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It Came from the Reader-Suggested Queue, List Candidates

APOCRYPHA CANDIDATE: DREAMS THAT MONEY CAN BUY (1947)

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Dreams That Money Can Buy has been placed on the Apocryphally Weird list. Please read the official entry here.

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DIRECTED BY:

FEATURING: Jack Bittner

PLOT: Once Joe develops the power to observe his inner self and secures a lease for an office—not in that order, mind—he enters the dream-selling business.

Still from Dreams That Money Can Buy (1947)

WHY IT MIGHT JOIN THE APOCRYPHA: With the era’s avant-garde luminaries assembled here, you couldn’t swing a dead cat without hitting all of them as they worked on the set. One room, a mountain of oddball talent, and dreams, dreams, dreams.

COMMENTS: The title, the talent, not to mention the where…: Dreams That Money Can Buy is one of the most American movies out there. It’s behind its time—it’s ahead of its time; it bounces gaily, and turns on a dime. Calder and Cage, and , and Man Ray: devising the dreams for the money you’ll pay. Three years, seven dreams, one Manhattan loft—and anchored by Joe, with his Cagney-esque coif.

Of all the random titles I’ve stumbled across, Richter’s Dreams That Money Can Buy stands out like flower-child noir; like a Seussian corporate video; like… perhaps nothing I’ve seen before. The opening credits clued me in to the fact that this motion picture (from 1947? sure, sure) was going to be more than a little out there. It was a pleasant surprise—again, from the start—to find it such a jolly jaunt through the deep subconscious up into the luminescently tactile, with the occasional staccato of life in the ’40s.

Meet Joe: “Look at yourself: a real mess, you’re all mixed up; snap out of it! Get yourself fixed up. Even if poets misbehave, they always remember to shave. Say, what’s the matter, Joe? Something gone wrong? Is your head on wrong? No! It’s terrific! Here’s something on which you can really pride yourself: you’ve discovered you can look inside yourself. You know what that means? You’re promoted! You’re no longer a bum—you’re an artist!” And a businessman. He sells dreams of desire, techno-futurism, and identity. We meet a pamphleteer offering membership to the Society for the Abolition of Abolition, or Daughters of American Grandfathers. On-screen audiences mimic on-screen-on-screen performances. A full-wire tabletop circus delights and astounds. Glittering mobiles tickle light across the camera lens. Our hero disappears, briefly, after receiving a wallop from a thug demanding a lead on the races. But while you may have recovered, Joe, beware the poker-chip’s probing eye…

Dreams That Money Can Buy is jam-packed with surrealism and lightheartedness: always sprightly, but never saccharine. The sights and sounds evoke the dreamy past, and the hazy future. (The closing track, composed for this mid-’40s feature, sounds like an obscure B-side from the late ’60s.) More fun-house than art-house, Richter and his team gaily crash the dour columns of haute couture and build a wonder-world from the freshly minted tumble of rubble.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“…Hans Richter, nothing daunted, has plunged into the realm of the abstract, the subconscious and the immaterial for his ‘Dreams That Money Can Buy,’ a frankly experimental picture… A critical dismissal of this picture would be unfair, since it is a professed experiment and there are some things about it that are good. Many of the image constructions, while obscure, are surprisingly adroit, and the musical score by Louis Applebaum is often more eloquent than the screen. Obviously ‘arty’ in nature, it still tries for new ways to frame ideas. For that it is to be commended.”–Bosley Crowther, The New York Times (contemporaneous)

Dreams That Money Can Buy

Dreams That Money Can Buy
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It Came from the Reader-Suggested Queue, List Candidates

APOCRYPHA CANDIDATE: THE SEA THAT THINKS [DE ZEE DIE DENKT] (2000)

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DIRECTED BY: Gert de Graaff

FEATURING: Bart Klever, Rick de Leeuw, Devika Strooker

PLOT: A screenwriter is hard at work on a film about the impossibility of reality, and begins to incorporate his every thought and action into the script, which in turn directs the action of the writer, which results in the very film we are watching—unless he decides to delete the document.

Still from The Sea That Thinks (2000)

WHY IT MIGHT MAKE THE APOCRYPHA: The Sea That Thinks is a rich, dense text about the intangibility of everything, and it has the guts to put this challenging concept into practice, making for the most self-reflexive motion picture imaginable. An exercise like this should be the height of navel-gazing, and an astonishing amount portion of the soundscape is given over to dry oration about the futility of independent thought, but the mix of captivating imagery and surprising action makes for a fascinating film, regardless of whether you acknowledge that it exists.

