they did.

John Landis hadn’t made a music video. He made a short movie musical. And he wanted recognition for his efforts. So despite his standing in the industry as a semi-pariah due to the ongoing legal troubles concerning the Twilight Zone accident, Landis wanted an Oscar for his work. The movie was that good.

Even though he had never worked with Disney in the past, Landis was able to convince the studio to allow him to screen the PG-rated Thriller mini-movie in front of the G-rated Fantasia, which was going to be released on Thursday, November 24th, on one screen in Los Angeles. The L.A. Times newspaper ad would be a split image. On the top half, Mickey in his Sorcerer’s Apprentice getup, and on the bottom, listed as an “extra added attraction,” Michael in his leather jacket, in a nearly identical pose to the cartoon mouse above him. Five shows a day for seven days, with an extra late show on Thursday, Friday and Saturday, Academy members and one guest could present their membership card at the box office for free tickets to see Thriller on the Avco Cinema Center, then stay and watch Fantasia as well.

If you want to see a not exceptional image of the newspaper ad, make sure you head over to this episode’s entry on our website, the80smoviepodcast.com

Now, I’m not sure how many free tickets were given away to Academy members that week, but practically every screening was sold out. While the $52,000 worth of tickets sold in those seven days would be credited to Disney and Fantasia, it was clear from the audiences who were leaving after the fourteen minute short was done what they were there to see.

And for that week, this was the only way to see Thriller on the entire planet.

On December 2nd, MTV would show Thriller for the first time in prime time. Ten times the regular audience would turn in to watch. At the end of the video, MTV told their viewers they would watch it again if they wanted at the top of the hour. And they would show it every hour at the top of the hour for twenty-four straight hours. It would be MTV’s biggest day to date.

In February 1984, Showtime would air the video and its corresponding making-of featurette six times, and those airings would be amongst their biggest days in their nearly decade-long history. Vestron Home Video, a smaller videotape distributor based in Connecticut, would pay for the home video rights to the video and making-of featurette, and release it later in the spring. It would sell more than 900,000 copies at $29.99 MSRP. It would be the first major sell-through home video title, and usher in the mindframe that collecting movies on VHS was a totally normal thing, like a record collection.

And the album?

It would quickly return to the top of the charts within weeks of the release of the video no one really wanted to make outside of Michael Jackson, and it would go on to sell another ten million copies just in 1984.

The red leather jacket worn by Jackson in the video, designed by Deborah Nadoolman, would become as iconic in pop culture as Indiana Jones’ fedora, which Nadoolman also hand-picked for that character. Shooting a music video as if it were a movie, and on 35mm film, would soon become the norm instead of the exception. Future filmmakers like Spike Jonze would use Thriller as a template for what they could get away with when they started making music videos in the 90s.

Over the years, Thriller has been deemed THE single best music video of all time by a number of news organizations and fans all around the world. An official 4K remastered version of the video was uploaded to YouTune in October 2009, a few months after Jackson’s unfortunately and untimely passing, where it has amassed more than 865m views over the past 13 years. And that’s just for that one version of the video. There are dozens more copies available on YouTube, each with millions of views of their own.

Thank you for joining us.

And with that, we wrap up 2022 and our fourth season.

We’ll talk again in early January 2023, when the podcast will return for its fifth season, as we take a much needed vacation to Thailand for Christmas and New Years.

2022 has been the best year for this podcast so far, and I want to thank every single one of you for spending some of your valuable time listening to me talk about older movies. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate all of you.

Remember to visit this episode’s page on our website, The80sMoviePodcast.com, for extra materials about Michael Jackson’s Thriller.

The 80s Movies Podcast has been researched, written, narrated and edited by Edward Havens for Idiosyncratic Entertainment.

Thank you again.

Good night.

Less Than Zero

28 november 2022 | 18 min

This episode looks at the 1984 debut novel by Bret Easton Ellis, and its 1987 film adaptation.

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Hello, and welcome to The 80s Movies Podcast. I am your host, Edward Havens. Thank you for listening today.

On this episode, we’re going to talk about 80s author Bret Easton Ellis and his 1985 novel Less Than Zero, the literal polar opposite of last week’s subjects, Jay McInerney and his 1984 novel Bright Lights, Big City.

As I mentioned last week, McInerney was twenty-nine when he published Bright Lights, Big City. What I forgot to mention was that he was born and raised in Hartford, Connecticut, halfway between Boston and New York City, and he would a part of that elite East Coast community that befits the upper class child of a corporate executive.

Bret Easton Ellis was born and raised in Los Angeles. His father was a property developer, and his parents would divorce when he was 18. He would attend high school at The Buckley School, a college prep school in nearby Sherman Oaks, whose other famous alumni include a who’s who of modern pop culture history, including Paul Thomas Anderson, Tucker Carlson, Laura Dern, Paris Hilton, Kim Kardashian, Alyssa Milano, Matthew Perry, and Nicole Richie.

So they both grew up fairly well off. And they both would attend tony colleges in New England.

Ellis would attend Bennington College in Vermont, a private liberal arts college whose alumni include fellow writers Jonathan Lethem and Donna Tartt, who would both graduate from Bennington the same year as Ellis, 1986.

While still attending The Buckley School, the then sixteen year old Ellis would start writing the book he would call Less Than Zero, after the Elvis Costello song. The story would follow a protagonist not unlike Bret Easton Ellis and his adventures through a high school not unlike Buckley. Unlike the final product, Ellis’s first draft of Less Than Zero wore its heart on its sleeve, and was written in the third person.

Ellis would do a couple of rewrites of the novel during his final years at Buckley and his first years at Bennington, until his creative writing professor, true crime novelist Joe McGinness, suggested to the young writer that he revert his story back to the first person, which Ellis was at first hesitant to do. But once he did start to rewrite the story as a traditional novel, everything seemed to click. Ellis would have his book finished by the end of the year, and McGinniss was so impressed with the final product that he would submit it to his own agent to send out to publishers.

