Black comedies don’t come much blacker than cult favourite, Harold and Maude (1972), and they don’t come much funnier either. It seems that director Hal Ashby was the perfect choice to mine a load of eccentricity from the original Colin Higgins script, about the unlikely romance between a death-obsessed 19-year-old named Harold (Bud Cort) and a life-loving 79-year-old widow named Maude (Ruth Gordon). They meet at a funeral, and Maude finds something oddly appealing about Harold, urging him to “reach out” and grab life by the lapels as opposed to dwelling morbidly on mortality. Harold grows fond of the old gal–she’s a lot more fun than the girls his mother desperately tries to match him up with- -and together they make Harold and Maude one of the sweetest and most unconventional love stories ever made. Much of the early humour arises from Harold’ s outrageous suicide fantasies, played out as a kind of twisted parlour game to mortify his mother, who has grown immune to her strange son’s antics. Gradually, however, the film’s clever humour shifts to a brighter outlook and finally arrives at a point where Harold is truly happy to be alive. Featuring soundtrack songs by Cat Stevens, this comedy certainly won’t appeal to all tastes (it was a box-office flop when first released), but if you’re on its quirky wavelength, it might just strike you as one of the funniest films you’ve ever seen. –Jeff Shannon, Amazon.com

<- Read More

Amazon.co.uk Review
A milestone of the silent film era and one of the first “art films” to gain international acclaim, this eerie German classic from 1919 remains the most prominent example of German expressionism in the emerging art of the cinema. Stylistically, the look of the film’s painted sets–distorted perspectives, sharp angles, twisted architecture–was designed to reflect (or express) the splintered psychology of its title character, a sinister figure who uses a lanky somnambulist (Conrad Veidt) as a circus attraction. But when Caligari and his sleepwalker are suspected of murder, their novelty act is surrounded by more supernatural implications. With its mad-doctor scenario, striking visuals, and a haunting, zombie-like character at its centre, Caligari was one of the first horror films to reach an international audience, sending shock waves through artistic circles and serving as a strong influence on the classic horror films of the 1920s, 30s, and beyond. It’s a museum piece today, of interest more for its historical importance, but The Cabinet of Dr Caligari still casts a considerable spell. –Jeff Shannon, Amazon.com

Das Cabinet Des Dr Caligari

Buy Now for £9.99

Amazon.co.uk Review
It’s sick! It’s twisted! It’s House of 1,000 Corpses, and it’s more fun than a wholesome bowl of “Agatha Crispies”! Dropped by two studios (Universal and MGM) and doomed to obscurity until Lions Gate Films gave it a limited theatrical release, Rob Zombie’s gonzo horror flick is a blood-spattered throwback to the gore-fests of the 70s, lending new meaning to the term “box-office gross”. Most critics misunderstood this unbridled exercise in graphic style and violence, but for devoted horror buffs it’s a refreshing rebuttal to the comparatively “polite” frights of the post-Scream era. While paying homage to The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Last House on the Left, Motel Hell and other gory classics, Zombie’s ramshackle plot (two young couples are terrorized by an inbred family of homicidal maniacs) lacks a crucial sense of dread, but his pastiche of vivid colours, grainy fetish-films and photo-negative imagery is guaranteed to hold your attention. A bona-fide cult item, this House is definitely worth a visit… if you dare. –Jeff Shannon

