Hard Times

Is there anything left for AC/DC? Staff writer Sheridan Rowan assesses the conditions that prevail.

I suppose it shouldn’t be any sort of surprise that Angus Young, the last remaining original member of AC/DC, hired – to replace ailing vocalist Brian Johnson – a dyed-in-the-wool head case, a wingnut who, among other things, has written racist, homophobic lyrics, and attacked a fan mid-show, precipitating a full scale riot.

He’s also a misogynistic wife-beater. But even that unpleasant factoid had no bearing on Young’s decision to soldier on in the face of total disaster. The guitarist now holds the dubious distinction of replacing three members of AC/DC in the last 19 months, the rock’n’roll equivalent of the Saturday Night Massacre.

Young’s actions since the notoriously reticent band finally admitted that their rhythm guitarist is leaving the band have been, at best, predictably bewildering. Anyone possessing even a modicum of integrity simply would have called it a day after the heart and soul of the band, Malcolm Young, was hospitalized with dementia at the age of 61. But integrity has been in short supply for AC/DC in the last quarter century, as lackluster, generic sub-efforts like Ballbreaker and Stiff Upper Lip have made abundantly clear.

AC/DC haven’t been an actual band for 20 years. Bands are made up of bandmates, and have a muse, and write and play music because it diminishes their souls if they don’t. Once upon a time, AC/DC fit that bill. But the more records they sold, and the more stadiums they filled, the more paranoid and insular the Young brothers became, shutting everyone out (often times their own band members), sacking managers, even taking over lyric-writing duties from Brian Johnson so they had complete, total control over every aspect of the band (and all the royalties).

Rather, this is a business, a company, with Angus as CEO of AC/DC, Inc. And this CEO has no reason to shutter an otherwise decrepit company, because somehow the fans keep showing up, no questions asked, no matter the number of ringers Young stacks the lineup with, no matter how bland each new release – separated, on average, by five years at this point – sounds. Axl Rose played his first few shows with AC/DC sitting in a chair, nursing a fractured ankle back to health. I can’t imagine what the people watching those shows were thinking: I paid $100 for this…? A 61 year-old man in a schoolboy outfit who moves at about 1/15^th the speed he used to, and a singer who can’t even walk?

Yes, at 61, Angus is still wearing his schoolboy outfit, despite the fact that he barely gets around anymore, and is painful to watch. This may sound sacrilegious to most, and even a tad ageist; what is this group about without Angus and his Schoolboy Outfit? Isn’t that the very symbol of AC/DC? Isn’t that what the fans turn out for?

I suppose so. And for a long time, I was willing to defend Young’s obdurate devotion to his long-since obsolete role-playing, through the flacid 90s, even into the aughts. But at some point it really does become scary. I speak as someone who has loved this band for over 35 years, whose life trajectory was altered by this band. And I’m telling you, even I’m at a point where it makes me tired just looking at AC/DC 2016, nevermind listening to the AC/DC-by-numbers dreck they dish out twice a decade.

On the latter score, Michael Hann recently went the charitable route: “(AC/DC) had entered the realms of those groups for whom each album was a potential return to form, rather than a new landmark. It’s not that they were making bad records, more that no one was turning to Black Ice or Ballbreaker instead of Back in Black or Highway to Hell.”

That's an extremely gracious way of pointing out that latter-era AC/DC albums are the pits. He goes on to call Rock or Bust “perfectly serviceable.” Let’s pause here for a moment and give this some serious thought: can you imagine anyone, back in the band’s heyday, referring to Highway to Hell or Back in Black as “perfectly serviceable?” This is what it’s come to for AC/DC, Inc: a sycophantic fan base bludgeoned into accepting, after decades of mediocrity, anything the band throws out there. Allow me to finally cast some light on an unpleasant truth: AC/DC haven’t released a good record in 35 years. They have certainly released albums during that time that sold well, but those are meaningless statistics. In a world where people cut each other’s heads off in the name of a supernatural male deity, and people who are the very embodiment of ignorance and narcissism have a serious shot at getting elected to the highest office in the most powerful country on earth, it’s not surprising that millions of slack-jawed miscreants paid money for an album containing the lyrics “we met some girls, some dancers who gave a good time – broke all the rules, played all the fools, yeah yeah they, they, they blew our minds.”

A few weeks back I watched a clip of Axl/DC performing Hell Ain’t a Bad Place to Be, and sat in disbelief when it came time for Angus’ solo: it was, note for note, the same solo he’s been playing since 1977. Same solo. Same outfit. Same striptease act mid-show. Everything the same, for years now, carefully choreographed, with no tolerance for spontaneity. No interest in it, even. The playbook is tattered, its binding spent: release featureless album every five years, tour the world making piles and piles of money playing the same songs and solos over and over and over again.