Bret Easton Ellis was only a second year student at the time.

And because timing is everything in life, Less Than Zero was being submitted to publishers just as Bright Lights, Big City was tearing up the best seller charts, and the publisher Simon and Schuster would purchase the rights to the book for $5,000. When the book was published in June 1985, Ellis just finished his third year at Bennington.

He was only twenty-one years and three months old.

Oh… also… before the book was published, the film producer Marvin Worth, whose credits included Bob Fosse’s 1974 doc-drama about Lenny Bruce starring Dustin Hoffman, 1979’s musical drama The Rose, Bette Midler’s breakthrough film as an actress, and the 1983 Dudley Moore comedy Unfaithfully Yours, would purchase the rights to make the novel into a movie, for $7,500. The film would be produced at Twentieth Century-Fox, under the supervision of the studio’s then vice president of production, Scott Rudin.

The book would become a success upon its release, with young readers gravitating towards Clay and his aimless, meandering tour of the rich and decadent young adults in Los Angeles circa Christmas 1984, bouncing through parties and conversations and sex and drugs and shopping malls.

One of those readers who became obsessed with the book was a then-seventeen year old Los Angeles native who had just returned to the city after three years of high school in Northern California.

Me.

I read Less Than Zero easily three times that summer, enraptured not only with Ellis’s minimalist prose but with Clay specifically. Although I was neither bisexual nor a user of drugs, Clay was the closest thing I had ever seen to myself in a book before. I had kept in touch with my school friends from junior high while I lived in Santa Cruz, and I found myself to have drifted far away from them during my time away from them. And then when I went back to Santa Cruz shortly after Christmas in 1985, I had a similar feeling of isolation from a number of my friends there, not six months after leaving high school. I also loved how Ellis threw in a number of then-current Los Angeles-specific references, including two mentions of KROQ DJ Richard Blade, who was the coolest guy in radio on the planet. And thanks to Sirius XM and its First Wave channel, I can still listen to Richard Blade almost daily, but now from wherever I might be in the world. But I digress.

My bond with Less Than Zero only deepened the next time I read it in early 1986.

One of the things I used to do as a young would-be screenwriter living in Los Angeles was to try and write adaptation of novels when I wasn’t going to school, going to movies, or working as a file clerk at a law firm. But one book I couldn’t adapt for the life of me was Less Than Zero.

Sure, there was a story there, but its episodic nature made it difficult to create a coherent storyline.

Fox felt the same way, so they would hire Michael Cristofer, a Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright, to do the first draft of the script. Cristofer had just finished writing the adaptation of John Updike’s The Witches of Eastwick that Mad Max director George Miller was about to direct, and he would do a literal adaptation of Ellis’s book, with all the drugs and sex and violence, except for a slight rehabilitation of the lead character’s sexuality. Although it was still the 1980s, with one part of the nation dramatically shifting its perspective on many types of sexuality, it was still Ronald Reagan’s 1980s America, and maybe it wasn’t a good idea to have the lead character be openly bisexual in a major studio motion picture.

Cristofer would complete his first draft of the script in just one month, and producer Marvin Worth really loved it.

Problem was, the Fox executives hated it.

In a November 18th, 1987, New York Times article about the adaptation, Worth would tell writer Allen Harmetz that he thought Cristofer’s script was highly commercial, because “it had something gripping to say about the dilemma of a generation to whom nothing matters.” Which, as someone who had just turned twenty years old eight days after the movie’s release and four days before this article came out, I absolutely disagree with. My generation cared about a great many things. We cared about human rights. We cared about ending apartheid. We cared about ending AIDS and what was happening politically and economically. Yeah, we also cared about puffy jean jackets and neon colored clothes and other non-sensical things to take our minds off all the other junk we were dealing with, but it would be typical of a forty something screenwriter and a fiftysomething producer to thing we didn’t give a damn about anything.

But again, I digress.

Worth and the studio would agree on one thing. It wasn’t really a drug film, but about young people being destroyed by the privilege of having everything you ever wanted available to you.

But the studio would want the movie version of the book to be a bit more sanitized for mainstream consumption.

Goodbye, Marvin Worth.

Hello, Jon Avnet.

In 1986, Jon Avnet was mostly a producer of low-budget films for television, with titles like Between Two Women and Calendar Girl Murders, but he had struck gold in 1983 with a lower-budgeted studio movie with a first-time director and a little known lead actor. That movie was Risky Business, and it made that little known lead actor, Tom Cruise, a bona-fide star. Avnet, wanting to make the move out of television and onto the big screen, would hire Harley Peyton, a former script reader for former Columbia Pictures and MGM/UA head David Begelman, who you might remember from several of our previous episodes, and six-time Oscar nominated producer/screenwriter Ernest Lehman.

Peyton would spend weeks in Avnet’s office, pouring over every page of the book, deciding what to keep, what to toss, and what to change. Two of the first things to go were the screening of a “snuff” film on the beach, and a scene where a twelve year old girl is tied to a bedpost and raped by one of the main characters. Julian would still hustle himself out to men for money to buy drugs, but Clay would a committed heterosexual.

Casting on the film would see many of Hollywood’s leading younger male actors looked at for Clay, including a twenty-three year old recent transplant from Oklahoma looking not only for his first leading role, but his first speaking role on screen.

Brad Pitt.

The producers would instead go with twenty-four year old Andrew McCarthy, an amiable-enough actor who had already made a name for himself with such films as St. Elmo’s Fire and Pretty in Pink, and who would have another hit film in Mannequin between being cast as Clay and the start of production.

For Blair, they would cast Jami Gertz, who had spent years on the cusp of stardom, between her co-starring role as Muffy Tepperman on the iconic 1982 CBS series Square Pegs, to movies such as Quicksilver and Crossroads that were expected to be bigger than they ended up being. The ace up her sleeve was the upcoming vampire horror/comedy film The Lost Boys, which Warner Brothers was so certain was going to be a huge hit, they would actually move it away from its original Spring 1987 release date to a prime mid-July release.