House of 1,000 Corpses

Buy Now for £5.94

Amazon.co.uk Review
Arguably the greatest black comedy ever made, Stanley Kubrick’s cold war classic is the ultimate satire of the nuclear age. Dr. Strangelove is a perfect spoof of political and military insanity, beginning when General Jack D. Ripper (Sterling Hayden), a maniacal warrior obsessed with “the purity of precious bodily fluids,” mounts his singular campaign against Communism by ordering a squadron of B-52 bombers to attack the Soviet Union. The Soviets counter the threat with a so-called “Doomsday Device,” and the world hangs in the balance while the US president (Peter Sellers) engages in hilarious hot-line negotiations with his Soviet counterpart. Sellers also plays a British military attaché and the mad bomb-maker Dr. Strangelove; George C. Scott is outrageously frantic as General Buck Turgidson, whose presidential advice consists mainly of panic and statistics about “acceptable losses.” With dialogue (“You can’t fight here! This is the war room!”) and images (Slim Pickens’ character riding the bomb to oblivion) that have become a part of our cultural vocabulary, Kubrick’s film regularly appears on critics’ lists of the all-time best. –Jeff Shannon, Amazon.com –This text refers to another version of this video.

Dr. Strangelove

Buy Now for £20.36

Amazon.com
Could this be the funniest movie ever made? By any rational measure of comedy, this medieval romp from the Monty Python troupe certainly belongs on the short list of candidates. According to Leonard Maltin’s Movie & Video Guide, it’s “recommended for fans only,” but we say hogwash to that–you could be a complete newcomer to the Python phenomenon and still find this send-up of the Arthurian legend to be wet-your-pants hilarious. It’s basically a series of sketches woven together as King Arthur’s quest for the Holy Grail, with Graham Chapman as the King, Terry Gilliam as his simpleton sidekick Patsy, and the rest of the Python gang filling out a variety of outrageous roles. The comedy highlights are too numerous to mention, but once you’ve seen Arthur’s outrageously bloody encounter with the ominous Black Knight (John Cleese), you’ll know that nothing’s sacred in the Python school of comedy. From holy hand grenades to killer bunnies to the absurdity of the three-headed knights who say “Ni–!,” this is the kind of movie that will strike you as fantastically funny or just plain silly, but why stop there? It’s all over the map, and the pace lags a bit here and there, but for every throwaway gag the Pythons have invented, there’s a bit of subtle business or grand-scale insanity that’s utterly inspired. The sum of this madness is a movie that’s beloved by anyone with a pulse and an irreverent sense of humor. If this movie doesn’t make you laugh, you’re almost certainly dead. –Jeff Shannon

Monty Python and the Holy Grail

Buy Now for £14.36

Amazon.co.uk Review
If you’ve ever wanted to hear Jack Nicholson sing (or try to) or marvel at the sight of Ann-Margret drunkenly cavorting in a cascade of baked beans, Tommy is the movie you’ve been waiting for. As it turns out, the Who’s brilliant rock opera is sublimely matched to director Ken Russell’s penchant for cinematic excess, and this 1975 production finds Russell at the peak of his filmmaking audacity. It’s a fever-dream of musical bombast, custom-fit to the thematic ambition of Pete Townshend’s epic rock drama, revolving around the titular “deaf, dumb, and blind kid” (played by Who vocalist Roger Daltrey) who survives the childhood trauma that stole his senses to become a Pinball Wizard messiah in Townshend’s grandiose attack on the hypocrisy of organised religion.

The story is remarkably coherent considering the hypnotic dream-state induced by Russell’s visuals. Tommy’s odyssey is rendered through wall-to-wall music, each song representing a pivotal chapter in Tommy’s chronology, from the bloodstream shock of “The Acid Queen” (performed to the hilt by Tina Turner) to Nicholson’s turn as a well-intentioned physician, Elton John’s towering rendition of “Pinball Wizard” and Daltrey’s epiphanous rendition of “I’m Free”. Other performers include Eric Clapton and (most outrageously) the Who’s drummer Keith Moon, and through it all Russell is almost religiously faithful to Townshend’s artistic vision. Although it divided critics when first released, Tommy now looks likes a minor classic of gonzo cinema, worthy of the musical genius that fuelled its creation. –Jeff Shannon Amazon.co.uk Review
Even by the standards of a genre not characterised by restraint, the 1974 rock opera Tommy is endearingly barmy, a bizarre combination of Pete Townshend’s disturbed inspiration and director Ken Russell’s wildly eccentric vision. Even if you gamely try and read allegorical meaning into it, the story is frankly odd: a child becomes psychosomatically deaf, dumb and blind after witnessing the murder of his father by his stepdad and goes on to become rich and famous as the world pinball champion (since when was pinball a world-class competitor sport?), before setting himself up as a latter-day messiah. It’s about the travails of the post-war generation, the disaffection of youth, the trauma of childhood abuse, the sham nature of new-age cults, and many other things besides. At least, that’s what Townshend and Russell would have you believe. But what’s really important is the many wonderful, utterly bonkers set-pieces–effectively a string of pop videos–that occur along the way, performed by great guest stars: Tina Turner as the Acid Queen, Eric Clapton as the Preacher, Keith Moon as Uncle Ernie, Elton John’s mighty rendition of “Pinball Wizard”, even Jack Nicholson doing a turn as a suave specialist.

