A conspiracy theorist loses his internet just as he’s about to read about “Operation Terminate”; can he trust the repairman who comes to restore access?
CONTENT WARNING: Brief profanity.
POD 366, EP. 67: FANGKS, RICHARD BURGIN
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Quick links/Discussed in this episode:
Jump to Richard Burgin interview
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The Absence of Milk In the Mouths of the Lost (2023): Discussion begins. A mysterious milkman may hold the key to a mother reuniting with her missing daughter. Released directly to Blu-ray (a rarity in this day and age), but the embedded trailer should explain why this caught our notice. Buy The Absence of Milk In the Mouths of the Lost.
Barbarella (1968): Discussion begins. Read the Canonically Weird review! You can now see young Jane Fonda‘s zero-g striptease in 4K! Unfortunately, the feature is on UHD only, although there is an entire Blu-ray of extra features. Buy Barbarella.
Basket Case (1982): Discussion begins. Read Gregory J. Smalley’s review. The late-era grindhouse classic about a killer Siamese twin gets a limited edition 4K UHD release from Arrow, with a basketful of video treasures. Buy Basket Case.
Flesh of the Gods (202?): Discussion begins. Late breaking news! Panos Cosmatos has a new project in pre-production: an L.A. set vampire film starring Kristen Stewart and Oscar Isaac. Cosmatos brags “Flesh of the Gods inhabits the liminal realm between fantasy and nightmare… Flesh will take you on a hot rod joy ride deep into the glittering heart of hell.” Exciting times! More at Hollywood Reporter.
I Saw the TV Glow (2024): Discussion begins. Teenagers become overly involved with a mysterious supernatural TV broadcast. Jane Schoenbrun‘s elevated followup to their debut We’re All Going to the World’s Fair is earning, dare we say, glowing reviews. I Saw the TV Glow official site.
Jobe’z World (2018): Discussion begins. A rollerblader accidentally delivers a fatal dose of drugs to a famous actor, then spends the rest of the night avoiding weirdos (After Hours style). Just making it to Blu-ray now; also streaming free for Amazon Prime subscribers. Buy Jobe’z World.
Singapore Sling (1990): Discussion begins. Read the Apocryphally Weird review! Nikos Nikolaidis‘ noir-by-way-of-surreal-sexual-perversion should-be cult classic finally gets the American release it deserves, from Vinegar Syndrome (of course). Buy Singapore Sling.
Time of Moulting (2020): Discussion begins. Read Giles Edwards’ Apocrypha Candidate review. This dark and enigmatic family drama had Giles “torn between scratching my head in confusion and hugging myself in despair.” Now on Blu-ray and VOD. Buy Time of Moulting.
WHAT’S IN THE PIPELINE:
On next week’s Pod 366, Pete Trbovich will join Gregory J. Smalley to discuss the week’s weird news and releases. In written reviews, Shane Wilson tackles another one that Came from the Reader-Suggested Queue with Mickey One, the 1965 existential experiment starring Warren Beatty as a stand-up comic on the run for unknown reasons; El Rob Hubbard sings the praises of Jirí Barta‘s 1985 stop-motion adaptation of The Pied Piper; Giles Edwards keeps the musical theme going as he does the same for Bill Plympton‘s The Tune (1992); and Gregory J. Smalley gets out to the movie theater to catch Sasquatch Sunset before the sun sets on its theatrical run. Onward and weirdward!
CAPSULE: RIDDLE OF FIRE (2023)
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Riddle of Fire is currently available for VOD rental or purchase. Blu-ray release coming later this year.
DIRECTED BY: Weston Razooli
FEATURING: Phoebe Ferro, Charlie Stover, Skyler Peters, Charles Halford, Lio Tipton, Lorelei Olivia Mote
PLOT: Three miscreant kids search for a speckled egg they need to get the password to the TV, encountering a real-life witch on their quest.
COMMENTS: Riddle of Fire plays out like one of those kid-centered live-action Disney movies of the 70s, if the tykes were foul-mouthed (but still endearing) thieves, and the director was a drugged-out hippie. Tomboy Alice, chaste love-interest Hazel, and young Jodie (whose incongruously adult one-liners are all duplicated in subtitles in case you have trouble understanding his adoewabul accent) have no idea how good they have it on summer vacation, riding around big sky country on dirtbikes with paintball guns and no responsibilities. Preferring air-conditioned adventures, they hatch an elaborate plan to steal a next-generation video game console, but find their summer ruined when they discover mom has password-protected the smart TV. Suffering from a cold that will soon send her into a NyQuil coma, mom agrees to allow them to play for two hours if they bring her a blueberry pie. This sets the trio off on a quest which proves increasingly complicated, as they cannot obtain the pastry without first completing a series of mini-quests, culminating in the search for the film’s big MacGuffin, a lucky speckled egg. Unfortunately, the last carton of such eggs falls into the hands of a gruff “huntsman,” who also serves as hired muscle for a cult of taxidermist witches (who have a whole Mandy-for-kids vibe going on).