The third point in the triangle, Julian, would see Robert Downey Jr. get cast. Today, it’s hard to understand just how not famous Downey was at the time. He had been featured in movies like Weird Science and Tuff Turf, and spent a year as a Not Ready For Prime Time Player on what most people agree was the single worst season of Saturday Night Live, but his star was starting to rise.

What the producers did not know, and Downey did not elaborate on, was that, like Julian, Downey was falling down a spiral of drug use, which would make his performance more method-like than anyone could have guessed.

The Red Hot Chili Peppers, who were hot in the Los Angeles music scene but were still a couple years from the release of their breakout album, 1989’s Mothers Milk, were cast to play a band in one of the party scenes, and additional cast members would include James Spader and Lisanne Falk, who would become semi-famous two years later as one of the Heathers.

Impressed with a 1984 British historical drama called Another Country featuring Colin Firth, Cary Elwes and Rupert Everett, Avnet would hire that film’s 35 year old director, Marek Kanievska, to make his American directing debut. But Kanievska would be in for a major culture shock when he learned just how different the American studio system was to the British production system. Shooting on the film was set to begin in Los Angeles on May 6th, 1987, and the film was already scheduled to open in theatres barely six months later.

One major element that would help keep the movie moving along was cinematographer Ed Lachman. Lachman had been working as a cinematographer for nearly 15 years, and had shot movies like Jonathan Demme’s Last Embrace, Susan Sideman’s Desperately Seeking Susan, and David Byrne’s True Stories.

Lachman knew how to keep things on track for lower budgeted movies, and at only $8m, Less Than Zero was the second lowest budgeted film for Twentieth Century-Fox for the entire year.

Not that having a lower budget was going to stop Kanievska and Lachman from trying make the best film they could.

They would stage the film in the garish neon lighting the 80s would be best known for, with cool flairs like lighting a poolside discussion between Clay and Julian where the ripples of the water and the underwater lights create an effect on the characters’ faces that highlight Julian’s literal drowning in his problems. There’s also one very awesome shot where Clay’s convertible, parked in the middle of a street with its top down, as we see Clay and Blair making out while scores of motorcycles loudly pass by them on either side.

And there’s a Steadicam shot during the party scene featuring the Chili Peppers which is supposed to be out of this world, but it’s likely we’ll never see it. Once the film was finished shooting and Kanievska turned in his assembly cut, the studio was not happy with the film. It was edgier than they wanted, and they had a problem with the party scene with the Peppers. Specifically, that the band was jumping around on screen, extremely sweaty, without their shirts on. It also didn’t help that Larry Gordon, the President of Fox who had approved the purchase of the book, had been let go before production on the film began, and his replacement, Alan Horn, who did give the final go-ahead on the film, had also been summarily dismissed. His replacement, Leonard Goldberg, really hated the material, thought it was distasteful, but Barry Diller, the chairman of the studio, was still a supporter of the project.

During all this infighting, the director, Kanievska, had been released from the film.

Before any test screenings.

Test screenings had really become a part of the studio modus operandi in the 1980s, and Fox would often hold their test screenings on the Fox Studio Lot in Century City. There are several screenings rooms on the Fox lot, from the 53 seat William Fox Theatre, to the 476 seat Darryl Zanuck Theatre. Most of the Less Than Zero test screenings would be held in the 120 seat Little Theatre, so that audience reactions would be easier to gauge, and should they want to keep some of the audience over for a post-screening Q&A, it would be easier to recruit eight or ten audience members.

That first test screening did not go over well.

Even though the screening room was filled with young people between the ages of 15 and 24, and many of them were recruited from nearby malls like the Century City Mall and the Beverly Center based off a stated liking of Andrew McCarthy, they really didn’t like Jami Hertz’s character, and they really hated Robert Downey Jr’s.

Several of the harder scenes of drug use with their characters would be toned down, either through judicious editing, or new scenes were shot, such as when Blair is seen dumping her cocaine into a bathroom sink, which was filmed without a director by the cinematographer, Ed Lachman. They’d also shoot a flashback scene to the trio’s high school graduation, meant to show them in happier times.

The film would be completed three weeks before its November 6th release date, and Fox would book the film into 871 theatres., going up against no less than seven other new movies, including a Shelley Long comedy, Hello Again, the fourth entry in the Death Wish series, yet another Jon Cryer high school movie, Hiding Out, a weird Patrick Swayze sci-fi movie called Steel Dawn, a relatively tame fantasy romance film from Alan Rudolph called Made in Heaven, and a movie called Ruskies which starred a very young Joaquin Phoenix when he was still known as Leaf Phoenix, while also contending with movies like Fatal Attraction, Baby Boom and Dirty Dancing, which were all still doing very well two to four months in theatres.

The reviews for the film were mostly bad. If there was any saving grace critically, it would be the praise heaped upon Downey for his raw performance as a drug addict, but of course, no one knew he actually was a drug addict at that time.

The film would open in fourth place with $3.01m in ticket sales, less than half of what Fatal Attraction grossed that weekend, in its eighth week of release. And the following weeks’ drops would be swift and merciless. Down 36% in its second week, another 41% in its third, and had one of the worst drops in its fourth week, the four day Thanksgiving holiday weekend, when many movies were up in ticket sales. By early December, the film was mostly playing in dollar houses, and by the first of the year, Fox had already stopped tracking it, with slightly less than $12.4m in tickets sold.

As of the writing of this episode, at the end of November 2022, you cannot find Less Than Zero streaming anywhere, although if you do want to see it online, it’s not that hard to find. But it has been available for streaming in the past on sites like Amazon Prime and The Roku Channel, so hopefully it will find its way back to streaming in the future. Or you can find a copy of the 21 year old DVD on Amazon.

Thank you for listening. We’ll talk again real soon, when our final episode of 2022, Episode 96, on Michael Jackson’s Thriller, is released.