For his part, Rose has been uncharacteristically gracious, telling Rolling Stone he wants to do right by the band and their fans. And certainly his range is made to order for AC/DC’s requirements. It’s nice seeing such a world-class creep being deferential for once. But at the end of the day, each new AC/DC story is just one more sad piece of evidence proving beyond a reasonable doubt that this band should have hung it up years ago.

The latest such story comes from Cliff Williams, AC/DC’s longtime bassist, who announced he is leaving after the current tour. “Losing Malcolm, the thing with Phil and now with Brian, it’s a changed animal,” he very accurately said during an interview with Gulfshore Life. “It’s been what I’ve known for the past 40 years, but after this tour I’m backing off of touring and recording.”

There’s no reason to believe Angus Young won’t replace Williams and cynically forge ahead with another pointless album and world tour in five years. Then again, maybe this is finally enough for the diminutive guitarist. Maybe after the tour is over he’ll use those five years to reflect on the unfamiliar faces surrounding him on stage every night and realize there really does come a time to call it a day.

But whichever way it goes won’t erase the very sad spectacle of AC/DC 2016: the band as Monty Python’s Black Knight, its limbs hacked away, still mindlessly making a ruckus long after relevance slipped from its grasp.

Movies Crying Out for a Special Edition + Commentary, Part I

Blu-ray was practically a dead medium the day it debuted, but we here at Rantin' Russell are reluctant to give it up. We love our special editions, what with their commentary tracks and documentaries, dazzling us with all manner of factoids we were unaware of, filling our brains with all sorts of useless information that makes it hard for us to fit in at parties and hold down day jobs.

Before Blu-rays inexorably slip ignominiously into history's dustbin, we'd like to see special editions of these movies:

King Kong ‘76

Released in December of 1976 to great fanfare (“The most exciting original motion picture event of all time” the posters promised us), Dino DeLaurentiis’ King Kong quickly became everyone’s favorite whipping boy, from Famous Monsters editor Forrest J. Ackerman, who hoped “50 years from now it is a Lost Film that stays lost,” to the Medved brothers, who called it a “blundering blob of a movie.”

Such were the emotions producer DeLaurentiis stirred up in 1975 when he just barely beat out Universal for the rights to remake the beloved beauty-killed-the-beast flick. King Kong was somewhat of an oddity by the early 70s; despite Toho productions’ King Kong vs. Godzilla and King Kong Escapes, no one had attempted to remake the story from the original 1933 classic. Strange indeed for an industry that frequently remade and reinvented the other big-name monsters like Dracula, Frankenstein, the Mummy, and the Hunchback of Notre Dame. A new Dracula movie every few years was par for the course.

A new King Kong movie was sacrilege, however, and drooling, obsessive fan boys waited on the periphery, knives at the ready, when DeLaurentiis and director John Guillermin hurriedly put their movie into production to avoid any last-ditch legal blockades from Universal. Rushed into a December 17, 1976 release date, and featuring a 40’ tall mechanical Kong that was so embarrassingly fake-looking that it only appeared onscreen for a few seconds, DeLaurentiis’ King Kong was an easy target for old-time Kong fanatics who felt that having Rick Baker in a gorilla suit was an absolute affront to the original’s pioneering special effects.

Forty years later – especially in light of Peter Jackson’s ghastly 2005 remake – it’s easier to look more kindly upon Guillermin’s baby. King Kong ’76 isn’t a great movie by any stretch, but it certainly isn’t a blundering blob of a movie. It’s far, far more entertaining than Jackson’s effort, and its provenance is tailor-made for a special edition Blu-ray. DeLaurentiis’ battles with Universal to remake the movie would make a highly entertaining documentary by themselves.

Additionally, an “Extended Edition” of Kong ’76 aired on NBC in 1978 and 1983. It’s hard to

imagine in this day and age, but back in the pre-internet days of everything being available on a smartphone in a mere second or two, NBC airing Kong ’76 was a huge event. Over 45 minutes of extra footage that was deleted from the theatrical release was added to lure viewers in, and it worked spectacularly. A ratings bonanza for NBC.

For those of us who came of age in the late 70s/early 80s, this was the version that settled into our neural pathways, so much so that when the movie was finally released on VHS in the early 90s, we were certain we’d been ripped off, certain - because it lacked the extra TV footage - that it was, in fact, an edited version.

Director John Guillermin just died in September of 2015, but the three main stars – Jessica Lange, Jeff Bridges, and Charles Grodin – are still alive. Now that would be a commentary track. More than any other movie on this list, DeLaurentiis’ King Kong needs – nay, deserves – a special edition Blu-ray.

So you see, we're set up perfectly for two discs. On disc one you have the original theatrical release, three commentary tracks (one with Lange/Bridges/Grodin, one with Rick Baker, one with René Auberjonois and Jack O’Halloran), two or three documentaries about the battle for the rights to the movie, making the movie, and the movie’s legacy. Maybe even a featurette on the World Trade Center’s Twin Towers. And, on disc two, the long awaited Extended Edition, with an introduction by Ray Morton, or some such Kong scholar. Voilà. Sign us up.

Until this happens, take a detailed look at the Extended Edition here.

Tuff Turf

Everyone’s still alive. Director Fritz Kiersch. Spader. Downey. Richards. Panchito Gomez. Paul Mones. I realize Downey is a very busy man, having to count the millions dumped on his lawn for appearing in farcical superhero movies, and defending scumbags like Mel Gibson from the decent people of the world, but Olivia Barash? What the Christ is keeping her from sitting down one fine weekday afternoon and illuminating us about the trials and tribulations of working with Dale Gonyea?

Those of us who’ve stood up for this Donald Borchers (Meatballs 4, Leprechaun 2) production over the years deserve some insight into choreographing the warehouse dance scene, working with the late Jim Carroll, and filming all over Los Angeles. In fact, this movie is practically begging for a “Tuff Turf locations, Then and Now” documentary. Get on it, people. What the fuck.

Saturday the 14^th

“The point,” founder Russell Bladh tells us in an email from Kentucky, “isn’t that Saturday the 14^th is badly written and tedious. Quite the contrary. The point is, Kari Michaelson.”

Russell insisted we include Saturday the 14^th on this list because of his undying, somewhat obsessive love for Kari Michaelson in this movie, especially in the final third, where she appears in what he refers to as her “peasant dress” in the movie's party scene. He is on record saying she is, right here in this film, the apotheosis of feminine beauty.

Russell was always very possessive of Ms. Michaelson, disturbingly so for someone who has never actually met the actress-turned-motivational speaker. Staff writer Nolk Landen was once critical of her in an episode of Gimme a Break, and Russell had to be restrained from cold-clocking him. He finally left the office at two in the afternoon, muttering something about “I got your break right here, you little twat,” and didn’t return for five working days. We didn’t hear from him once during that time.

At any rate, Saturday the 14^th exists only as a cheapie DVD from New Concorde. Director Howard Cowen sadly died at the far too young age of 56 in 1999, but the surprisingly deep lead cast – including Richard Benjamin, Paula Prentiss, and Jeffrey Tambor – are all still with us. We’re not saying some big, revered company like Criterion should put out a special edition with all their customary bells and whistles, but yeah, why not? Get Benjamin, Prentiss, Tambor and Michelson together to talk about how a movie like this ever gets made in the first place. Now that he has two wildly successful sitcoms under his belt, I'm sure Jeffrey Tambor would love to spend 90 minutes talking about a two-bit, unsuccessful tax write-off that no one anywhere even remembers. Benjamin’s other horror-spoof movie, 1979’s Love at First Bite, was recently released on Blu-ray by Shout! with no extras whatsoever. He could talk about that movie during any lulls in the Saturday the 14^th commentary. The way we see it, everyone wins.

Corvette Summer

The news in the spring of 1978 that Mark Hamill was returning to theaters roused such excitement from those of us born in between 1965 and 1970 that it didn’t matter one bit the movie we were all waiting for had nothing whatsoever to do with Star Wars. It was Mark Hamill, for Pete’s sake, Luke Skywalker hisself! How could it not shake us to the very core of our beings? And like all kiddies who exist in that strange, lovely nether region between innocent childhood and post-adolescent cynicism, we convinced ourselves after repeated trips to the theater that, in fact, Corvette Summer – directed by Matthew Robbins, who had a small part in THX 1138 and also directed The Legend of Billie Jean; starring Mark Hamill, Annie Potts, and even featuring a Danny Bonaduce sighting – was every bit the game changer we’d built it up to be in our starved-for-anything-Star-Wars little brains.

But then we reached that post-adolescent, cynical stage and realized no, Corvette Summer was definitely not what we thought it was. Fairly awful, actually. Mark Hamill, like any working actor, needed a gig to pay the bills, and I’m sure Matthew Robbins was only too happy to throw the dice on a dismal little movie about teenagers and muscle cars, knowing that just one year earlier, his leading man starred in the biggest movie in the universe. Maybe Hamill’s name on the marquee would sell some tickets.