COMMENTS: I am writing this review. That’s a thing that is happening, right now, as I type these words on a laptop. I will keep on typing until some point in the future when I have concluded that the words I have assembled to describe this movie and its weirdness are good enough to submit (although, being a writer, I will never think it’s “good enough”). Then I will transfer the words into a content management system, where the esteemed editor of this website will look them over, make appropriate changes to produce a marked improvement in the quality of the piece, and finally choose a day for the review to be shared with the world, forever joining the public discourse…

…except that I can’t be writing this review because I’ve already written it. The present moment is you reading this, right now. Unless, of course, you’re not reading this right now. Maybe you’ve paused, or perhaps you’ve skipped ahead to the comments. It’s possible that no one is reading this at this particular moment. And if they’re not, do these words even exist? Did I even have the thought? Did I watch the movie? Is there a movie? Is there a me? How can you be sure there’s a you?

By now, you should be getting a taste of the mental ouroboros that is the mind of Bart Klever, a writer who is struggling to churn out a screenplay and who is caught in an intellectual loop about the nature of creativity and reality. And while you’re at it, welcome also to the mind of director Gert de Graaff, who has crafted the screenplay for De Zee Die Denkt, which is about writing a movie called De Zee Die Denkt and which includes a character named “Bart Klever” to be played by an actor named Bart Klever. Yes, it’s the infinity mirror gone Hollywood. This is a movie that lays out its challenge from the very beginning and never lets up.

We don’t meet Bart right away. Instead, we begin with the three awakenings of a character named Rick (played by an actor named Rick): first in front of a frustrated camera crew whose latest take is interrupted by a cannon blast of water shooting through the windows; next, the film crew is gone, but when Rick gets up to answer Continue reading APOCRYPHA CANDIDATE: THE SEA THAT THINKS [DE ZEE DIE DENKT] (2000) →

List Candidates

APOCRYPHA CANDIDATE: ADELA HAS NOT HAD SUPPER YET (1978)

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Adéla ještě nevečeřela
AKA Dinner For Adele; Nick Carter in Prague; Adele Hasn’t Had Her Dinner Yet

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DIRECTED BY:

FEATURING: , , , Nad’a Konvalinkova, Ladislav Pesek, Vaclav Lohinsky,

PLOT: Nick Carter (Dočolomanský), America’s Greatest Detective, is requested to come to Prague to solve the disappearance of a member of a prominent noble family. But even with the help of his local guide Inspector Ledvina (Hrušínský), countless gadgets, and his own American know-how and constant vigilance, it might just not be enough against his greatest adversary, The Gardener, and his creation Adela…

… and Adela has not had supper yet!

Still from Adela Has Not Had Supper Yet (1978)

WHY IT MIGHT JOIN THE APOCRYPHA: It’s fun pastiche like Star Wars and Raiders of the Lost Ark, and high adventure like the Bond films—but done at a fraction of the cost, and more smartly, without getting in the way of the fun.

COMMENTS: We open with the sound of an orchestra tuning up, followed by a conductor leading the start of a symphony which is interrupted by flash cuts of a dime novel illustration and the sounds of a tack-piano. This battle goes on for a few seconds, with the illustration and piano winning out and the credits beginning. High culture and low culture merged into entertainment, which is a pretty good encapsulation of the work of Oldřich Lipský: pastiche and parody merged with satire and (subtle?) commentary.

Adela is another good-natured lark, much like the director’s earlier Western parody Lemonade Joe. This time, the parody features Nick Carter, a dime-novel detective who was a major character of pop culture in the early 20th Century. In this iteration, he’s a combination of Sherlock Holmes (of whom he has an autographed photo and a note of admiration) and James Bond (with an array of gadgets to assist him). “America’s Greatest Detective,” as the sign on his door states, he effortlessly defeats several perpetrators even before the story gets properly underway.

The adventure melodrama is a standardized form, but the basic plot can take a myriad of variations. In this case, it’s also a Victorian slapstick yarn, with hints of steampunk on the fringes. Plus, it’s actually fun and funny. Lipský’s comedy stagings are almost flawless: only Blake Edwards (specifically The Party and The Pink Panther Strikes Again) comes close—although Lipský was more consistent. Think how much better The Great Race would’ve been if it were a Lipský film…

It’s all very genial and innocent, although there’s a tinge of satire present. Czechs are ribbed, from Carter’s description of them as “down to Earth types,” to Inspector Ledvina’s constant consumption of beer and sausages. America is also gently mocked: “America’s Greatest Detective” lives in New York, “America’s Greatest City,” and as Nick himself affirms, “Americans do everything grandly”. But there’s also American arrogance; “Europe is decay,” Nick states to Ledvina during a limburger lunch, and American puritanism surfaces during his encounters with women, both those who are attempting to kill him and those who are slightly friendlier.