Shot on 16mm film (a choice that reinforces the antique feel) in summer-green mountain forests, this “neo-fairy tale” is an American folktale for the Playstation age. The landscape is speckled with red amanita toadstools, suggesting the permeating prevalence of witchcraft, while also nodding to the drug culture. The three (later four) moppets are all likable, despite being pint-sized hoodlums; their “us against the adult world” solidarity makes them easy to root for, and their loyalty to their sick mom softens their brattiness. The script, which incorporates video game tropes as naturally as fairy tale ones, is tightly constructed, leaving little to chance in its intricate web.
Although it mostly plays as a kiddie adventure flick of the type common in the 70s and into the 80s, Riddle of Fire puts oddball spins on the material whenever it can. Even taking the magical realist element of “The Enchanted Blade Gang” out of the picture, the tale has the feeling of a childhood memory: half-experienced, half-imagined, with off-key notes fluttering about. When the children steal their console, they celebrate by dancing around the prize singing a song that’s half old English nursery rhyme, half magical ritual. They sometimes slip words like “yon” or phrases like “that rather ghastly, chilling doll” into their casual conversations. Things really get strange in their 4 A.M. trip to “The Hall of Fortunes,” a mixture between a roadhouse bar and post-apocalyptic trading post where all the adults drink 40 ounces, and the only other kid in sight is painted blue and holding a trident. Since they’re unfamiliar with the adult world, the kids don’t have a sense of how terribly wrong this entire setup is; it’s a hallucination based on a hazy understanding of what grown-ups do when they’re not around.
The irony of these children undergoing the magical adventure of a lifetime in a quest to play in a much less imaginative digitized world is delicious. Somehow, we actually celebrate with the little reprobates when they achieve their goal of sitting on their butts and clicking buttons all day, which is a testament to how much we buy in to the crazy premise debuting director Razooli conjures here. Riddle of Fire is full of stylistic and cultural references, but somehow still feels largely sui generis; it will be fascinating to see where the newly minted auteur goes from here.
WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:
CAPSULE: PRAGUE NIGHTS (1969)
Pražské noci
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DIRECTED BY: Miloš Makovec, Jiří Brdečka, Evald Schorm
FEATURING: Miloš Kopecký, Milena Dvorská, Jan Klusák, Lucie Novotná, Teresa Tuszyńska, Josef Somr
PLOT: An executive in Prague on business goes trolling for female companionship, which he finds in a mysterious woman who regales him with three macabre tales through the night, and who seems to desperately want something from him before sunrise…
COMMENTS: The anthology or portmanteau film has been a staple of both foreign and domestic horror filmmaking. Kwaidan and Spirits of the Dead come readily to mind, but there are more examples than you’d think, especially in the 1960s. Prague Nights did not do well when released in Czechoslovakia, and didn’t get much exposure internationally, so it’s not well known; a bit surprising, considering the pedigree of those involved: Jiří Brdečka (acclaimed director of animation and co-writer of Invention for Destruction, Baron Prásil, The Cassandra Cat, Lemonade Joe, and The Mysterious Castle in the Carpathians), Evald Schorm (known more at the time as a documentarian), and Miloš Makovec. Brdečka originated the project, although he only directed one segment, “The Last Golem”; Schorm handled “Bread Slippers,” and Makovec helmed the last story, “The Poisoned Poisoner,” as well as the framing episode “Fabricus and Zuzana.” Shot during the Prague Spring of 1968, the film has barely a whiff of the sort of political commentary/allegory that one might expect. This is light entertainment, and perhaps not as horrific as one might expect from the material—there aren’t any big scares here, although you might get some minor frissons during “Golem” and “Slippers.” If there’s any examination of politics, it’s sexual politics.
“The Last Golem” takes the legend of The Golem of Prague as its basis, featuring Rabbi Loew as a main character. The Emperor and Rabbi Loew bash heads; the Emperor wants Loew to resurrect the Golem, and Loew refuses. Seeing an opportunity, Rabbi Naftali Ben Chaim (Jan Klusák, the actor and composer who provides the music for “Bread Slippers,” but who may be best known as a questionable clergyman in Valerie and Her Week of Wonders) will do the Emperor’s bidding, creating another Golem despite being distracted by a mute servant girl (Lucie Novotná) who arouses his lust.
