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WOMEN IN FILM: 77 Actresses Morph in Under 3 Minutes

June 19th, 2008 by Scott Marks

This fascinating exercise in the never changing face of beauty was put together by Mako100 and from what I can gather first appeared on glumbert.

Of course there are many oversights in this glamour rundown, most notably Jean Arthur, Mae West and Claudette Colbert. It’s also interesting to note how the caliber of acting has greatly diminished after Jacqueline Bisset, but considering that this ends with Catherine Zeta-Jones and Halle Berry, it’s clear that Mako100 was concentrating more on physical allure than talent.

It’s almost certain that this video was put together as a paean to pulchritude, but after watching it one is left with a sense of sameness. Take 77 faces, flatten them out and suddenly the belles become monotonous. Not a bad comment on Hollywood style, but I have my doubts that Mako100 was aiming for such a lofty target.

Here is a list of the actresses included:

Mary Pickford, Lillian Gish, Gloria Swanson, Marlene Dietrich, Norma Shearer, Mary Boland, Jean Harlow, Katharine Hepburn, Carole Lombard, Bette Davis, Greta Garbo, Barbara Stanwyck, Vivian Leigh, Greer Garson, Hedy Lamar, Rita Hayworth, Gene Tierney, Olivia deHavilland, Ingrid Bergman, Joan Crawford, Ginger Rogers, Loretta Young, Deborah Kerr, Judy Garland, Anne Baxter, Lauren Bacall, Susan Hayward, Ava Gardner, Marilyn Monroe, Grace Kelly, Lana Turner, Elizabeth Taylor, Kim Novak, Audrey Hepburn, Dorothy Dandridge, Shirley MacLaine, Janet Leigh, Brigitte Bardot, Sophia Loren, Ann Margret, Julie Andrews, Raquel Welch, Tuesday Weld, Jane Fonda, Julie Christie, Faye Dunaway, Catherine Deneuve, Jacqueline Bisset, Candice Bergen, Isabella Rossellini, Diane Keaton, Goldie Hawn, Meryl Streep, Susan Sarandon, Jessica Lange, Michelle Pfeiffer, Sigourney Weaver, Kathleen Turner, Holly Hunter, Jodie Foster, Angela Bassett, Demi Moore, Sharon Stone, Meg Ryan, Julia Roberts, Salma Hayek, Sandra Bullock, Julianne Moore, Diane Lane, Nicole Kidman, Catherine Zeta-Jones, Angelina Jolie, Charlize Theron, Reese Witherspoon and Halle Berry.

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DVD Review: THE THIRD WHEEL / Jordan Brady (2002)

May 30th, 2008 by Scott Marks

The Third Wheel (2002)
Directed by Jordan Brady
Written by Jay Lacopo
Starring: Luke Wilson, Denise Richards, Jay Lacopo and Ben Affleck
Running Time: 91 min.
Aspect Ratio: 1.85:1

Rating: ★★☆☆☆

A friend cramped for space and too lethargic to post them on eBay gave me a stack of DVD screeners that I’ve been trying to auction off. With the exception of Charles Burnett’s The Glass Cube, which wouldn’t sell for ninety-nine cents, there wasn’t anything in the bag that I would ever again sit through or for that matter wanted to see in the first place.

The Third Wheel was another title that wouldn’t sell for a buck if it came with a five-dollar bill wrapped around it. There are eighty-one new and used copies on Amazon starting at thirty-cents, plus two dollars for shipping. You can currently purchase one of the thirty-seven copies available on eBay. Not one of the twenty copies put up for auction last month sold.

Looks like I won myself a DVD.

Before she was eternally dirtied by Charlie Sheen, Denise Richards was the bomb. She appeared to me on The Last Weekend episode of Saved by the Bell…alone, out of the open sewer. They cannot…touch…her…beauty…

She received Joe Dante’s dispensation on an episode of Erie, Indiana as well as appearing in Starship Troopers by Paul Verhoeven’s decree. And if you haven’t seen Tammy and the T-Rex, go ahead. I dare you. You can plant corn in her eyebrows!

Her nude menage in Wild Things will go down in smut history as one of the great R rated sex scenes ever filmed. Before Charlie and a network sitcom muddied the waters, she was poised to become her genrations’ Linda Blair. Denise’s unnatural delivery is easily the most enjoyable aspect of The World is Not Enough, but Valentine is deadly dull.

In The Third Wheel, Luke Wilson plays a shy office worker who spends months admiring Denise from afar. He finally gets the nerve to ask her out and, of course, she accepts. Their idyllic first date is constantly interrupted by a homeless con man (Jay Lacopo) who likes to hurl himself in front of their moving auto.

