Favorite Title Theatre: Can’t Stop The Music (1980)

While I’m flogging this 80′s neon horse, I thought of a film that I actually saw upon release at ye old Roseville Tower where all the kids went on Tuesday night (at 75 cents each). My first pre-teen thought at the start of CAN’T STOP THE MUSIC, the Village People’s debut film, was that this was the gayest thing I’d ever seen in a major motion picture. And it still kinda is. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. In fact, it’s everything right about this misguided effort (at 20 million dollars!) that seems the result of deals made over razor-cut glass tables at Xenon or Studio 54. Trying to launch the Village People into the New Wave decade was fairly futile as the “band” represented the end of the EST liberal hedonism of the 1970′s amid the stick-shift to GOP conservative decadence.

To that end, Valerie Perrine’s enthusiastic pronouncements through film like, “Hey, anything can happen — it’s the 1980′s!” only served to illustrate the ephemeral nature of the Village People’s admittedly fun output. They arrived in a borderline tolerant time where few in the mass media questioned the band’s sexuality, even though each member was the archetype of a New York gay club fantasia. I mean, The Village People were so gay they made Paul Lynde blush. And that’s what I loved about them, that America was dancing along to “Y.M.C.A.” and “In The Navy” without thought to Jacques Morali’s coy in-your-face Tom Of Finland pop chorus satire.

That doesn’t excuse the fact that CAN’T STOP THE MUSIC is deliciously, staggeringly awful, coming as it did on the heels of XANADU, another false prophet of 80′s culture — 1940′s musicals on new wave roller skates (though its terrific soundtrack was far more successful than the movie). XANADU did signal the flat pastel look of the decade, and strangely, the skate sequences were supervised by Bill Butler, who also shot CAN’T STOP THE MUSIC (and JAWS). The other unique musical of this early period, SHOCK TREATMENT (1981), was the best of these, but could never compare to THE ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW. I digress. I just want to know how Nancy Walker landed the directing gig for CAN’T STOP THE MUSIC — who knew she had directed episodes of RHODA and MARY TYLER MOORE? And I’d like to think that’s her at 2:59 in a cameo. But at least along with the Village People, Walker had the best star talent available to her, most notably Bruce Jenner, famous comic actor. His seduction by Valerie Perrine (a trooper) is one of the most awkward bits of slapstick I’ve ever seen.

I also recall the scene when Perrine’s neighbor, Felipe Rose aka “The Indian,” climbs into the kitchen window, prancing about like a parody, and how unabashedly gay he was and none of my friends seemed to notice. I don’t even know what to say about the big dance number, “Milkshake.” CAN’T STOP THE MUSIC has the liberated spirit de corps of that dying disco period pre-AIDS and this is no better exemplified than by my lone favored moment, the film’s opening credits with the catchy song by David London, “Sounds Of The City,” over a jaw-dropping montage of Steve Guttenberg (nuff said) replete with transistor, fearlessly roller-skating through the streets of the urban jungle, repeatedly lifting his arms Balboa-style to express unfettered joy at the madcap Manhattan buffet surrounding him. Hey, anything can happen — it’s the 1980′s!

Saturday Night Feature

Friday Song: Beck

To honor your inner-Silverlake hipster, here’s “Lost Cause” one of my favorite tunes from the eclectic pop master Beck and his underrated 2002 disc, “Sea Change.” The album is a melancholy low-key production but filled with moments of hope and beauty; this is a perfect soundtrack for a long meditative road-trip. And since this is one of those weeks when the madness of Los Angeles manifests itself…

Save The Earth Day

Happy 420

Dede Allen RIP

Anybody who edited THE HUSTLER, BONNIE & CLYDE, LITTLE BIG MAN, SERPICO, SLAP SHOT and THE BREAKFAST CLUB belongs in the Pantheon. We will not see her kind again, but her cuts were the kindest of all.

Favorite Scene Theatre: Night Shift (1982)

Since I’m in an 80′s kind of comedy mode, I thought it apropos to revisit an iconic scene from NIGHT SHIFT, directed by Ron Howard and written by Lowell Ganz and Babaloo Mandell from the fabled movie year of 1982. I saw this at the now defunct Madison Square Four Cinema on a double feature of FUNERAL HOME (a Canadian tax shelter flick if there ever was) and something else I’ve forgotten that I feared would be worse. I tried to convince Jay to see NIGHT SHIFT next door as I’d heard good things despite the chintzy “wacky” poster. He didn’t want to go and got mad that I did. A few minutes later, Jay entered and sat a few seats away, pouting. Soon we were all laughing. As we walked out of the theater, he said, “You were right.” We both loved NIGHT SHIFT.