Remember to visit this episode’s page on our website, The80sMoviePodcast.com, for extra materials about Less Than Zero the movie and the novel, and its author, Bret Easton Ellis.

The 80s Movies Podcast has been researched, written, narrated and edited by Edward Havens for Idiosyncratic Entertainment.

Thank you again.

Good night.

Bright Lights, Big City

18 november 2022 | 21 min

On this episode, we travel back to 1984, and the days when a "young adult" novel included lots of drugs and partying and absolutely no sparkly vampires or dystopian warrior girls. We're talking about Jay McInerney's groundbreaking novel, Bright Lights, Big City, and its 1988 film version starring Michael J. Fox and Keifer Sutherland.

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Hello, and welcome to The 80s Movies Podcast. I am your host, Edward Havens. Thank you for listening today.

The original 1984 front cover for Jay McInerney's Bright Lights, Big City

If you were a young adult in the late 1980s, there’s a very good chance that you started reading more adult-y books thanks to an imprint called Vintage Contemporaries. Quality books at an affordable paperback price point, with their uniform and intrinsically 80s designed covers, bold cover and spine fonts, and mix of first-time writers and cult authors who never quite broke through to the mainstream, the Vintage Contemporary series would be an immediate hit when it was first launched in September 1984. The first set of releases would include such novels as Raymond Carver’s Cathedral and Thomas McGuane’s The Bushwhacked Piano, but the one that would set the bar for the entire series was the first novel by a twenty-nine year old former fact checker at the New Yorker magazine. The writer was Jay McInerney, and his novel was Bright Lights, Big City.

The original 1984 front cover for Raymond Carver's Cathedral

Bright Lights, Big City would set a template for twenty something writers in the 1980s. A protagonist not unlike the writer themselves, with a not-so-secret drug addiction, and often written in the second person, You, which was not a usual literary choice at the time.

The nameless protagonist, You, is a divorced twenty-four year old wannabe writer who works as fact-checker at a major upscale magazine in New York City, for which he once dreamed of writing for.

You is recently divorced from Amanda, an aspiring model he had met while going to school in Kansas City. You would move to New York City earlier in the year with her when her modeling career was starting to talk off. While in Paris for Fashion Week, Amanda called You to inform him their marriage was over, and that she was leaving him for another man. You continues to hope Amanda will return to him, and when it’s clear she won’t, he not only becomes obsessed with everything about her that left in their apartment, he begins to slide into reckless abandon at the clubs they used to frequent, and becoming heavily addicted to cocaine, which then affects his performance at work.

A chance encounter with Amanda at an event in the city leads You to a public humiliation, which makes him starts to realize that his behavior is not because his wife left him, but a manifestation of the grief he still feels over his mother’s passing the previous year. You had gotten married to a woman he hardly knew because he wanted to make his mother happy before she died, and he was still unconsciously grieving when his wife’s leaving him triggered his downward spiral.

Bright Lights, Big City was an immediate hit, one of the few paperback-only books to ever hit the New York Times best-seller chart. Within two years, the novel had sold more than 300,000 copies, and spawned a tidal wave of like-minded twentysomething writers becoming published.

Bret Easton Ellis might have been able to get his first novel Less Than Zero published somewhere down the line, but it was McInerney’s success that would cause Simon and Schuster to try and duplicate Vintage’s success, which they would. Same with Tana Janowitz, whose 1986 novel Slaves of New York was picked up by Crown Publishers looking to replicate the success of McInerney and Ellis, despite her previous novel, 1981’s American Dad, being completely ignored by the book buying public at that time.

While the book took moments from his life, it wasn’t necessarily autobiographical. For example, McInerney had been married to a fashion model in the early 1980s, but they would meet while he attended Syracuse University in the late 1970s. And yes, McInerney would do a lot of blow during his divorce from his wife, and yes, he would get fired from The New Yorker because of the effects of his drug addiction. Yes, he was partying pretty hard during the times that preceded the writing of his first novel. And yes, he would meet a young woman who would kinda rescue him and get him on the right path.

But there were a number of details about McInerney’s life that were not used for the book. Like how the author studied writing with none other than Raymond Carver while studying creative writing at Syracuse, or how his family connections would allow him to submit blind stories to someone like George Plimpton at the Paris Review, and not only get the story read but published.

And, naturally, any literary success was going to become a movie at some point. For Bright Lights, it would happen almost as soon as the novel was published.

Robert Lawrence, a vice president at Columbia Pictures in his early thirties, had read the book nearly cover to cover in a single sitting, and envisioned a film that could be “The Graduate” of his generation, with maybe a bit of “Lost Weekend” thrown in. But the older executives at the studio balked at the idea, which they felt would be subversive and unconventional. They would, however, buy in when Lawrence was able to get mega-producer Jerry Weintraub to be a producer on the film, who in turn was able to get Joel Schumacher, who had just finished filming St. Elmo’s Fire for the studio, to direct, and get Tom Cruise, who was still two years away from Top Gun and megastardom, to play the main character. McInerney was hired to write the script, and he and Schumacher and Cruise would even go on club crawls in New York City to help inform all of the atmosphere they were trying to capture with the film.

In 1985, Weintraub would be hired by United Artists to become their new chief executive, and Bright Lights would be one of the properties he would be allowed to take with him to his new home. But since he was now an executive, Weintraub would need to hire a new producer to take the reigns on the picture.

Enter Sydney Pollack.

By 1985, Sydney Pollack was one of the biggest directors in Hollywood. With films like They Shoot Horses, Don’t They?, Jeremiah Johnson, Three Days of the Condor, The Electric Horseman and Tootsie under his belt, Pollock could get a film made, and get it seen by audiences.

At least, as a director.