Roger Daltrey is iconic in his signature role, and Oliver Reed makes up for a complete inability to sing with a bravura performance as his sleazy stepdad, but best of all is Ann-Margret as Tommy’s mother Nora: her charismatic presence holds the loose narrative together and she richly deserved her Academy Award nomination; the sight of her in a nylon cat suit being drenched in baked beans and chocolate from an exploding TV set is worth the price of admission alone.

On the DVD: Tommy comes to DVD in a two-disc set, with the feature on disc one accompanied by three audio tracks: Dolby Stereo or 5.1 surround, as well as the original “Quintaphonic” surround mix–a unique experience with effectively two pairs of stereo tracks plus a centre track for the vocals. The anamorphic picture adequately recreates the original theatrical ratio. The second disc has a series of lengthy and illuminating new interviews with the main (surviving) players: Townshend, Russell, Daltrey and Ann-Margret, in which we learn among other things, that Daltrey wasn’t Townshend’s first choice for the role, that Stevie Wonder was the original preference for the Pinball Wizard, and that Ken Russell had never heard of any of these rock stars before agreeing to helm the movie. There’s also a feature on the original sound mix and its restoration for DVD. All in all, a satisfying package for fans of one of the daftest chapters in the annals of rock music. –Mark Walker

Tommy

Buy Now for £13.28

Amazon.co.uk Review
While other films directed by Nicolas Roeg have attained similar cult status (including Walkabout and Don’t Look Now), none has been as hotly debated as this languid but oddly fascinating adaptation of the science fiction novel by Walter Tevis. In The Man Who Fell to Earth, David Bowie plays the alien of the title, who arrives on Earth with hopes of finding a way to save his own planet from turning into an arid wasteland. He funds this effort by capitalising on several highly lucrative inventions, and in so doing becomes the powerful leader of an international corporate conglomerate. But his success has negative consequences as well–his contact with Earth has a disintegrating effect that sends him into a tailspin of disorientation and metaphysical despair. The sexual attention of a cheerful young woman (Candy Clark) doesn’t do much to change his outlook, and his introduction to liquor proves even more devastating, until, finally, it looks as though his visit to Earth may be a permanent one. The Man Who Fell to Earth is definitely not for every taste–it’s a highly contemplative, primarily visual experience that Roeg directs as an abstract treatise on (among other things) the alienating effects of an over-commercialised society. Stimulating and hypnotic or frightfully dull, depending on your receptivity to its loosely knit ideas, it’s at least in part about not belonging, about being disconnected from the world–about being a stranger in a strange land when there’s really no place like home. –Jeff Shannon.