I was hooked immediately by the neon New York vibe of the Burt Bacharach theme song by Quarterflash. It’s the last of the 1970′s cinematic Manhattan, replete with 42nd Street tenement taint. And though Henry Winkler had not become a movie star after HEROES and THE ONE AND ONLY, he found a perfect role in a hit film as Chuck Lumley, the milquetoast morgue clerk whose night life is turned upside down by fellow employee Billy “Blaze” Blazejowski, his party polar opposite, as they become semi-reluctant gentle pimps. Winkler is far from the Fonz and his arc from flower to lion is sweet and satisfying as is his relationship with Shelly Long, more than holding her own and very sexy. There are also funny character bits from Vincent Schiavelli, Joe Spinell and Bobby Di Ciccio (“That Barny Rubble. What an actor.”). Howard likes a good ensemble.

As I’ve stated before, there’s only a few times where one witnesses A Star Is Born onscreen and I would include Michael Keaton’s entrance here as one of those, albeit in a minor key. There’s no doubt he’s the real comedic lifeforce in NIGHT SHIFT and he deserved a Best Supporting Actor nomination. Blazejowski is a unique character whose almost every line is quotable. Along with Bill Murray, Keaton ushered in the age of the post-modern smart-ass and I can still recall the pleasure of this moment and the general goodwill vibes of what is probably my favorite Ron Howard film. Is this a great scene or what?

800 Posts

Forgotten Films: Up The Academy (1980)

From the surreal to the stupid…After the record-breaking success of NATIONAL LAMPOON’S ANIMAL HOUSE (1978) kick-started the SNL-raunch comedy genre, the derivative rip-offs began to flood or trickle into drive-ins and theaters across the nation. From the cult ROCK N’ ROLL HIGH SCHOOL (1979) to the amusing HOLLYWOOD KNIGHTS (1980) to the revolting KING FRAT (1979), audiences had to endure or guffaw through the archetypal story of some young misfits who defy academic authority and fight for their right to party. Lacking the National Lampoon/Second City genuine wit of ANIMAL HOUSE, most of these films were as ephemeral as a food fight, but as a sub-cultural entity they still hold some nostalgic interest. Of all the potential competitors, only MAD Magazine stood the chance of breaking the genre’s already established cliches. Since MAD was my satirical bible as a child, I was anxious to see how a movie could be strung together of the magazine’s disparate jabs at pop and consumer culture. How would they bring Sergio Aragone’s tiny margins or Al Jaffee’s wacky inventions to the silver screen? Well, they made it easy and didn’t bother (at least Jack Davis Rickard did the poster art). Instead, Warner Brothers demanded an ANIMAL HOUSE-style story and thus TV writers Jay Tarses and Tom Patchett who wrote many funny episodes of THE DICK VAN DYKE SHOW and THE MARY TYLER MOORE SHOW (and created ALF) reluctantly wrote the script to studio specs with unsurprising results, perhaps more extreme than expected.

The most interesting thing outside the movie’s source material is that it was directed by New York filmmaker Robert Downey Sr., the first underground director to break aboveground in 1970 with the advertising satire hit, PUTNEY SWOPE. Downey never had another commercial success and it’s clear a Hollywood career wasn’t much of an interest to him. Which makes his stint at the helm of a raunchy teen comedy more fascinating and worthy of inspection, if albeit briefly. I saw UP THE ACADEMY at the Roseville Tower Theater on a double-bill with the no-shit superior THE BLUES BROTHERS (ironic given the ANIMAL HOUSE folks involved); I recall running up and down the aisles mixing with my friends as we were wont to do in those days of behind the theater flasks and pipes. Eventually I settled in to watch the movie, which turned out to be as mediocre as I kinda expected but with some moments that registered in my mind forever.