At this point in his career, he had only ever produced one movie, Alan Rudolph’s 1984 musical drama Songwriter, which despite being based on the life of Willie Nelson, and starring Nelson, Kris Kristofferson and Rip Torn, barely grossed a tenth of its $8m budget. And Pollock at that moment was busy putting the finishing touches on his newest film, an African-based drama featuring Meryl Streep and longtime Pollock collaborator Robert Redford. That film, Out of Africa, would win seven Academy Awards including Best Picture and Best Director, in March 1986, which would keep Pollock and his producing partner Mark Rosenberg’s attention away from Bright Lights for several months.

Once the hype on Out of Africa died down, Pollock and Rosenberg got to work getting Bright Lights, Big City made. Starting with hiring a new screenwriter, a new director, and a new leading actor. McInerney, Schumacher and Cruise had gotten tired of waiting.

Ironically, Cruise would call on Pollock to direct another movie he was waiting to make, also based at United Artists, that he was going to star in alongside Dustin Hoffman. That movie, of course, is Rain Man, and we’ll dive into that movie another time.

Also ironically, Weintraub would not last long as the CEO of United Artists. Just five months after becoming the head of the studio, Weintraub would tire of the antics of Kirk Kerkorian, the owner of United Artists and its sister company, MGM, and step down. Kerkorian would not let Weintraub take any of the properties he brought from Columbia to his new home, the eponymously named mini-major he’d form with backing from Columbia.

With a new studio head in place, Pollock started to look for a new director. He would discover that director in Joyce Chopra, who, after twenty years of making documentaries, made her first dramatic narrative in 1985. Smooth Talk was an incredible coming of age drama, based on a story by Joyce Carol Oates, that would make a star out of then seventeen-year-old Laura Dern. UA would not only hire her to direct the film but hire her husband, Tom Cole, who brilliantly adapted the Oates story that was the basis for Smooth Talk, to co-write the screenplay with his wife.

While Cole was working on the script, Chopra would have her agent send a copy of McInerney’s book to Michael J. Fox. This wasn’t just some random decision. Chopra knew she needed a star for this movie, and Fox’s agent just happened to be Chopra’s agent. That’d be two commissions for the agent if it came together, and a copy of the book was delivered to Fox’s dressing room on the Family Ties soundstage that very day. Fox loved the book, and agreed to do the film. After Alex P. Keaton and Marty McFly and other characters he had played that highlighted his good looks and pleasant demeanor, he was ready to play a darker, more morally ambiguous character. Since the production was scheduled around Fox’s summer hiatus from the hit TV show, he was in.

For Pollock and United Artists, this was a major coup, landing one of the biggest stars in Hollywood. But the project was originally going to be Toronto standing in for New York City for less than $7m with a lesser known cast. Now, it was going to be a $15m with not only Michael J. Fox but also Keifer Sutherland, who was cast as Tad, the best friend of the formerly named You, who would now known as Jamie Conway, and would be shot on location in New York City. The film would also feature Phoebe Cates as Jamie’s model ex-wife, William Hickey, Kelly Lynch.

But there was a major catch. The production would only have ten weeks to shoot with Fox, as he was due back in Los Angeles to begin production on the sixth season of Family Ties.

He wasn’t going to do that thing he did making a movie and a television show at the same time like he did with Back to the Future and Family Ties in 1984 and 1985. Ten weeks and not a day more.

Production on the film would begin on April 13th, 1987, to get as much of the film shot while Fox was still finishing Family Ties in Los Angeles. He would be joining the production at the end of the month.

But Fox never get the chance to shoot with Chopra.

After three weeks of production, Chopra, her husband, and her cinematographer James Glennon, who had also shot Smooth Talk, were dismissed from the film. The suits at United Artists were not happy with the Fox-less footage that was coming out of New York, and were not happy with the direction of the film. Cole and Chopra had removed much of the nightlife and drug life storyline, and focused more on the development of Jamie as a writer. Apparently, no one at the studio had read the final draft of the script before shooting began. Cole, the screenwriter, says it was Pollock, the producer, who requested the changes, but in the end, it would be not the Oscar-winning filmmaker producing the movie that would be released but the trio of newer creatives.

Second unit footage would continue to shoot around New York City while the studio looked for a new director.

Ironically, days after Chopra was fired, the Directors Guild of America had announced that if they were not able to sign a new agreement with the Producers Guild before the end of the current contract on June 30th, the directors were going on strike. So now United Artists were really under the gun.

After considering such filmmakers as Belgian director Ulu Grosbard, who had directed Meryl Streep and Robert De Niro in Falling in Love, and Australian director Bruce Beresford, whose films had included Breaker Morant and Tender Mercies, they would find their new director in James Bridges, whose filmography included such critical and financial success as The Paper Chase, The China Syndrome and Urban Cowboy, but had two bombs in a row in 1984’s Mike’s Murder and 1985’s Perfect. He needed a hit, and this was the first solid directing offer in three years. He’d spend the weekend after his hiring doing some minor recasting, including bringing in John Houseman, who won a Best Supporting Actor Oscar for his role in The Paper Chase, as well as Swoosie Kurtz, Oscar-winning actors Jason Robards and Dianne Weist, and Tracy Pollan, Fox’s co-star on Family Ties, who would shortly after the filming of Bright Lights become Mrs. Michael J. Fox, although in the film, she would be cast not as a love interest to her real-life boyfriend’s character but as the wife of Keifer Sutherland’s character.

After a week of rewriting McInerney’s original draft of the screenplay from the Schumacher days, principal photography re-commenced on the film. And since Bridges would be working with famed cinematographer Gordon Willis, who had shot three previous movies with Bridges as well as the first two Godfather movies and every Woody Allen movie from Annie Hall to The Purple Rose of Cairo, it was also decided that none of Chopra’s footage would be used. Everything would start back on square one. And because of the impending Directors Guild strike, he’d have only thirty-six days, a tad over five weeks, to film everything.

One of the lobby cards from the movie version of Bright Lights, Big City

And they were able to get it all done, thanks to some ingenious measures. One location, the Palladium concert hall on the Lower East Side of Manhattan, would double as three different nightclubs, two discotheques and a dinner club. Instead of finding six different locations, which would loading cameras and lights from one location to another, moving hundreds of people as well, and then setting the lights and props again, over and over, all they would have to do is re-decorate the area to become the next thing they needed.