Lacopo, who also wrote the script, received a thanks in Good Will Hunting’s closing crawl. Two of The Third Wheel’s ten producers are Ben Affleck and Matt Damon, both of who play roles in the film. So much for how the film got financed.

The Third Wheel never received a theatrical release in the States and for the life of me, I can’t honestly say this is any worse than half of the jack Black or Adam Sandler vehicles lining video store shelves. It makes Nacho Libre look like Sherlock, Jr. And Miss Richards is surprisingly good, dare I say naturalistic, as the object of desire. Not quite a performance, but better than anything before or since.

You probably sense from my tone that I am not into giving The Third Wheel a flat tire. Every now and then I come across a film that was worth the effort for one single shot. It’s not enough to entirely redeem the film: if anything a moment of grace emerging in the most unlikely of places can only slightly soften the memories of clumsy execution that came before it.

The last shot in the film is worthy of Frank Borzage. Boy and girl have fallen in love and are seated at an outdoor table enjoying a first kiss while the audience waits for the obligatory spielberg pan-up to the moon. The camera begins to dolly and for a moment appears to want to tilt skyward. Suddenly, the table and its two occupants begin moving with the camera as a hydraulic lift gracefully elevates them through the tree branches and out of sight. It is a lush, beautifully executed bit of movie magic that caps an otherwise routine romantic comedy.

Years from now, after time further blurs a memory already overloaded with statistics, I’ll stumble across The Third Wheel and think for a moment whether or not I had seen it. “I don’t remember seeing it in a theater,” I’ll mutter aloud to the nurse. Once all the pieces fall into place, I guarantee you that whatever remains of my mind will immediately race to the curtain shot. Hey, I know where you can get a copy for $2.30!

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Vintage Chicago TV, WCIU Ch. 26: “Rock of Ages” Gospel Fashion Show

November 12th, 2007 by Scott Marks

From the late 70s to the early 90s, the first Saturday of the month meant one thing to me: a fresh fashion show on Isabelle Joseph Johnson’s Rock of Ages.

WCIU-TV proved to be a great source of entertainmen. First came Arkansas Big Bill Hill whose Red Hot and Blues program was a Friday night staple throughout high school. Big Bill was a low rent Don Cornelius, a giant man with hands the size of canned hams. God only knows how many sound engineers suffered permanent hearing damage every time Bill clapped his pancake-sized palms together.

With an ever-burning cigarette in his hand, Bill would talk up a bunch of “crazy plate mates” and a gang of a dozen or so kids would wriggle for the cameras. In addition to providing thunderous applause, each song would conclude with Bill shouting “Eeeeeeeeeee-Yah. How ’bout that, huh?”

Bill shared his microphone with advertisers eager to get their faces on television. Don, from Don’s Cedar Club, 1184 Milwaukee, Milwaukee at Division Street, was a two bit hood fronting a dance club in the then un-trendy Wicker park neighborhood.

Don frequently brought acts with him, none more astounding than Alfred Farrell. Bill’s introduction was as memorable as the performer himself: “Here’s a man with one leg! Alfred Farrell, huh?” After a small smattering of applause, Farrell emerged from the wings on crutches. The music started, the crutches went flying and Alfred hopped around on one leg for three minutes.

How ’bout that, huh? Can I get an Eeeeeeeeeeee-Yah?

Bill was on WOPA-Radio, but it wasn’t the same. He would kick off each show with, “You’re listening to the Big Bill Hill Shopping Bag Show by choice, not by chance,” and proceed to spin records and exchange leaden banter with advertisers. You needed the visuals.

Bill never smiled. I don’t think he ever moved a muscle on his face. With the exception of bringing his hands together, he stood motionless. The week after the King riots, Bill showed up wearing a cast on his left arm. Unable to clap, Bill would slam his hand against the cast with such force it’s a wonder the plaster didn’t crumble to dust.

Most of his advertisers probably did jail time for fraud and Red Hot and Blues didn’t make it beyond the early seventies. Years later I hooked up with another Ch. 26 staple, Rock of Ages, a Saturday night Gospel show hosted by the unflappable Isabelle Joseph Johnson.

Not much is known about Isabelle. She owned a beauty shop on the south side that was a regular advertiser. As was Catfish Digby’s (”Eat Fish! It’s so good!”), meat packing companies like Moo and Oink, Nita’s Shoes and the incomparable Marhoul’s.



