Category Archives: Film

Film Projects, Comments, Reviews

“Prometheus” Reviewed – A Hunk of Baloney

This laughable poster is of a scene that never appears in the movie and has nothing to do with the plot. It’s an  amazing example of the level of contempt the filmmakers have for their audience.

I saw Prometheus recently in a large theater, something I rarely do anymore.  It is such a crock, alternating between ridiculous to silly to patently unbelievable. First, this lame effort didn’t seem like it could be a Ridley Scott film.  He is now at least 75 years old, and has about 12 films in “pre-production.”  My guess is that Mr. Scott has lost the brilliant touch of Blade Runner and Alien, but is enjoying life immensely by selling his name to squads of  Hollywood CGI animators and overpaid bean counters whose idea of a good movie is judged by how many explosions per second trigger the theatre’s sub-woofer—(that give me only the sensation of letting out a big fart).  Some observations on why I dislike Prometheus so much:

  1. It discards all known laws of physics, biology, and chemistry just like a Porky Pig cartoon.
  2. It demands you ignore absurd plot element like a ship’s crew that doesn’t have a clue about even the most basic security measures; like characters who have hideous things happening to them but neglect to reveal them to anyone; like high-tech geographers who get lost in a cave;  an incompetent and a collection of bland and uncurious characters who would never qualify for a trillion$ space mission.  I didn’t believe one iota of the film was based in any sort of reality.  If you believe in virgin births, turning water into wine, and re-incarnation, you are the target of this film.
  3. The slightest noise triggers a sonic boom from the sub-woofers, and each sounds exactly the same—shooooooooopBOOOOM!  Ludicrous, predictable, and tiresome.
  4. There is no creative use of 3D at all—I mean why bother when most of the film is dialogue?  It looked basically the same with or without the glasses.
  5. Geiger’s brilliant design influence is sadly minimal.  His original stuff really makes you believe in the bonding of organic and inorganic.  This design is 5th generation rip-off.
  6. The coincidences used in the story are so unlikely they are laughable—I don’t want to spoil anything here, but you’ll know them when your brain repeatedly says WTF?

Prometheus is an example of the Hollywood big budget EFX movie gone amok.  To prep, the theater played endless trailers of astonishingly cookie-cutter-like Hollywood summer adventure films that all look and sound the same:  spectacular car crashes, huge, improbable guns, and big explosions every ten seconds with that same shooooooopBOOOOOM! that Hollywood sound effect editors must all “secretly” share to add that real-expensive-Oscar-in-sound-design touch.  It is used in everything from derringer shots, to car doors closing… I mean what world do these people inhabit where every little percussion has to shake the seats in the exact same way?  Do they ever get out of their sub-woofer studios and into the real world?

From now on it’s Blu-Ray DVDs at home where I control the sound, and don’t bother me with 3D until you learn to use it for more than a gimmick to promote in the advertising.  I’ll spend the $20 for the movie ticket and popcorn on a good bottle of wine and a genuinely engaging and believable little foreign film, courtesy of Netflix.

“In Darkness” on Netflix a Real Chiller


“In Darkness” was a Polish film nominated for an Oscar in 2011, but strangely rates only a 7.7 on IMdB.  It is the true story of a group of Jews hiding from Nazis in the decrepit sewers of a large Polish city at the end of WWII. Many people complained because it’s (yawn) “just another” Holocaust rescue film like Schindler’s List.  It only grossed $1 million in its U.S. run.  Another shameful comment on American movie-goeers, as if you needed another.

To me it was on the level of “Das Boot.” It is a terrorizing 2.5 hours of relentless horrors and ugliness that won’t let you look away.  It presents the bold sexuality of people who don’t know if they’ll live another minute– a generally undiscussed topic.  Most of it takes place in a sewer so real that you can smell it when the characters puke.  The director, Agnieszka Holland is a master at handling a wide range of actors, fascinating character development, narrative pacing, and gut-wrenching cinematography, not to mention a horror show of sets, make-up and wardrobe.