Bridges would complete the film that day before the Directors Guild strike deadline, but the strike would never happen. But there would be some issue with the final writing credits. While Bridges had used McInerney’s original screenplay as a jumping off point, the writer/director had really latched on to the mother’s death as the emotional center of the movie.

Bridges’ own grandmother had passed away in 1986, and he found writing those scenes to be cathartic for his own unresolved issues. But despite the changes Bridges would make to the script, including adding such filmmaking tropes as flashbacks and voiceovers, and having the movie broken up into sections by the use of chapter titles being typed out on screen, the Writers Guild would give sole screenwriting credit to Jay McInerney.

As post-production continued throughout the fall, the one topic no one involved in the production wanted to talk about or even acknowledge was the movie version of Bret Easton Ellis’s Less Than Zero that rival studio 20th Century Fox had been making in Los Angeles. It had a smaller budget, a lesser known filmmaker, a lesser known cast lead by Andrew McCarthy and Jami Gertz, and a budget half the size. If their film was a hit, that could be good for this one. And if their film wasn’t a hit? Well, Bright Lights was the trendsetter. It was the one that sold more copies. The one that saw its author featured in more magazines and television news shows.

How well did Less Than Zero do when it was released into theatres on November 6th, 1987? Well, you’re just going to have to wait until next week’s episode. Unless you’re listening months or years after they were published, and are listening to episodes in reverse order. Then you already know how it did, but let’s just say it wasn’t a hit but it wasn’t really a dud either.

Bridges would spend nearly six months putting his film together, most of which he would find enjoyable, but he would have trouble deciding which of two endings he shot would be used. His preferred ending saw Jamie wandering through the streets of New York City early one morning, after a long night of partying that included a confrontation with his ex-wife, where he decides that was the day he was going to get his life back on track but not knowing what he was going to do, but the studio asked for an alternative ending, one that features Jamie one year in the future, putting the finishing touches on his first novel, which we see is titled… wait for it… Bright Lights, Big City, while his new girlfriend stands behind him giving her approval.

After several audience test screenings, the studio would decide to let Bridges have his ending.

United Artists would an April 1st, 1988 release date, and would spend months gearing up the publicity machine. Fox and Pollan were busy finishing the final episodes of that season’s Family Ties, and weren’t as widely available for the publicity circuit outside of those based in Los Angeles. The studio wasn’t too worried, though. Michael J. Fox’s last movie, The Secret of My Success, had been released in April 1987, and had grossed $67m without his doing a lot of publicity for that one, either.

Opening on 1196 screens, the film would only manage to gross $5.13m, putting it in third place behind the previous week’s #1 film, Biloxi Blues with Matthew Broderick, and the Tim Burton comedy Beetlejuice, which despite opening on nearly 200 fewer screens would gross nearly $3m more. But the reviews were not great. Decent. Respectful. But not great. The New York-based critics, like David Ansen of Newsweek and Janet Maslin of the Times, would be kinder than most other critics, maybe because they didn’t want to be seen knocking a film shot in their backyard. But one person would actually would praise the film and Michael J. Fox as an actor was Roger Ebert.

But it wouldn’t save the film.

In its second week, the film would fall to fifth place, with $3.09m worth of tickets sold, and it would drop all the way to tenth place in its third week with just under $1.9m in ticket sales. Week four would see it fall to 16th place with only $862k worth of ticket sales. After that, United Artists would stop reporting grosses. The $17m film had grossed just $16.1m.

Bright Lights, Big City was a milestone book for me, in large part because it made me a reader. Before Bright Lights, I read occasionally, mainly John Irving, preferring to spend most of my free time voraciously consuming every movie I could. After Bright Lights, I picked up every Vintage Contemporary book I could get my hands on.

One of the checklists of Vintage Contemporary books listed in the back of a
Vintage Contemporary book.

And one thing that really helped out was the literal checklist of other books available from that imprint in the back of each book. Without those distinct covers, I don’t know if I would have discovered some of my favorite authors like Raymond Carver and Don DeLillo and Richard Ford and Richard Russo. Even after the Vintage Contemporary line shut down years later, I continued to read. I still read today, although not as much as I would prefer. I have a podcast to work on.

I remember when the movie came out that I wasn’t all that thrilled with it, and it would be nearly 35 years before I revisited it again, for this episode. I can’t say it’s the 80s as I remember it, because I had never been to New York City by that point in my life, I had never, and still never have, done anything like cocaine. And I had only ever had like two relationships that could be considered anything of substance, let alone marriage and a divorce. But I am certain it’s an 80s that I’m glad I didn’t know. Mainly because Jamie’s 80s seemed rather boring and inconsequential. Fox does the best he can with the material, but he is not the right person for the role. As I watched it again, I couldn’t help but wonder what if the roles were reversed. What if Keifer Sutherland played Jamie and Michael J. Fox played the friend? That might have been a more interesting movie, but Sutherland was not yet at that level of stardom.

Thank you for joining us. We’ll talk again next week, when Episode 95, on the novel and movie version of Less Than Zero is released.

Remember to visit this episode’s page on our website, The80sMoviePodcast.com, for extra materials about Bright Lights, Big City, both the book and the movie, as well as other titles in the Vintage Contemporary book series.

The full cover, back and front, of Richard Ford's 1986 The Sportswriter, which would be the
first of four novels about Frank Bascombe, a failed novelist who becomes a sportswriter. The
second book in the series, 1995's Independence Day, would win the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction,
as well as the PEN/Faulkner Award for Fiction, the first of only two times the same book would
win both awards the same year.

The 80s Movies Podcast has been researched, written, narrated and edited by Edward Havens for Idiosyncratic Entertainment.

Thank you again.

Good night.