The credits are actually quite charming, a series of toy wooden soldiers domino-ing in slow motion to the somewhat catchy theme “Kicking Up A Fuss” by Blow-Up (the offbeat, excellent soundtrack also features Blondie, Lou Reed, The Kinks, Iggy Pop, Pat Benatar, Jonathan Richman and Cheap Trick). We get our first look at Alfred E. Neuman overseeing the action (mask designed by Rick Baker) and he’s always been kind of a creepy Booji Boy to me, even moreso on film. The character introductions are in rapid labored order, each revealing the origin of their fuck-up status and eventual banishment to Weinberg Military Academy. Ralph Macchio in his debut plays a Mafia scion; Wendell Brown is the good boy with a pregnant girlfriend whose anti-abortion dad insists she get an abortion; Hutch Parker plays the African-American stereotype who macks on his step-moms; and Tommy Citera as the common thief son of an Arabian Prince. They are later joined by Harry Teinowitz as “Rodney Ververgaert” in one of the most obnoxious character intros in film comedy history. And yes, Robert Downey Jr. makes a cameo as a young soccer player.

Our uncharismatic heroes soon bond in the rebellion against the tyranny of the cruel Major Vaughn Liceman, assayed by Ron Leibman, who brings along a cold wind — and an Iggy Pop theme — whenever he enters the room. Although Leibman did indeed famously remove his name from the film after an early screening (so what did the script look like?) he’s easily the best and funniest thing about UP THE ACADEMY. He’s a terrific, underrated actor and he takes the role seriously enough to manifest a real comedic creation here. Even Vincent Canby singled him out in his New York Times review: “Ron Leibman IS ”Up the Academy.” He’s the maniacally evil heart and scroungy soul of this wayward lampoon of a comedy…” His repeated command to “Say it again!” is the most memorable sound bite from the film next to his unexpected “Tickle yo’ ass with a featha?” seduction line to the female soldiers from Butch Academy at a dance ball. Perhaps Leibman wondered what he got himself involved in by the end when he has to wear a pink nightie and feign whipping sexy Stacey Nelkin. Still, he’s magnetic in the role and if there’s any reason for a cult around the film, it’s due to Ron Leibman. Say it again!

Since Robert Downey Sr. was known as a primarily satiric director, the comedy veers from the almost funny to the staggeringly dumb, particularly the jaw-dropping shot of the Arabian youth bowing to cans of oil — the image that my 12 year old brain found most offensive or brilliant. There are some amusing, if obvious bits from Tom Poston as a swishing dance instructor and Barbara Bach’s scene as a sexy weapons expert is one of the better gags. Despite the fact that ANIMAL HOUSE was pegged as a “gross out” comedy, its humor was not as visceral as its rip-offs; there were no fart jokes nor grotesque stereotypes. UP THE ACADEMY doesn’t have any of the nudity or sexual situations of the John Landis classic but it does have a literal turd in a punchbowl. My favorite comedy moment is The Land Mines, a 1950′s doo-wop sweater clad group, as they perform their anachronistic high-pitched song to a fleeing auditorium, with only Major Liceman as their sole appreciative audience. But even this bit is marred by the joke going on and on, replete with stock footage of buildings collapsing. The funniest thing about the scene might be this IMDB review:

“…then there is, I am 100% serious, a two-frame stop-motion sequence of A WOMAN’S SHOES COMING OFF. You read that correctly — the music was so bad, in one frame, the woman’s feet have shoes on. In the very next, the shoes are off!!! Get it, because the music was so bad, her shoes came off! What the F????”

The film ends with the proper humiliation of Major Liceman and the return home of our military heroes. The final scene has to be seen to be believed, with the replaying of the last shot as Leibman yells “Show it again!” over and over. Then we get our scary Alfred E. Neuman shrugging under a cartoon word balloon. Suffice to say, the film was a box-office under-performer and the resultant embarrassment signified the end of a series of MAD Magazine spin-offs, for which we can only be grateful. Naturally, the most critical barbs would come from fans of the periodical that trained a generation how to mistrust mass culture. William Gaines paid Warner $30,000 to remove ALL references to MAD and Alfred E. Neuman from the film for video/cable release (reinstated for DVD). The magazine also had the rare chance to parody themselves:

And that’s about all I have to say about UP THE ACADEMY except that it was fun to revisit it years later and still feel that memory tingle of wild youth as we ran from the alley through the lobby and up the stairs, the suburban chant of Cheap Trick’s “Surrender” echoing through the cavernous Tower Theater, transmitting and reflecting the sense of abandon and rebellion that were the primary functions of these teensploitation epics. What, me worry?

“She’s filled with secrets.”