“Bread Slippers” is a variation on The Red Shoes merged with “Faust.” A Countess (Teresa Tuszyńska) is self-centered, manipulative and very cozy with her maid. She’s stringing along her latest suitor, and makes a plan to attend a costume ball in slippers made from bread (after learning that amongst the poor, bread is worth its weight in gold). She arrives at the function, but unexpected guests also show up…
“The Poisoned Poisoner” is the shortest of the tales, with no spoken dialogue. It’s accompanied by songs that narrate the action. In a medieval setting, an innkeeping couple help make ends meet by poisoning wealthy suitors and looting their corpses, until the proprietress falls for a resourceful suitor—much to the chagrin of her partner.
The perfidy of woman is a running theme, set up in the framing “Fabricus and Zuzana.” Zuzana consistently warns Fabricus with lines such as, “Every beautiful woman is dangerous—but me even more than most.” “Be careful or you’ll regret it. What did he regret? He trusted a woman.” Notably, this “perfidy” always centers around true love, as the main characters in all the segments meet their fates as a result of romance revealing itself to be false. That, however, might just be a surface reading. As with most anthologies of this type, they’re essentially morality tales, and the downfall of the characters originates in betrayal, leading to a trip to Hell… literally, in this case.
Prague Nights ends up as a stylish, literate, and lighter version of the horror anthologies that studios like Amicus would begin to churn out in the near future.
HOME VIDEO INFO: In 2023 Deaf Crocodile released a Region A Blu-ray of a restoration of Prague Nights for its first U.S. release. Included is an audio commentary with Czech film expert/critic Irena Kovarova and critic/screenwriter Tereza Brdečková, the daughter of Jiří Brdečka. Brdečková also contributes an essay on the making of the film in the booklet and an interview on her father’s career. The set includes two of Brdečka’s animated shorts, “Pomsta” (“Revenge”) (1968, 14 min.), and “Jsouc na řece mlynář jeden” (“There Was A Miller On A River”) (1971, 11 min.).
WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:
(This movie was nominated for review by MST68, who described it as having a “wonderfully creepy atmosphere.” Suggest a weird movie of your own here.)
CAPSULE: THE GRASS LABYRINTH (1979)
Kusa-meikyû
DIRECTED BY: Shuji Terayama
FEATURING: Hiroshi Mikami, Takeshi Wakamatsu, Keiko Niitaka
PLOT: A youth embarks on a quest through his unconscious to uncover a tune that his mother used to sing for him as a child.
COMMENTS: Shuji Terayama, emperor of Japan’s post-war avant-garde scene, made a name for himself mainly through experimental plays and films such as Death in the Country, The Fruits of Passion (starring Klaus Kinski), and the controversial Emperor Tomato Ketchup. Grass Labyrinth is a 40 minute work that extravagantly exhibits the author’s tendencies and style while also assuming a relatively restrained approach.
The premise of an investigation into the labyrinth of memory allows for an exercise in oneiric and experimental filmmaking free from the solidity of conventional narrative. Images float in and out of the screen in a liquid stream of consciousness, like half-remembered memories (the other half filled by reconstructions, dreams and hallucinations) in a state of hypnagogia. Recurring motifs and ideas form a subliminal thread that never assumes the form of a clear and rational plot: mother figure, appearing in an Oedipal context (already suggested by the film’s premise); open fields; the ocean; and, of course, the melody of the song that our protagonist so desperately seeks, the picture’s main leitmotif.
The search for a lost childhood item (with all its psychological implications) provides the film’s central point of focus, the axis around which all the apparitions dance. The immersion in the confusing (and occasionally terrifying) sea of childhood memories summons a cast of disquieting sights and sounds, specters of all sorts that haunt the boy’s psychic depths. The mother, who at times seems to be conflated with the song itself, is the most prominent vision, but we can’t ignore the contribution of the unnamed woman who inspires contradictory attitudes of attraction and repulsion in the main character, or a troupe of demonic figures that burst into the film in a loud and ritualistic spectacle typical of Terayama’s style.
Grass Labyrinth succeeds in replicating the aura of a striking but badly remembered dream, or a trip down unconscious lane. Like other works by Terayama, it subverts the conventional trappings of cinema in order to provide an experience that couldn’t be communicated otherwise. Standing in between the author’s more experimental short-films and his (relatively) more accessible full-length outings, it works well as an introduction to the overlooked auteur.
WHAT THE CRITICS SAY: