IT CAME FROM THE READER-SUGGESTED QUEUE: FELIX THE CAT: THE MOVIE (1988)

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DIRECTED BY: Tibor Hernádi

FEATURING THE VOICES OF: David Kolin, Chris Phillips, Maureen O’Connell, Peter Newman, Alice Playten

PLOT: When Princess Oriana is kidnapped by the sinister Duke of Zill, only Felix the Cat and his magical bag of tricks can save the day—so long as his arch-frenemy The Professor doesn’t interfere.

COMMENTS: It’s fun to imagine a Sunset Boulevard scenario wherein Felix the Cat hearkens back to better times, angrily reminding anyone who will listen that, back in his heyday, he was bigger than Mickey Mouse. He’d go on about how he moved so much merchandise in the silent era, but faltered when talkies came in. How he got his groove back when television snapped him up, jump-starting his career with a voice, new supporting characters, the introduction of his iconic bag of tricks, and an insidiously infectious theme song. How the lack of a deep-pocketed studio to protect him and dust him off every so often (like that infernal mouse had) left him floundering, and how his chief animator and owner of his copyright, Joe Oriolo (and later Joe’s son Don), struggled to keep Felix in the game with ever-growing levels of desperation, including a bizarre misguided attempt at a live-action series and even a Baby Felix cartoon made exclusively for Japanese television. And here’s where Felix would ball up his fist and pound it on the table, lamenting that if anyone knows him at all today, it’s as a clock.

Maybe that can be the scenario for Felix’s next feature. For now, we’re stuck with this one, probably his thirstiest bid at a revival. Felix is a simple character, a monochromatic feline with a classic stretch-and-squash movement and a seeming immunity to misfortune. But to wring 80 minutes out of him, it’s essential to complicate, complicate, complicate, first with a prologue presenting a proto-CG version of Felix’s disembodied head, then by launching an elaborate plot to save a fairy-tale kingdom from an evil overlord, with a panoply of odd characters including a heavily rotoscoped princess, a gun-toting yokel, a host of psychedelic wildlife, and an army of robot trash cans led by what appears to be an ape with a bubble for a head.

The animation, from Hungary’s Pannonia Studio, is wildly erratic, veering from elaborately detailed landscapes and imaginative creature designs to obvious looped animations and jumpy movement. Case in point: Princess Oriana is sometimes shown in the kind of fine detail one associates with the Disney Renaissance, but then is seen in a herky-jerky, poorly drawn style one associates with direct-to-truck-stop mockbusters. But even at its best, the animators’ work is undercut by a script that spends inordinate amounts of time on exposition and setup, forcing the artists to vamp to fill time. In fact, Felix the Movie is almost allergic to anything that stays focused on the plot. The vile Duke is supposedly seeking to conquer the kingdom as revenge against the Princess, but instead of showing us his schemes, we watch him make her do interpretive dance. Numerous scenes are dedicated solely to watching one cartoon beast or another go about their business, even while we’re aware of an impending danger happening somewhere way offscreen. Even the musical numbers seem completely separate from the proceedings, such as a showcase for a family of foxes who have nothing to do with anything, or an extended dance break for a pair of rat/lizard hybrids. (This latter sequence lasts for more than two minutes, almost 3% of the film’s runtime.)

Adding to the muddle is the decision to include two of Felix’s foes from the TV series, the nefarious Professor and his hyper-nerdy nephew Poindexter. They have the potential to throw another obstacle in Felix’s path, but they spend most of the film trailing behind their quarry and end up helping once they finally catch up. One presumes they represent the movie’s attempt to cater to Felix nostalgists, but they’re meaningless to the young, adventure-hungry kids who are the most likely audience for this kind of thing. The movie aims for everyone and hits no one.

Given how uninterested it is in anything logical and linear, it’s fitting that the movie just sort of stops, with Felix saving the day by throwing a book at a giant robot. (That’s literally the whole solution. Deus ex libro. He doesn’t even use the bag of tricks.) Felix the Cat: The Movie should have been a chance for the once-famous feline to get his groove back, but the film never finds a way to let him be the hero he once was, and it doesn’t have a solid idea of what it wants to do instead. So somebody buy the old guy another drink and let him rant and rave about his cruel fate. He deserves another shot at the big time, and this ain’t it.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“The original Felix cartoons were always surreal in some way, but not in a studied manner, more of an organic, natural development out of the character’s quirks and goodnatured ingenuity. Here, however, there is an attempt to plonk him down into a world that is already weird, almost a post-apocalyptic version of a fairytale land that suffers too many digressions into strangeness for its own sake without furthering the plot… You can see it entertaining the very young who are not aware of Felix’s history, but as a tribute to him it falls flat when it really could have been any generic character starring here: he doesn’t even take off his tail and use it as a cane.” Graeme Clark, The Spinning Image

(This movie was nominated for review by Jayzon. Suggest a weird movie of your own here.) 

VOTE FOR THE READER’S CHOICE APOCRYPHA TITLE!

We’ve taken all your nominees (minus a few duplicates and ineligible titles) and come up with 44 current Apocrypha Candidates for the readers to select their favorite. The winner will be written up as an official Apocryphally Weird entry; other movies that get high vote totals will receive extra editorial consideration. You may only vote for one movie and you may only vote once, so make it count! Voting closes on June 15.

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POD 366, EP. 120: THE LEGEND OF THE DAY SOMETHING WEIRD CRIED (FOR TWO VOICES)

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Audio link (Spotify)

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Discussed in this episode:

An Evening Song (for Three Voices) (2023): Read Giles Edwards’ review. Graham Swon’s dreamlike experimental drama about two writers and their scarred maid in the 1930s just finished a token theatrical run; we expect it on VOD soon, and will let you know when that happens. An Evening Song (for Three Voices) official site.

The Day the Clown Cried: Swedish TV channel SVT announced this week that an employee of the company that co-produced Jerry Lewis’ The Day the Clown Cried illegally copied reels from the workprint film onto VHS tape in the 1980s. You can view a clip from the interview (in Swedish) announcing the discovery (and including some very short background snippets as proof) at their site; scroll to the second video at the bottom of the page for the English captioned version. There’s also this article at “Icon” (in Swedish). On the off chance you don’t know what this is about or why it’s a big deal: in the early 1970s slapstick comedian Jerry Lewis made a sincerely intended drama movie about a clown who is sentenced to a concentration camp where he entertains children before they die. At first Lewis was enormously proud of this anti-Holocaust statement, but when he previewed the dailies to some friends the reaction was, shall we say, not encouraging (Harry Shearer was quoted as saying “This movie is so drastically wrong, its pathos and its comedy are so wildly misplaced, that you could not, in your fantasy of what it might be like, improve on what it really is.”). Lewis (and the screenwriter) shelved the movie and insisted that it would never be released; he relented late in life and donated some incomplete footage to the Library of Congress, with stipulations that it could not be shared until June 2024, and even then could only be publicly screened with permission from his estate. The difference here is that this is apparently a relatively complete workprint that could theoretically be restored and released, although only in an unofficial, unsanctioned underground version.

“House of Psychotic Women: Rarities Collection Vol. 2”: The four movies in this femme-forward set are thrillers Butterfly Kiss (1994) and The Glass Ceiling (1971), “dramatized documentary” The Savage Eye (1959), and, most excitingly to us, ‘ Gothic melodrama Morgiana (1972). The set includes hours of special features including  7 short films, one of which is a made-for-TV vampire musical by Herz! Buy “House of Psychotic Women: Rarities Collection Vol. 2”.

In My Skin (2002): Read Pamela de Graff’s review. This unexpectedly lavish UHD/Blu-ray edition of the auto-cannibalism shocker advertises 7 hours (!) of special features, including 4 short films from director Marina de Van.  Buy In My Skin.

Queer (2024): ‘s adaptation of ‘ 1985 novella of the same name. It’s our reader-suggested queue (and will soon be out of that closet). Buy Queer.

Rats! (2024): Read Giles Edwards’ festival mention. Soon-to-be cult comedy now on Blu-ray, with an orgasm-themed set of special features. Buy Rats!

“Something Weird” streaming: The independent streaming channel “Cultpix” struck a deal to acquire the (complete?) Something Weird catalog for streaming, meaning the works of pre-70s exploitation auteurs like (among others) will migrate there. Be aware Cultpix includes (vintage) porn and is 18+ only. Visit Cultpix.

Urotsukidoji: Legend of the Overfiend (1987-1989): Read Giles Edwards’ review. Tentacles, demons, and more now available in the three pornographic original anime OVA episodes, plus the less-explicit feature film they were edited into. Buy Urotsukidoji: Legend of the Overfiend.

WHAT’S IN THE PIPELINE: 
No guest is scheduled for next week’s Pod 366 (unless you count El Rob Hubbard, who is indeed scheduled). In written content, Shane Wilson gets curious about Felix the Cat: The Movie (1988), the previously-mentioned El Rob Hubbard worships The Cathedral of New Emotions (2006), and Enar Clarke reviews an Inflatable Sex Doll of the Wastelands (1967). Plus, we close our Apocrypha nomination contest on Sunday, announce a winner, and open voting on Monday. Onward and weirdward!

CAPSULE: AN EVENING SONG (FOR THREE VOICES) (2023)

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Recommended

DIRECTED BY: Graham Swon

FEATURING: , , Peter Vack

PLOT: Barbara and Richard, married writers from the East Coast, move to the Midwest and hire Martha, a quietly pious local, as their maid.

COMMENTS: One narrator evokes simple matter-of-factness; the second narrator segues into a reminiscence of another world; and the final narrator readily apologizes for what he’s about to do. These three voices in Graham Swon’s feature, An Evening Song, are its body, spirit, and mind; with the three characters—an innocent country local named Martha, the disillusioned writer-prodigy Barbara, and her mentally restless husband, Richard—conveying the film’s philosophical pull and tug. Events do literally happen in An Evening Song (indeed, it is loosely based on real events and individuals), but Swon has crafted more of a meditation oscillating around a narrative through-line than a traditional drama.

Over the course of eighty-odd minutes, Swon’s players perform the strange and gentle decline of a marriage on the rocks. Relocating to the Middle of Nowhere, Iowa, two different writerly types observe their hired help from their own perspectives. Barbara, having begun to give up on life more than a decade prior, has reached a critical stage of ennui that is only slightly alleviated by the discovery of this mysterious, scarred country girl, who seems to embody a delightfully unsolvable riddle. Richard, devoid of any bent towards mysticism, is commendably observant and empathetic, and entranced by Martha as well—but as a riddle to attempt solving. Under the couple’s gaze, Martha gazes back: she perceives Barbara’s ethereality with admiration, but also perceives Richard’s constantly ticking pragmatism with appreciation. We have here a love triangle, of sorts.

But in what way? Swon raises many questions in this film—and wanders (with purpose) down many avenues. Richard, bless his heart, accommodates to his utmost, and for all we can observe is impossible to offend, disappoint, or anger. (This is for the best, no doubt, as he has found himself dropped right in the middle of two particularly conundrous individuals.) Barbara does love Richard (maybe, probably), but longs for a life in the mystical “nowhere” reminisced throughout her narrations—which Richard cannot provide. Martha, on the other hand, does: her piety and humility raise her to ineffable heights in a dream she conveys to Barbara during a climactic, quiet encounter in a placid field, after which the story pivots and moves irrevocably toward the dissolution of Barbara’s will to remain on this plane of existence.

The song continues, narrations bump up against one another and fuse, with all three becoming harmoniously concurrent during a contemplative, sleepless night-and-day meshing of perspectives. This film is no Eraserhead, to be certain; but it is a curious experience. With full marks for dreamy ethereality, Swon’s pocket-sized meditation manages a tension from its competing and complementary voices, creating something nearly imperceptible, maybe close to a nothing, but which lingers in the mind like a mystifying apparition.

An Evening Song (for Three Voices) completed a short run in New York last week and will play at the Acropolis in Los Angeles for one night only, May 29. We’ll let you know when it’s available online.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“Stylistically, Swon’s film shares an aesthetic kinship with some of Guy Maddin’s films, but it is far less accessible… The ambition and craftsmanship are laudable, but the hallucinatory haze too often produces a sensation of narrative drift. Recommended with the above caveats for experienced patrons of unconventional cinema” — Joe Bendel, J.B. Spins (contemporaneous)

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