“If everything else falls apart and I’m broke, in 20 years I’ll still be able to do Twin Peaks conventions.” – Miguel Ferrer, 1990

As Radiator Heaven reminded me this week, has it really been two decades and another century since TWIN PEAKS made its stunning network debut? Being an immense fan of David Lynch, I was intrigued to see how his dark sentimental subversity would translate to the vast wasteland of banal programming. Obviously it translated well, PEYTON PLACE meets BLUE VELVET as Lynch’s populist surrealism fit perfectly within the tube frame. Co-created and written by Mark Frost, who brought his dialogue and narrative gifts to the series, TWIN PEAKS was an unlikely cultural phenom in the Spring of 1990, one of the great years of my life and decade. This seemed like the perfect bellweather for the coming decade after the Reagan hum of the neon ’80′s. And this was the only television show that I would stay home for on a Saturday night. And I did, consecutively for its groundbreaking first season run.

David Lynch directed the two hour premiere, still perhaps the most audacious film ever created for home viewing. I was hooked instantly by Angelo Badalementi’s lush, twangy, achingly beautiful music and the small-town tapestry that Lynch and Frost had weaved for the show’s eclectic cast of characters. The ostensible plot revolved around the brutal mysterious murder of high school sweetheart Laura Palmer (“Wrapped in plastic”) and its effect on the unique Northwestern populace. One of the strengths of the series is that it never let you forget that Laura’s death was an ongoing tragedy and would not be sated by time — the moment when Laura’s mother (Grace Zabriskie) screams into the phone when learning of her daughter’s fate is one of the most indelible, disturbing things I’ve ever seen (I get chills just writing about it). The premiere had numerous Lynchian touches such as Bobby Briggs and friend behind bars as they scowl and bark at good bad boy James Hurley and the mythical Log Lady whose name tells you all. Then there’s that stop light…and Who Killed Laura Palmer?

Of course, that’s only the beginning of the show’s strange journey as Agent Dale Cooper arrives on the scene in black suit and thoughtful attitude; Kyle MacLachlan’s charismatic performance is the glue that sealed the show, and his introduction, dictating his thoughts to the unseen “Diane” as he waxes on the trees and his accomodations, lets you know immediately that Cooper is our hero. He’s a great lead, with his no-nonsense approach and humanistic tendencies such as the pleasure of a damn fine cup of Joe and his concern for the Tibetan people. Balancing his exotic big-city ways is Sheriff Harry Truman, played with strength and warmth by Michael Ontkean, who probably doesn’t get the credit he should as Cooper’s loyal legal companion. The entire ensemble cast is fantastic and each character inspired a cult of his/her own. If forced to choose, I’d pick Cooper and the wicked Benjamin Horne, played with staggering gusto by Richard Beymer, a long way from his humble roots in WEST SIDE STORY (1963). I also dig Colonel Briggs (Don Davis), the sensible spiritual military man trying to reach out to his troubled son, Bobby. But everybody had their moments, and Piper Laurie more than matched Ben Horn for willful duplicity. It was great to see Jack Nance (ERASERHEAD) as her ineffectual husband along with Russ Tamblyn as the oddball shrink who took care of Laura. And yes, TWIN PEAKS was also a very erotic show, Lynch’s sexual themes running alongside the humor and darkness. The siren sextet of Sherilyn Fenn, Lara Flynn Boyle, Sheryl Lee, Madchen Amick, Joan Chen and Peggy Lipton stirred up the hormones as well as the mystery. I love it when Cooper spots Josie Packard (Chen) and asks Truman, “Who’s the babe?”

There’s so many cool things about TWIN PEAKS that it’s impossible to list them all here, suffice to say I became a devoted viewer, eschewing dates or parties for my weekly Saturday night ritual that usually left me frightened by the end of the episode, particularly the reveal of the show’s supernatural villain, “Bob.” I drove around town in my 1964 Cadillac, blasting Badalementi’s best-selling soundtrack and while I never became the kind of fan who would go to conventions, I felt the series was embedded in my esthetic DNA. The mere fact that David Lynch was able to transmute his weird vision into America gave me hope for the decade. The guest directors always surpassed my expectations, especially the Tim Hunter episodes. The show definitely “jumped the shark” in the erratic second season, but there was still brilliance to be witnessed. When I had the pleasure of interviewing Lynch ten years later upon the release of MULHOLLAND DRIVE, I cautiously limited my TWIN PEAKS questions but he didn’t skip a beat, reflecting in his wonderful mid-western twang:

Were you happy with the way Twin Peaks ended?