Marie Marhoul was a God-fearing Bible thumper who must have poured tons of dough into Isabelle’s coffers. Along with her husband Rev. Paul Marhoul, Marie owned a clothing store on 28 W. Madison in Oak Park.Mrs. Marhoul, or “Miz Muh-hull,” as Isabelle called her, was a cross between an African missionary and Margaret Hamilton in The Wizard of Oz. The first Saturday of every month found Mrs. Marhoul gussying up a bunch of God-fearing Baptist gals to parade before the camera “modeling” her latest fashions.

What;s the opposite of flame retardant? Marhoul’s fashions. There wasn’t one stitch of natural fiber in any of the poly-blend garments. Never comfortable in front of the camera, Mrs. Marhoul would sit opposite Isabelle and deliver a play-by-play brimming with sartorial insight. Hat’s by Chapeau (isn’t that redundant?), bags by Paul Marhoul and miles of “black trim” frequently punctuated her scintillating ability to paint with words.

Helen Roberson, Ernestine Mitchell, the mischievous Mary Smith and particularly Amanda Bunton (”a good Christian and a testament to the fuller-figured woman”) soon became as recognizable to me as Columbia bit players in Stooge two-reelers.

This excerpt is very rare among fashion shows inasmuch as Isabelle and Mrs. Marhoul taped their appearances on separate days. Try as she might to mask her impatience with her long-winded sponsor, Isabelle, who could frequently be caught rolling her eyes, probably begged to be absent when Marie taped her segment.

Pay close attention to the obligatory passing of the check. Remember how Hitchcock seamlessly edited the reel changes in Rope? You ain’t seen noting yet!

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Compilation Reel: All You’re Favorite Celebrities Crying Like Babies!

October 12th, 2007 by Scott Marks

Is it me or is there something hilarious about celebrities caught off guard and bawling their eyes out in public?

For years I rolled tape as countless celebs and lay people alike blubbered on live TV. My collection of Oprah clips alone would run ten hours!

Here are some favorite celebrity breakdowns. I even veto my own rule by including otherwise verboten sports figures. The only time I can tolerate them is when they’re weeping.

All of your favorites are here: Jerry Krause, Ernest Borgnine, Frank Sinatra, Mike Ditka, Jerry Lewis, Alexandra Paul, Old Man MacFadden, Hattie McDaniel, Jimmy Swaggart, Jim Bakker, Dr. Joyce Brothers, Andy the Clown, Patron Saint Nicholas, Bob Barker, Richard Simmons, Buddy Hackett and Paul Sorvino.

You’ll laugh so hard at some of these that you’ll cry!

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Jerry Lewis & Robert DeNiro in “The Nutty Awakenings”

October 11th, 2007 by Scott Marks

About an hour into Puny Marshall’s Awakenings, my imagination kicked into overdrive once again helping to make an interminable situation not only tolerable, but downright hilarious.

At 121 minutes, Awakenings makes The Decalogue look like a Mack Sennett two-reeler. The story is one of those sickly, feel good “the handicapable are better off than us” charmers that represents everything false and contemptible about movies.

It marked the first time I found myself laughing at Robert DeNiro. From Greetings to Jackknife, there isn’t a bad performance in the lot. Not all great movies, but none falter at his expense.

There was first cause for alarm with all those funny faces in We’re No Angels. Then came Stanley and Iris with Bobby D. playing an illiterate, something he’s far too smart to convincingly pull off. Both films were more bad than unintentionally funny.

Awakenings is both. It is worse than anything Steve Spielberg ever directed and almost as vile as Forrest Gump, yet I own a copy. (Admittedly, with the scan button I can give it the Reader’s Digest treatment and get through it in about 20 minutes.)

DeNiro plays a catatonic spaz who, through the miracle of a new wonder drug, becomes quirk-free until the meds wear off and he reverts back to his vegetative state. As his doctor, Robin Williams is near catatonic. It’s as if he gave DeNiro his bag of tics and promised to be a good boy for two hours. People were quick to confuse Williams’ lack of character breaking with a performance.

Somewhere in the middle of the picture, a light bulb turned off in my head plunging me into the darkest of places. The audience sat silently around me only to jolt when I laughed out loud at a long shot of DeNiro flailing across the floor. I remember thinking, “That’s the itching, the twitching and the jerk from Hollywood or Bust!”

If DeNiro learned anything from Marty it’s that an actor must look to past forms for their inspiration and who better a spastic mentor than Jerry Lewis? (Well, there is Charlie Callas, but he too studied at the fehoyvens of The Master.) The thoughts that follwed forever secured me a wing in hell. I knew at that precise moment, one day I would edit together a compilation reel comparing the styles of Messieurs Lewis and DeNiro.

This was put together in 1996. I’m in a much better place now. Yeah. Right.

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