The Man Who Fell to Earth

Buy Now for £15.80

Amazon.co.uk Review
The “lost” sleeper hit of 1980 has since become one of the most revered cult movies of all time, largely due to its bawdy, irreverent story about the art and artifice of filmmaking and an outrageously clever performance by Peter O’Toole. As megalomaniacal film director Eli Cross, O’Toole plays a larger-than-life figure whose ability to manipulate reality is like a power-trip narcotic. The focus of his latest mind game is a fugitive (Steve Railsback) recruited to replace a stuntman killed during a recent on-set accident. In return for protective sanctuary, the fugitive takes a crash course in stunt work but soon discovers that he’s the paranoid player in a game he can’t control, with the dictatorial director making up the rules. Or is he? The Stunt Man is a game of its own, played through the fantasy of filmmaking, and half the fun of watching the movie comes from sharing the stuntman’s paranoid confusion. Barbara Hershey has a smart, sexy supporting role as a lead actress who won’t submit to her director’s seemingly devious behaviour; but it’s clearly O’Toole who steals the show. Director Richard Rush adds to the movie’s maverick appeal–in a career plagued by struggles against the mainstream studio system, Rush hasn’t made a better movie before or since. The Stunt Man clearly represents the potential of his neglected talent. –Jeff Shannon

Stunt Man

Buy Now for £71.95

Amazon.co.uk Review
Arguably the greatest black comedy ever made, Stanley Kubrick’s cold war classic is the ultimate satire of the nuclear age. Dr. Strangelove is a perfect spoof of political and military insanity, beginning when General Jack D. Ripper (Sterling Hayden), a maniacal warrior obsessed with “the purity of precious bodily fluids,” mounts his singular campaign against Communism by ordering a squadron of B-52 bombers to attack the Soviet Union. The Soviets counter the threat with a so-called “Doomsday Device,” and the world hangs in the balance while the US president (Peter Sellers) engages in hilarious hot-line negotiations with his Soviet counterpart. Sellers also plays a British military attaché and the mad bomb-maker Dr. Strangelove; George C. Scott is outrageously frantic as General Buck Turgidson, whose presidential advice consists mainly of panic and statistics about “acceptable losses.” With dialogue (“You can’t fight here! This is the war room!”) and images (Slim Pickens’ character riding the bomb to oblivion) that have become a part of our cultural vocabulary, Kubrick’s film regularly appears on critics’ lists of the all-time best. –Jeff Shannon, Amazon.com –This text refers to another version of this video.

Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb

Buy Now for £9.09

Amazon.co.uk Review
As long as there is a need for adolescent male sexual fantasy, there will be an audience for Heavy Metal. Released in 1981 and based on stories from the graphic magazine of the same name, this silly and senseless the movie is an aimless, juvenile amalgam of disjointed stories and clashing visual styles. Hundreds of animators from around the world were employed, resulting in a near-total absence of creative cohesion in the finished product. It remains, for better and worse, a midnight-movie favourite for the stoner crowd–a movie best enjoyed by randy adolescents or near-adults in an altered state of consciousness.

With a framing story about a glowing green orb claiming to be the embodiment of all evil, the film shuttles through eight episodic tales of sci-fi adventure, each fuelled by some of the most wretched rock music to emerge from the late 1970s-early 80s period. The most consistent trademark is an abundance of blood-splattering violence and wet-dream sex, the latter involving a succession of huge-breasted babes who shed their clothes at the drop of a G-string. It’s rampantly brainless desire to fuel the young male libido becomes rather fun, and for all its incoherence Heavy Metal impresses for the ambitious artistry of its individual segments. Produced by Ivan Reitman (who went on to direct Ghostbusters), the voice talents include several Canadian veterans of the Second City improvisation comedy troupe–including John Candy, Harold Ramis, Eugene Levy and Joe Flaherty–many of whom went on to greater fame on the US TV series Saturday Night Live. –Jeff Shannon

DVD Special Features Feature-length Rough Cut with Optional Commentary by Carl MacEk, Production notes Theatrical trailer Documentary: Imagining Heavy Metal Art Galleries Deleted Scenes, Carl MacEk reading his book “Heavy Metal: The Movie” 1:85:1 widescreen anamorphic Dolby Digital 5.1

Heavy Metal

Buy Now for