Oh, it could have gone on forever. The problem was we never meant to follow the murder for a long time. The Black Dahlia has never been solved… these things keep pulling you, and you keep thinking about them and it’s beautiful. So once it’s solved, it really kills the magnet. It’s terrible. We were put under so much pressure by ABC and people in general to solve that, that we killed the goose that laid the golden egg.

I think the little man dancing in Twin Peaks is the weirdest moment in TV history.

I remember where I was when I got that idea. I was at CFI on Seward Street, and we were cutting the pilot for Twin Peaks; I don’t know what time of year it was. We left the cutting room and it might have been summer, it was still light, and I was leaning up against the car talking to Duwayne Dunham who’s the editor… and the car, the metal was warm, my elbows were on the roof, and it was not too warm to be uncomfortable, and Bango! Here it comes.

And yes, Michael Anderson’s “Dance Of The Dream Man” is still the weirdest moment to ever appear on the American home screen. I recall watching it, feeling that blissed-out dream state that only David Lynch could pull off. But below is the scene where I fell in love with TWIN PEAKS, not just because of Miguel Ferrer’s famous introduction as Albert Rosenfield, but the great moment between Dale Cooper and Harry Truman at 0:58-1:06. The sweet decency of the characters combined with the world’s grim darkness made for the most subversive, brilliant television show of the 20th century.

Friday Song: Duran Duran

To help whisk in Spring, here’s “My Own Way,” one of the most lively DD songs from their 1982 New Romantic masterwork, “Rio.” This first version had a more distinct disco-string sound, and the 12-inch  — played live in the studio and not remixed — is one of their finest hours. I think it’s the best of their many fantastic “Night Versions” — even though the band weren’t happy with the first release and recorded a much more jangly version for “Rio.” I particularly loved the exotic 12-inch sleeves designed by Assorted Images, reflecting the global late bar dance floor jet set nuclear poetics of one of my very favorite bands. April showers get out of my way…

Enemy Mine

This is why regulations are so evil. Because global-warming deniers and ex-Bush officials at Massey Energy didn’t want to spend all that wasted money to make their dangerous mines less dangerous:

The Upper Big Branch mine in Monday’s tragedy had the worst safety record of any underground coal mine in its county, according to a story by USA TODAY colleague Thomas Frank, citing federal documents. On 54 occasions since Jan. 1, 2009, he reports, federal inspectors shut part of it because of safety violations.

It has been cited for 3,007 safety violations since 1995, and its owner, Richmond-based Massey Energy, is contesting 353 of them, says an analysis of Mine Safety and Health Administration data by the Think Progress blog of the Center for American Progress Action Fund, a self-described “progressive think tank.”

Easter/Passover Theatre: The Ninth Configuration (1980)

Dracula is the gothic Jesus. At least that seems to be one of the bouncing metaphors in William Peter Blatty’s brilliant comedy horror surrealist existential religious allegory, THE NINTH CONFIGURATION (1980), also released in one of many versions as TWINKLE, TWINKLE KILLER KANE (the title of his 1966 novel that he rewrote in 1978) through the years. A movie sui generis that truly defies cinematic antecedents, laced with Blatty’s catholic use of shocks and spirituality along with a film fan’s love of genre tropes. I’ve been reading (without spoilers) about this strange film for years and figured it would come to my viewing screen someday. Without conscious thought it ended up on my doorstep on Friday just in time for Easter and Passover. Or was it an accident?

The first screenplay surfaced in 1964 and although it had much interest, it remained unfilmed until the late 70′s, which is a long incubation period. Blatty put up half of the film’s 4 million dollar budget and somehow PepsiCo put up the other half with the proviso that it be shot in Budapest. The dark, fairy-tale like setting adds to the film’s mystique. It’s doubtful anybody but the author could have helmed this utterly idiosyncratic work, Luis Bunuel meets Mad Magazine. Without giving too much away (which I shan’t — you need to experience this firsthand), the surface story is about Colonel Hudson Kane, an army psychologist coming to oversee a castle tucked away in the misty hills of California where the patients are all troubled military men. His major problem child is Colonel Cutshaw, a NASA astronaut who flipped out before his space shot (“The man in the moon fucked my sister!”) and who seeks to believe in a world beyond evil. Kane puts into action his own style of therapy, giving into the men’s wild demands, from a flying jet-pack to Hamlet performed by dogs. All of this proto-Cuckoo’s Nest activity comprises the first two acts of the film, and it’s easily some of the most dazzling, pitch-perfect comedy that I’ve ever seen. Blatty is not only a master of Hawksian and Marxian repartee, he knows rhythm and composition, the 2.35:1 frame beautifully lensed by Gerry Fischer (Vilmos Zsigmond was to be the cinematographer). This is a great looking film, one of the last of the 70′s, with indelible images you’ll never forget.