Round Midnight

10 november 2022 | 18 min

Positive I.D.

4 november 2022 | 10 min

Generation Gap: The A Nightmare on Elm Street series

2 november 2022 | 56 min

A Brief History of the Nightmare on Elm Street series

31 oktober 2022 | 61 min

Amos Poe Is Our Friend and Needs Our Help

26 oktober 2022 | 21 min

Prince of Darkness

21 oktober 2022 | 16 min

The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension

13 oktober 2022 | 30 min

Walker

29 september 2022 | 27 min

Straight to Hell

22 september 2022 | 11 min

Sid and Nancy

16 september 2022 | 13 min

Silent Night, Deadly Night: Part 2

31 augusti 2022 | 12 min

The Cineplex Beverly Center

16 juli 2022 | 73 min

Ross Melnick

11 juli 2022 | 83 min

The 80s Movie Podcast Trailer

20 juni 2022 | 0 min

The Assassination Game

20 juni 2022 | 15 min

Young Einstein

12 juni 2022 | 24 min

Happy Together

5 juni 2022 | 16 min

A Brief History of the First Blood Movies

23 maj 2022 | 39 min

This Podcast is Rated PG-13

9 maj 2022 | 54 min

American Cinema Releasing

27 april 2022 | 58 min

The 3-D Movie Craze of the 1980s

11 april 2022 | 63 min

Baseball Movies of the 1980s

14 mars 2022 | 37 min

Peter Bogdanovich and They All Laughed

28 februari 2022 | 52 min

The Orphans: Part 4 - Dennis Hopper and Out of the Blue

11 februari 2022 | 46 min

John Sayles in the 1980s: Part 2

28 januari 2022 | 52 min

John Sayles in the 1980s: Part 1

20 januari 2022 | 45 min

The Orphans: Part 3

6 januari 2022 | 20 min

Christmas 1981 at the Movies

25 december 2021 | 42 min

The Orphans: Part 2

10 december 2021 | 17 min

The Orphans

26 november 2021 | 36 min

Who in the Hell Was Alan Smithee, and Why Did He Make So Many Bad Movies

12 november 2021 | 48 min

A Brief History of the Halloween Movies

29 oktober 2021 | 45 min

The Films of Bill Forsyth

15 oktober 2021 | 51 min

Dollar Houses

19 augusti 2021 | 35 min

The United Film Distribution Company and Taurus Entertainment: Part Three

21 juli 2021 | 60 min

The United Film Distribution Company and Taurus Entertainment: Part Two

8 juli 2021 | 25 min

The United Film Distribution Company and Taurus Entertainment: Part One

23 juni 2021 | 52 min

The Grounded Genre of 80s Movies: Part 2

17 juni 2021 | 53 min

The Grounded Genre of 80s Movies - Part 1

14 juni 2021 | 54 min

FilmDallas Pictures

1 juni 2021 | 39 min

Blue Thunder and WarGames

21 maj 2021 | 39 min

Raging Bull

13 maj 2021 | 35 min

The King of Comedy

5 maj 2021 | 26 min

After Hours

29 april 2021 | 23 min

The Last Temptation of Christ

22 april 2021 | 39 min

The Color of Money

8 april 2021 | 35 min

Ladies and Gentlemen, The Fabulous Stains

1 april 2021 | 37 min

Albert Brooks and Lost in America

26 mars 2021 | 38 min

Ralph Bakshi and American Pop

10 mars 2021 | 39 min

Some Kind of Wonderful

4 mars 2021 | 31 min

Scotti Brothers Pictures

25 februari 2021 | 34 min

Barry Levinson in the 1980s

18 februari 2021 | 51 min

Sigourney Weaver

10 februari 2021 | 58 min

Empire Pictures: Part Three

3 februari 2021 | 51 min

On this episode of The FilmJerk Podcast, we complete our three-part miniseries on the 80s movie production and distribution company, Empire Pictures, discussing dozens of films they announced at one time but never ended making.

----more----

Since none of these movies were actually made, the dates listed are the years the films were first announced, along with the intended director of said film, when one was assigned at the time of announcement. In a few cases, there'll be multiple years, titles and/or directors listed, as some projects would change between the two announcement dates:

AlterEgo (1985, no director announced/1986, Peter Manoogian)
Apparatus (1986, Larry Cohen)
Arsenal (1985, no director announced)
Barbarian Women (1986, no director announced)
Battlebots (1986, Michael Miner/retitled Murdercycle in 1987)
Berserker (1986, Stuart Gordon)
Bimbo Barbeque (1988, Anita Rosenberg)
Bloodless (1987, no director listed)
Bloody Bess (1986, Stuart Gordon)

Barbara Crampton in test shots for the unmade Stuart Gordon film Bloody Bess.

The Bottled City of Shandar (1986, no director listed)
Cassex (1985, no director listed)
The Colony (1987, no director listed)
Congo (1986, no director listed)
Crimelord (1985, no director listed)
Creepozoids 2 (1988, David DeCoteau)
Decapitron (1986, Peter Manoogian)
The Dirty Filthy Slime (1988, no director listed)
Doctor Mortalis (1986, no director listed)
Dolls 2 (1988, Stuart Gordon)
Dream Invaders (1987, no director listed)
Dreams in the Witchhouse (1987, Stuart Gordon)
Entangled (1987, no director listed)
Fiends (1987, no director listed)
Floater (1988, Tobe Hooper)
Home of the Stars (1988, Albert Band)
Hotel Dick (1988, no director listed)
Huntress (1987, David Schmoeller)
I Eat Cannibals (1986, Ted Nicolaou)
InHuman (1986, no director listed)
Intruder (1987, Tobe Hooper)
Journeys Through the Dark Zone (1984, Charles Band/1986, Danny Bilson)
L.A.B.C. (1986, George Kerrigan)
Leatherbabies (1983, James Davidson)
Lurking Fear (1986, Stuart Gordon)
Mindmaster (1986, no director listed)
Mirrorworlds (1987, no director listed)
Pand Evil (1987, Gorman Bechard)
Parasite 2 in 3D (1983, Charles Band)
The Primevals (1985, David Allen and Charles Band)
Shackled (1984, Charles Band [as Robert Amante])
The Shadow over Innsmouth (1985, Stuart Gordon)
Shadows and Whispers (1987, David Schmoeller)
Show No Mercy (1986, Peter Manoogian)
Sly Fox (1987, Arthur Penn)
Space Sluts in the Slammer (1987, no director listed)
Subterraneans (1987, no director listed)
Test Tube Teens from the Year 2000 (1987, no director listed)
Tomb (1986, Robert Clark)
Vulcana (1986, no director listed)