Made more than a decade after Lemonade Joe, this was Lipský’s second of three collaborations with write/animator Jiří Brdečka. It was followed by The Mysterious Castle In The Carpathians with much of the same cast. As with Mysterious Castle and Lemonade Joe, Brdečka’s experience as an animator adds to the visual humor; a reference to the Escher portrait ‘Hand With Reflecting Sphere‘, running gags in the background set up early which pay off in the last third of the film, and Brdečka’s animation of the Gardener’s backstory. Jan Svankmajer assists with animating Adela (a man-eating plant with as much personality, but not the vocabulary, of The Little Shop of Horrors‘ Audrey II)—mainly when she’s having her supper.

Like Mysterious Castle, Adela got its first U.S. home video release on a Deaf Crocodile Blu-ray, with a new restoration and a commentary track from Czech film expert Irena Kovarova and film critic Tereza Brdečková (Brdečka’s daughter). Like the previous release, the extras are weighted towards Brdečka’s career rather than focusing on just Adela. Four of Brdečka’s animated shorts are included; Badly Drawn Hen (Špatně namalovaná slepice), Forester’s Song (Do lesíčka na čekanou), What Did I Not Tell The Prince (Co jsem princi neřekla) and The Miner’s Rose (Horníkova růže). The deluxe limited edition includes a 60 page booklet with essays by Walter Chaw and Jonathan Owen as well as excerpts from the 2015 book “JIŘÍ BRDEČKA: Life-Animation-Magic,” with storyboards from Adela and the shorts.

Lipský disappears a bit from the discussion; but Brdečka benefits from having 1) a direct living relative still able to beat the drum for his accomplishments and 2) having been an integral part of the . There’s still a lot of Lipský left to premiere on USA-friendly home video, so future releases may rectify the slight against Lipský, if indeed there is much bonus material on the director.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“The dialogue, in subtitles, is strictly 70’s streetrap, and its non sequitur placement in the turn-of-the century provinciality is hysterical. The performances are well timed camp, and the entire colorful romp is strictly for fun.”–Michael Lasky, Bay Area Reporter (contemporaneous)Still from Adela Has Not Had Supper Yet (1978)

Adela Has Not Had Supper Yet [blu-ray]

Adela Has Not Had Supper Yet [blu-ray]
  • The beloved Czech cult comedy / horror / mystery about a handsome but bumbling detective and a man-eating plant
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APOCRYPHA CANDIDATE: ALABAMA’S GHOST (1973)

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DIRECTED BY:

FEATURING: , Peggy Browne, , , Ken Grantham

PLOT: A janitor-turned-magician gets more than he bargains for after signing up with a mysterious impresario, as a conspiracy unfolds around the greatest magic show ever.

Still from Alabama's Ghost (1973)

COMMENTS: When you see a credit for “Go-Go Dancers,” you know you’re in for a good time. Especially when those credits are front-loaded, and an array of oddities is laid out before the movie hits you. Especially especially when there’s a jaunty Dixieland jazz tune dancing through the speakers while the promises unspool (Doctor Caligula? Mama-Bama? Marilyn Midnight?). Alabama’s Ghost segues into a live performance of that opening tune—with an establishing shot of a foreshortened trombone sliding uncannily toward and away from the camera. Yessir, ma’am, there’s jivin’ style to spare in this extravaganza from the inimitable Fredric Hobbs, dealing out countless exciting genres in this slice of wonderment.

Navigating this variety show is the titular Alabama (who, despite what that title implies, is very much alive), leaning back at a bar, high on something (“it’s like a hundred yellow-haired cats, dancing on jade”) but whose mellow is about to harshed by the boss-man. Alabama’s gotta pack up the band’s gear, and stack it nice. After bringing the gear to the basement, he drives his loaded forklift through a false wall, revealing the collected possessions of Carter, a legendary magician who disappeared in Delhi in 1935. So begins the rise of Alabama: King of the Cosmos!

Hobbs pulls out the genre stops like they were going out of style, and so Alabama’s Ghost has something for everyone. Do you like magic? Got it in spades. Questionable ’70s sci-fi science? Let me tell you about the powers—and dangers—of transmitting raw zeta waves (not to mention the atomically adjacent deadly zeta waves). Is music your thing? A Scottish-accented impresario who goes by Otto Max (well illustrated by the steel business card, with his name stamped in the metal) will ensure there’s plenty of grooviness, man. Vampires? Comely Nazi scientists? Doomsday? An elephant?

Frickin’-A. These far-out goodies hop around the plotline like horseflies at a cosmic rodeo. Otto Max, with all his Puritan fop garb swagger, pitches his vision of a giant magic show to Alabama: “Surrealism’s in—surrealism’s where it’s at.” He might as well be pitching this very movie. Fredric Hobbs gave the film world far too few gifts, but his Godmonster/Ghost double-shot is pam-jacked with strange sights to see, peculiar paths to take, and, in the case of his sophomore feature, a vampire so full of ham that the Go-Go Dancers might gorge on pig flesh for weeks.