The major strength of THE NINTH CONFIGURATION is probably the wonderful ensemble cast led by Stacy Keach and Scott Wilson, with incredible support from Ed Flanders, Jason Miller, Joe Spinell, Robert Loggia, Moses Gunn, and Steve Sandor among others. Stacy Keach is the tortured Dr. Kane, an intense part that Keach knows exactly how to play. It actually reminded me (perhaps too much) of his catatonic professor in END OF THE ROAD (1970). Still, Keach is terrific and just when you get used to his quiet nature, he unveils a powerhouse side in one of my favorite scenes. Although Michael Moriarty was originally cast as Cutshaw (and his form of jazz acting would have been perfect too), Scott Wilson stepped up to fill his astronaut boots. Wilson is one of the most unknown, regarded, chameleonic actors around; some might place his name but not his films, from his breakthrough role IN COLD BLOOD (1967) to THE GREAT GATSBY (1974) to THE LAST SAMURAI (2003). I don’t even recognize him. Yet he simply owns the role as the faithless NASA man, and due to Blatty’s machine-gun back-and-forth dialogue, he’s the most interesting, hilarious character.

Every actor here shines, and Ed Flanders (ST. ELSEWHERE) as the other resident psychiatrist delivers a stunning performance that truly deserved a Best Supporting Actor award (although the whole cast deserves its own ensemble Oscar); you can’t not be impressed by his sad, wistful face and voice. Jason Miller brings his own gift for wry comedy as the director of the doggie Hamlet, and it’s always a treat to see Joe Spinell as his wise-acre partner; Neville Brand (EATEN ALIVE) gets a terrific part as the Captain disgusted that these men are allowed to run around like…lunatics. For fanboy completists, even Tommy Atkins shows up in a sturdy role. And Richard Lynch as a biker! I’ve never seen a movie where so many actors pop up to steal each scenes from one another. You can see why the script has been adapted for the stage. Although THE NINTH CONFIGURATION never received wide audience attention, it still received three Golden Globe nominations — which Blatty says in the audio commentary makes him that year’s Pia Zadora. It’s an instant cult classic.

To say more would be a sin, and you must viddy this so we can talk about it later. The film was released under various titles with different version but is available in a “Director’s Cut” here. Be forewarned: the religious subtext and discussion might tweak some of your own spiritual views, but William Peter Blatty knows how to practice before he preaches. You don’t have to agree with his suppositions, and he certainly takes you on one hell of a ride. I mean, just when you think THE NINTH CONFIGURATION is only a satirical gothic Christ allegory, suddenly you’re watching the best choreographed, most cathartic biker scene that American International Pictures never made. Amen.

Friday Song: Astrud Gilberto/Stan Getz

What better way to leap into Spring (is that a redundancy?) than with this archetypal 1964 bossa-nova classic that launched a million cocktails in lounges around the world….

Woody Allen’s ANHEDONIA On DVD!

Yes, the first cut of ANHEDONIA — which was later retitled ANNIE HALL — will be released on DVD later this year in a special two-disc set according to the mad geniuses at Criterion. I have been longing most of my film life to see this fabled two and a half hour version that resembled 8 1/2 more than the “nervous romance” that was unveiled to critical and audience huzzahs in 1977. Woody Allen and Marshall Brickman’s original cut features scenes and characters deleted from the final release, including the “intellectuals versus Knicks” basketball game; a guided journey through Hell (later re-used in DECONSTRUCTING HARRY (2002); Danny Aiello’s brawl in a deli; Shelly Duvall and Woody in a Garden Of Eden sequence; and the scene I’ve been longing for, a black & white sci-fi parody called INVASION OF THE ELEMENT, with Woody’s parents nervous about a black family moving into their neighborhood.

Editor Ralph Rosenblum apparently made one negative from the first cut and stowed it away for posterity, not even telling Woody Allen, who was merciless as Kubrick with deleted footage. Strangely, almost the entire set of lobby cards issued for ANNIE HALL contain only shots from this first cut! More details to come, and I’m hoping down the road we can have a whole new disc of deleted Woody footage, including Michael Keaton’s scenes in THE PURPLE ROSE OF CAIRO before he was replaced by Jeff Daniels. After all, we need these eggs. For more information, click here.