Empire Pictures: Part Two

27 januari 2021 | 45 min

Empire Pictures: Part One

20 januari 2021 | 53 min

Wisdom

10 januari 2021 | 24 min

St. Elmo’s Fire

4 januari 2021 | 32 min

Talk Radio

21 december 2020 | 28 min

David Puttnam at Columbia Pictures: Part 4

16 december 2020 | 45 min

David Puttnam at Columbia Pictures: Part 3

14 december 2020 | 49 min

David Puttnam at Columbia Pictures: Part 2

7 december 2020 | 56 min

David Puttnam at Columbia Pictures: Part 1

30 november 2020 | 33 min

Kiss and The Elder

23 november 2020 | 32 min

The Management Company Entertainment Group

16 november 2020 | 39 min

Top 80s Movies With Michael Hourigan: Part 3

13 november 2020 | 60 min

Top 80s Movies With Michael Hourigan: Part 2

11 november 2020 | 78 min

Top 80s Movies with Michael Hourigan: Part 1

9 november 2020 | 71 min

Three O’Clock High

27 oktober 2020 | 24 min

To Live and Die in L.A.

19 oktober 2020 | 29 min

Troma Films in the 1980s

13 oktober 2020 | 54 min

Killer Klowns from Outer Space

28 september 2020 | 21 min

Musician Filmmakers

14 september 2020 | 46 min

The DeLaurentiis Entertainment Group

1 september 2020 | 75 min

Tapeheads

17 augusti 2020 | 24 min

The Weintraub Entertainment Group

29 juli 2020 | 30 min

The Summer of 1986 - Part Three

27 juli 2020 | 71 min

The Summer of 1986 - Part Two

20 juli 2020 | 50 min

The Summer of 1986 - Part One

6 juli 2020 | 46 min

Orion Pictures: Part 5

18 juni 2020 | 64 min

May 23rd, 1980

31 maj 2020 | 75 min

Orion Pictures: Part 4

18 maj 2020 | 84 min

Orion Pictures: Part 3

5 maj 2020 | 81 min

Orion Pictures: Part 2

25 april 2020 | 59 min

Orion Pictures: Part 1

13 april 2020 | 62 min

Hemdale Films

8 april 2020 | 61 min

IRS Records

30 mars 2020 | 30 min

Associated Film Distribution

24 februari 2020 | 48 min

Don Simpson

17 februari 2020 | 33 min

Steven Spielberg in the 1980s: The Producer and Writer

27 oktober 2019 | 36 min

My Favorite Year, 1982

9 september 2019 | 65 min

Steven Spielberg in the 1980s - The Director

20 augusti 2019 | 44 min

Jensen/Farley Pictures

14 augusti 2019 | 37 min

John Hughes

8 augusti 2019 | 26 min

The 80s Movie Podcast

We’re your ticket to the movies! Since 2019, film historian and former critic Edward A.

Om podden

Avsnitt

Collision Course

The 1980s Films of Susan Seidelman: Desperately Seeking Susan

Brats

The 1980s Films of Susan Seidelman: Smithereens

Crimewave

Smokey and the Bandit Part 3

Threads

Who Framed Roger Rabbit

Deep in the Heart (aka Handgun)

Chattanooga Choo Choo

UFOria

The Orphans 6

The Orphans 5

Motion Picture Marketing

Miramax Films - Part Five

Miramax Films - Part Four

Rampage

Miramax Films: Part Three

Oklahoma Smugglers

Miramax Films - Part Two

Miramax Films - Part One

Plain Clothes

Real Genius

Joy of Sex

Valley Girl

Into the Night

Up the Academy

O.C and Stiggs

Vestron Pictures - Part Three

Vestron Pictures - Part Two

Vestron Pictures - Part One

The Marvel Cinematic Universe of the 1980s

The Abyss

Escape to Victory

The Jazz Singer

The War of the Roses

Thriller

Less Than Zero

Bright Lights, Big City

Round Midnight

Positive I.D.

Generation Gap: The A Nightmare on Elm Street series

A Brief History of the Nightmare on Elm Street series

Amos Poe Is Our Friend and Needs Our Help

Prince of Darkness

The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension

Walker

Straight to Hell

Sid and Nancy

Silent Night, Deadly Night: Part 2

The Cineplex Beverly Center

Ross Melnick

The 80s Movie Podcast Trailer

The Assassination Game

Young Einstein

Happy Together

A Brief History of the First Blood Movies

This Podcast is Rated PG-13

American Cinema Releasing

The 3-D Movie Craze of the 1980s

Baseball Movies of the 1980s

Peter Bogdanovich and They All Laughed

The Orphans: Part 4 - Dennis Hopper and Out of the Blue

John Sayles in the 1980s: Part 2

John Sayles in the 1980s: Part 1

The Orphans: Part 3

Christmas 1981 at the Movies

The Orphans: Part 2

The Orphans

Who in the Hell Was Alan Smithee, and Why Did He Make So Many Bad Movies

A Brief History of the Halloween Movies

The Films of Bill Forsyth

Dollar Houses

The United Film Distribution Company and Taurus Entertainment: Part Three

The United Film Distribution Company and Taurus Entertainment: Part Two

The United Film Distribution Company and Taurus Entertainment: Part One