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From the "Biz" Archives: indieWIRE's Bookshelf: New Film Reads on Oral Sex, Orson Welles, and Lima Beans by Brandon Judell
No lesser a man than Amy Irving's ex, Steven Spielberg, has noted "the next best thing to seeing movies is reading about them." It works with sex, so why not films? And what happens to folks who don't read? They wind up producing features like "Honey" or working in graveyards like Rupert Everett's "Cemetery Man" who admits, "I haven't read more than two books in my whole life. One I never finished, and the other is the phone book." One book that you, too, might not finish, but you'll be glad to start after vacuuming up the pine needles or knifing the wax off the menorah is "Andy Warhol's Blow Job" by Roy Grundmann. Mr. Grundmann, a scholar, has refashioned his apparently fascinating doctoral dissertation and sold it to Temple University Press ($22.95). Now what we are talking about here is Andy's infamous, 36-minute short from 1963 that focuses on a hot young man from the neck up. Thanks to the title credits, we immediately know this splendid-looking, leather-jacketed chap is receiving oral sex. Otherwise, from his facial expressions, we might have thought he was stepping on lime Jell-O or listening to Celine Dion. Using the stud's images as captured on celluloid, Grundmann tackles the history of underground film, Warhol and his hangers-on, homophobia, James Dean, Sal Mineo, Norman Mailer, "the industry's ever more aggressive exploitation of racy sex," and even religion. Yes, for those of us who've seen the flick and might have missed its relevance, Grundmann notes: "'Blow Job' may... be understood not so much as an effort to claim Jesus as a de facto homosexual but rather as offering a rich, if subtle, commentary on Christianity's historically changing attitudes towards Jesus...'Blow Job' mocks the sanctity of Christ in Western culture because the poser, in the tradition of Baudelairean cinema, 'becomes' Christ precisely through the use of his cock and the pleasure extracted from it." Doesn't that make you adore academics? Be kind. Invite one to your New Year's gala. A much more intellectually-challenged author is Paul Eagle who adopted the pen name Brock Lee for his semi-picture book, "A Star is Corn: An Edible Film Odyssey" (HarperCollins; $14.95). His one-note idea is to change a word in a movie title or the first or last name of person into a vegetable for the sake of humor. So you get "Pauline Kale," "Gene Shallot," Charlie Chaplin's "Modern Thymes," and Elizabeth Taylor in "Buttersquash 8." Surprisingly, the photographs for these veggie concepts are often quite amusing, but the text is seldom better than lame. What's worse is that Mr. Lee, after coming up with some vital veggie trivia (e.g. "Cream corn dyed green was used as zombie guts in the 1982 Sam Raimi horror film, "Evil Dead."), is unable to fill up 78 pages of text. Consequently, he resorts to instructing you on how to make your own vegetable movie lampoons for 20 pages: "Bring your vegetables to room temperature before you begin sculpting, This will give you greater control over your cuts." My advice: Hire Mr. Brock Lee for the producer of your next flick immediately. If he can sell this crap chowder to HarperCollins, he'll be able to sell your project, no matter how meritless, to anyone. Moving quickly on, I'm glad to note the highly revised edition of Howard Beckerman's "Animation: The Whole Story" (Allworth Press; $24.95) is an instant classic, a necessity for both fans and creators of cartoons, and nearly everyone in between. Beckerman, a native of Flushing, NY, has drawn Mighty Mouse, Popeye, and Winky-Dink during his lengthy career, created animation for "Sesame Street," plus taught future generations of cartoonists at the School of Visual Arts for more than 30 years. His text is generously illustrated, beautifully written, and chockfull of history (e.g. the studios in wartime), instruction (e.g. the chapter on storyboarding reads like "Gone with the Wind"), plus lists of distributors, animation film festivals, and a first-rate bibliography. So what doesn't this dream book address exactingly? Computer animation is only briefly touched upon. Explaining why, Beckerman notes, "With the speedy changes and upgrading in that sphere, everything written about it is obsolete before the ink dries. However, computer animators who lack an understanding of traditional methods are poorly prepared no matter how many software programs they have mastered." So there. Oh, by the way, there's a new book coming out that claims the vanished footage from Orson Welles' "The Magnificent Ambersons," has been found, and that people are being liquidated to gain control over this prized celluloid. Well, don't get too excited! "The Cutting Room" (Random House; $23.95), by Laurence Klavan, who's also the author of "Uncle Lumpy Comes to Visit," is fiction. A mystery. Adequately written with a cliché on every other page, the work is surprisingly a page turner. Traveling from New York to L.A., the hero, Roy Milano, who's "sort of a cross between Gregory Peck and Chico Marx," is the editor of a film trivia 'zine. When his pal, a foul-smelling cable TV host of a show that airs "Three Stooges" footage, is knifed through the heart after admitting over the phone he was going to air the lost "Ambersons" scenes, Roy finds a new purpose in life. Warning: in the prologue, he's about to be offed by America's favorite action star who intones, "Don't even breathe, baby." Not to be officially released until February 3, a few weeks before "Kill Bill Vol. 2" hits theaters, Amazon is already listing this one at a bargain price of $16.77. One book that doesn't need a discount -- in fact its worth its weight in Spirit Awards -- is Judith Weston's "The Film Director's Intuition" (Michael Wise Productions; $26.95). In splendidly direct, yet graceful prose, Weston goes into script analysis, employing scenes from "Clerks," "Tender Mercies," and "sex, lies, and videotape"; rehearsal techniques; and ever so much more. What seems like it might be deadly dry is filled with insights into the directorial/acting process from the likes of Stanley Tucci, Robert Duvall, Dustin Hoffman, and Judi Dench ("Don't play the line, ever. It's like layers. The line is the top. The one you're playing might be the 14th down. You don't play anything on the button, as it were."). Weston's closing advice: "Follow your heart. Be honest with yourself. Let love guide you." Only a book this wise could conclude with such sentiments and not make you gag. | |