The editing sometimes has jump cuts that  challenge you  to fill in the gaps– like a dream, but genuinely reflects the chaos of running for your life in a dark confusing and terrible place.   If you’re interested in the art of cinema that twists you around its little finger, this is it.  It makes “Hugo” and all the other recent big Hollywood films look like Mr. Rogers’ pablum.

Liz Renay: The Star Who Would Replace Divine

John Waters’ 1977 movie, Desperate Living, was the follow-up of his most successful films to date, “Pink Flamingos” and “Female Trouble.”  It’s $65,000 budget provided a larger and more professional crew than the earlier films, and a “marquee star” budget line that was ten times more than the last.

Divine would have been the logical star choice.  He had been his star on at least three of his earliest black and white movies,  but the history of his not doing Desperate Living is murky.   Some say Divine was busy performing live on tour.  Others say that he and Waters were on the outs over money, and Waters wanted to prove  he could do a successful movie without Divine.

In either case, Waters went on a star search to replace Divine.   He found Liz Renay, who was a minor celebrity in the 1940s and 50s, and a counter-intuitive choice for a late 1970s cutting-edge underground movie.

Liz was a real trooper in John Waters’ Desperate Living.  As a 51 year-old seeming has-been from the 1950s, in many ways, she was about as disconnected from the average Baltimore-bred Dreamlander as you could imagine.  In others, she was spookily appropriate and progressive.  Liz was a classic high-class broad who hung out with gangsters and gamblers who blew big money on champagne cocktails, mink coats, diamond necklaces, and only rode in limos.

When she was just twenty her stunningly beautiful face, big blonde hair and voluptuous figure, brought her immediate success as a model and stripper in  New York City’s WWII era.  She found it easy to earn money, especially after winning a Marilyn Monroe look-alike contest in Hollywood, and began to attract wealthy men who were happy to spend big on big-busted blonde trophy girlfriends.

A typical Liz Renay painting-- two dimensions, eye-popping colors, and sexual innuendo, they sold for a very respectable $5,000 in the 1950s-60s.

Liz was no dumb blonde though.  She knew the skin game and used it, but also authored several popular books (the irresistible “My First 2000 Men” was her first).  She was a prolific painter whose work sold well, though they were unremarkable in their flatness that recalls Elvis-on-black velvet paintings sold in abandoned corner gas stations throughout the South.  That most of her work featured nude, nubile blondes stretched out on silk sheets certainly were part of the appeal.

Liz’s most notorious bo was Mickey Cohen, a flamboyant gangster and ex-boxer who helped create the post-war Las Vegas gambling boom.  Cohen’s penchant for violence (he once unloaded .45 caliber pistols into a hotel lobby ceiling) and sleazy associations with movie stars, liquor scams, and sexual extortion rings made him a popular subject of the press.

To the 1970s generation, Liz was most famous for her "streak" down Hollywood Boulevard.

Liz’s closeness to such genuine and notorious sleaze attracted Waters to Liz.  But wait, that’s not all.  Lying in court to protect Cohen in one of his numerous trials, Liz actually spent three months in Terminal Island Prison near Los Angeles.  This was the home of 1960s icons, Charlie Manson, his acolyte and attempted Gerald Ford assassin Squeaky Fromme, and Timothy Leary.  To John, that was real cred.

Desperate Living’s extreme low-budget shooting conditions were the exact opposite of Liz’s earlier diamond-studded life, in some ways even worse than prison—cold, muddy, rainy, hideously long hours, terrible food, etc.  It was quite different from what she expected a movie would be, especially with her experience in Hollywood.

John always dressed her in the skimpiest outfits to show off her curvy 1950s body, and extreme boob job.  But in the forty-degree weather, she shivered like a young puppy, and was always wrapped in blankets, between scenes, even on the indoor sets.  She lost a lot of her glamour there.