(As it stands, they gorge on people. Add “cannibalism” to that earlier mix. Peace out.)

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“Whatever you can say about the movie, it does appear that director Fredric Hobbs had a vision of sorts… Believe me, low-budget horror doesn’t come much stranger than this one.” — David Sindelar, Fantastic Movie Musings

List Candidates

APOCRYPHA CANDIDATE: HAPPY END (1967)

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Šťastný konec

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DIRECTED BY:

FEATURING: Vladimír Menšík, Jaroslava Obermaierová, Josef Abrhám

PLOT: Chronicling the life of one Bedřich Frydrych (Menšík), a butcher and wife-murderer, from birth to death; in this cas, everything is reversed: his “birth” starts at his execution and his “happy end” comes at infancy.

WHY IT MIGHT JOIN THE APOCRYPHA: While it’s all light and very funny, deeper and darker meanings lurk under the surface; the hero found guilty and sentenced to life—literally, in this case.

COMMENTS: “You lie down in the bed you make.” This famous epigram opens the film after the credits, all superimposed over the opening image, a close-up of our lead character, seemingly sleeping. Then a pair of hands grasps the head and what we thought was a sleeping man turns out to be a decapitated head, fresh from the guillotine. But far from being the end of the story, this turns out to be the beginning. Frydrych narrates, in the fashion of David Copperfield, his “birth,” as his head is joined to his body, now intact as the guillotine blade moves up, and he is welcomed into the world.

The central gimmick of Happy End—a narrative where the action is reversed—is more commonplace to audiences now than at the time of its production. We’ve seen works such as ‘s Memento and Tenet, Harold Pinter’s “Betrayal,” Gaspar Noé‘s Irréversible, and Martin Amis’ novel “Time’s Arrow,” to name a few. But just because a gimmick is familiar doesn’t guarantee that it’s executed skillfully.

Happy End benefits from several assets: a short running time (barely over 70 minutes); a clever script by Lipsky and his collaborator Miloš Macourek, and a talented pool of actors, especially Vladimír Menšík in a rare leading role 1, and he’s perfect as a murderer who is also a sort of low-rent Candide navigating his way through life.

Considered conventionally, the story is a melodrama set in the early 1900s telling the sordid tale of Bedřich Frydrych meeting young Julia (Obermaierová), whom he’ll eventually marry and eventually murder, along with her adulterous lover, Jenick (Abrhám), leading to his execution. But in this iteration, with things reversed, Frydrych is birthed and “schooled,” whereupon he enters society and is provided with a wife whom he assembles from parts stashed in a suitcase. Marital life starts out rocky when an ambulance deposits Jenick on the street, whereupon he flies up to the apartment through the window (leading to Frydrych’s nickname for him, “Mr. Birdy”). From that point on, it’s a hard life as Frydrych attempts to rid himself of Julia and Jenick to get to his own happy end.

It’s a neat trick, but even more impressive when considering that the narrative works in either direction; as told here, Happy End subverts what would be a tale of tragedy into a tale of triumph. Frydrych is still a murderer, of sorts. His “final” meeting with Jenick is taking him into the water and leaving him there, thereby getting him out of his and Julia’s lives. In conventional time, this is their first meeting; Frydrych saves him from drowning, and thereafter Jenick develops an interest in Julia. Similarly, Frydrych and Julia’s ‘first’ meeting turns into an act of creation, rather than the grisly destructive dismemberment it would normally be. Even the wordplay is subverted, as exchanges take on different meanings: “Only those who repent can enter the Kingdom of Heaven.” “That would take a very long time…”; “You’ll meet your Lord soon.” “That’s disgusting!”

The UK label Second Run premiered Happy End as an all-region Blu-ray in 2024, after its 4K restoration from the Czech National Film Archive. Along with a booklet essay by film researcher Jonathan Owen, the release includes a 30 minute video essay by film critic Cerise Howard and an episode of The Projection Booth Podcast with Mike White, Kat Ellinger and Ben Buckingham serves as commentary.

Happy End

Happy End
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WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“…as conceptually and formally radical, and virtuosic, as any helmed by the New Wave’s celebrated, most outré directors – your Chytilovás, Němeces, Jakubiskos, Juráčeks, et al.”–Cerise Howard, Senses of Cinema

  1. Menšík is a recurring face in Czech cinema of the 1960s, a Czech “that guy” character actor glimpsed in The Cassandra Cat, The Cremator, and Tomorrow I’ll Wake Up And Scald Myself With Tea, among others. ↩︎