Liz confided to me that she had never worked on such a shockingly low-budget movie, and didn’t know it was possible to make a movie in such dingy and lousy shooting conditions—no heat, no green room, no dressing room, no caterer or crafts services, and she thought of walking out in the beginning.  But she would have felt like such a heel by stiffing this earnest, bedraggled, hopeful crew, and its pathetic movie sets made of junk from the streets– so she stayed.  One very cold and rainy day on the exterior Mortville set, she told me she couldn’t remember ever seeing her breath before, and was quite amazed by it.  I didn’t know whether to laugh or be mortified.

The money was good– for her, about $10,000 for two weeks, plus John saw that she had a nice hotel.  She was very kind, and never wanted to tie up a PA to take her to the set.  When I tried to reimburse her for the cab fare she paid to get to the Fells Point “studio, “she refused.  No one on the young movie crew had heard of her, and couldn’t understand how this hopelessly out-of-fashion 50’s sex bomb could replace Divine as John’s major draw.

That is, except John, for whom Liz was the ideal star—huge bust, plastic surgery-young, a real, published writer, and fine arts painter, with strong ties to the underworld, and even an honest-to-god jailbird.  Couldn’t do better than that.

The official cast and crew portrait for Desperate Living. John and Liz are in the center.

Liz got into the Low Budget Hell swing of things pretty quickly.  A bitchy, complaining celebrity she was not.  Her sweetness won everyone over quickly, and they treated this blonde bombshell granny with kindness and respect.  At the end of the day, we got to know that in her heart she was a rebel and progressive who was a tough cookie and leveraged her sex appeal into one of the earliest examples of women’s liberation.  Liz Renay did not join a movement; she was a movement.

Liz was born in 1926 and died in 2007, at the age of 80.

Read about Robert Maier’s fifteen years working with John Waters in the new book “Low Budget Hell: Making Underground Movies with John Waters.”  Available on Amazon.com and booksellers around the world.

Jean-Michel Basquiat: Underground Artist and Six Million Dollar Man

Jean-Michel Basquiat portrait by Andy Warhol

I lived and worked in downtown New York City in the early 1980s when the arts  were going through big changes.  Andy Warhol was rich, but at a dip in his career.  Hanging out with jet set celebrities at Studio 54 and doing their portraits based on Polaroid snapshots for $50,000, he had become a sell-out to many.  I bought several of his books on a remainder table in a Soho bookstore for a buck each.  They were signed, which John Waters said made them so cheap—Andy signed so many things that his unsigned stuff was worth more than the signed.

I worked with Chris Stein and Debbie Harry—and many others– on the movie, “Downtown 81,” which was mostly a documentary about the downtown underground “no wave,” music scene which sprouted from the angry, apocalyptic near-bankrupt NYC where 3-card Monty dealers and window-washing bums ruled the dirty streets, and the burned out and abandoned South Bronx appeared to be the vision of the future.

Graffiti was the hot new art form, so had to be in the artiest movie of the time.  I didn’t pay much attention to it.  I wasn’t an art collector.  I had bought a few things from Baltimore artists in the Waters crowd, not as an art investor, but because they were close to starving, and I had a steady job.

Jean-Michel Basquiat was the star of Downtown 81, because he was a tireless tagger of the New York landscape with his notorious “SAMO” which was sprayed in white on countless downtown structures and vehicles.  It was cheap publicity, and gained him notoriety, that  held some promise of publicity for the no-budget no-wave movie producers.

I was in the art world, and it was interesting to see how it worked—and still does work.  I bought a painting from Basquiat after his nearly continual hounding me to be a customer.  He thought I was a rich man because I had a loft in Soho (small and rented cheap through a friend), and owned expensive movie equipment.  He wasn’t dumb.  He knew that rich people were the ones who bought art, and should be cultivated.  His art was primitive, nearly on a kindergarten level if you were unkind.  Several on the movie crew had bought paintings, not from love of his talent, but to get him off their backs.  To me, Jean-Michel was a greater piece of work than his paintings, and promised that if he would just get off my back, when the movie was over, I’d bring my wife up to his place and buy something.

Chris Stein and Debbie Harry fervently promoted Basquiat.  They had bought many of his works, but a successful artist needs more than one patron, and at the time they were not big, rich stars like Mick Jagger and John Lennon.  They encouraged me to add to my meager collection, if only for an investment.  They confided they were working on big uptown names, because the key to an artist’s success was simply to get rich and famous people to buy their work.  Nothing else mattered.  You could have the crappiest gallery and the worst reviews, but if Halston or Elizabeth Taylor bought one of your works, you were platinum.  Those were the kinds of people Chris and Debbie were working on.  It was a different level from me, but in the meantime, a couple hundred bucks would help keep Jean-Michel off the streets, and his fire burning.

When the movie finished, my wife and I visited Basquiat’s tiny, cluttered apartment off Houston Street.  I only wanted the painting which was in the movie.  He was reluctant to sell, but I was spending 100 hard-earned dollars, which would probably be $1,000 today, and I had little hope of ever seeing a return.  Carrying it home, I was embarrassed that someone might think I had painted it, not to mention what they’d think knowing I’d paid the equivalent of $1,000 for it.

Soon after, Jean-Michel was scooped up by Andy Warhol as a young prodigy, and through Andy’s uptown connections he skyrocketed.  At his first Soho show, I was astounded to see that Jean-Michel’s paintings sold for $2,500, less than six months after I had paid $100 for mine.  I’d never made such a smart investment, and vowed to hold onto it forever.

I moved 5 or 6 times in that period, and always trucked the painting along, mainly as a souvenir of the time and place, and figuring it might be worth a couple thousand dollars too.   It was a painting/collage dotted with scraps of crayon-streaked paper stuck on while the original paint was drying.  Occasionally they’d fall off and I’d randomly paste them back on with Elmer’s glue.

When the work was, to my great surprise, appraised for $10,000, I insured it, but in the tough economic times of the late ‘80s, I felt it had reached its max value.  The downtown Manhattan art scene was being replaced by yuppies, and Jean-Michel was no longer the critics’ or upper Westsider’s darling.  I was also in financial hot water at the time, and decided to sell the painting through Sotheby’s in New York.  It sold for close to $10,000 and after commission I netted $7,500.  It got me out of debt, and my credit cards re-instated.  It was a pretty slick exit from Low Budget Hell.  Or so I thought.

A portion of Jean-Michel's painting that I bought and sold-- too early, alas.

A few weeks ago, the AP ran a story that a Basquiat similar to mine was valued at $6 million.  I choked on my oatmeal.  So un- fathomable, but it’s repeated in the art world every day.  I look at my old friend and colleague, John Waters’ simple doctored prints of photographs that sell for $11,000 each.  Is the value in the work, or in what a few wealthy (some say crazy) people and friends can afford to risk?  Will Waters’ work be worth millions in thirty years?  Probably.  Considering who his friends are, if I had 11 grand to spare, I’d buy one tomorrow.

“Farrah Fawcett” by John Waters (1 of 8 prints) asking price $11,000 from ArtBrokerage.com

Read about Robert Maier’s fifteen years working with John Waters in the new book “Low Budget Hell: Making Underground Movies with John Waters.”  Available on Amazon.com and booksellers around the world.

Video from “Love Letter to Edie, Director’s Cut DVD” – Robert Maier’s Additional Comments 25 Years Later

Love Letter to Edie was made in 1975 right after meeting John Waters and working on the crew of “Female Trouble.”  I added a fifteen minute bonus commentary in 2001.  This clip is an excerpt from that.  The DVD of the original “Love Letter to Edie” and the commentary is only available on e-Bay.

Click to view on YouTube.

Read about Robert Maier’s fifteen years working with John Waters in the new book “Low Budget Hell: Making Underground Movies with John Waters.”  Available on Amazon.com and booksellers around the world.