It certainly sold a few more than it otherwise might have. But for a long time Corvette Summer was the bastard stepchild hiding in the closet of Mark Hamill’s storied career. Freakazoid Scientologist Beck wrote a song called “Corvette Bummer.” The MST3K crew mentioned it in their spoof of  The Brain That Wouldn’t Die.

But the always unpredictable American public, jeebus bless 'em,  have come out of the woodwork these last 15 years or so, giving the movie 4.5 stars out of 5 on amazon. “Deeper than you might think” is the headline of one review. “My favorite movie in the summer of 1977” says another (he meant 1978, but who can blame him for being so excited he got the year wrong?).

Mark Hamill seems like a good-natured bloke in interviews. Annie Potts teaches at Stephens College. Who do you have to blow at Criterion to get these two and Matthew Robbins in a booth to record a commentary track and tell us about filming locations and what it was like working with Eugene Roche of Soap fame? Let’s GO, people.

The Monster of Piedras Blancas

Tough one, admittedly, as everyone involved is dead. Director Irvin Berwick, who directed staff favorite Hitch Hike to Hell in 1977, died in 1997. Producer Jack Kevan also died in 1997. Sexpot Jeanne Carmen died in 2007.

Indeed, we’d be happy if Monster of Piedras Blancas got released at all; at press time, it is available neither as a DVD nor a Blu-ray. This is how we treat a movie with one of the coolest looking monsters ever? Shameful. The cast and crew of TMOPB had wildly disparate and fascinating careers, so there'd be plenty to talk about during a commentary track and/or documentary; director Berwick worked as a dialog director and coach for three decades, and still found time to direct seven movies. Writer H. Haile Chace directed the lurid Damaged Goods in 1961 (also known as V.D.), a favorite amongst psychotronic fans about the dangers of venereal disease and prostitutes. A bona-fide (and stomach-churningly graphic) educational film is inserted midway through the movie for good measure. Radio actor Les Tremayne is adored by everyone on staff not just for his performances in War of the Worlds, The Angry Red Planet, and The Monolith Monsters, but also for his turn as "Mentor" in the beloved Shazam! Saturday morning TV series. Don Sullivan, playing Jeanne Carmen's boyfriend Fred, appeared in Teenage Zombies, The Rebel Set, AND The Giant Gila Monster, where he sings "The Mushroom Song." This guy may still be alive, too; we can't find an obit or death date for him anywhere.

Ms. Carmen actually turns in a pretty solid performance for someone who was essentially a 50s cheesecake pin-up model. She's much livelier than Sullivan, she has a skinny dipping scene (sorry lads, no nudity...), and for a short time, when a biopic on her life was gaining steam, she indicated she wanted Scarlett Johansson or Kate Bosworth to play her. "Either one of these girls have the talent to pull it off," said she. And who are we to disagree? To date no movie has materialized, although her son, whose grammar is an absolute abomination (see the letters page to Monster! #2), wrote a biography about his late mother, Jeanne Carmen: MY WILD, WILD LIFE as a New York Pin Up Queen.

So yes, this picture is due the royal treatment with all the accoutrements; Kino Lorber or Shout! Factory really, really needs to record commentary by Tom Weaver or Chris Alexander, or some such obsessive nut (Don Sullivan, if he's still out there somewhere), and throw in a “Monster of Piedras Blancas Locations, Then and Now” documentary for those of us who obsess over such things (which is to say, the entire Ranting Russell staff). Do you realize this movie was shot entirely on location, in Cayucos and Lompoc, California? Wouldn't you like to see how they look now vs. 1959? We sure fucking would.

The Last Chase

Horrible beyond words, yes, and yet, an historical artifact at this point. Buildings over 50 years old are eligible for historic status, and while The Last Chase isn’t yet 50, we’d still like to see it properly preserved for posterity. Aged, former racecar driver motors across a dystopian, totalitarian America in the future where all cars have been banned, heading for Free California, which has broken off from the U.S. and become its own country. Hey man, this movie has Christopher Makepeace! Wonderkid of the (late) 70s, who was poised, after Meatballs and My Bodyguard, to become the Next Big Thing! The Last Chase may very well be the reason why he didn’t become the Next Big Thing!

As luck would have it, director Maryn Burke, star Lee Majors and Makepeace are still alive. Into the booth, gentlemen, to record your eagerly-anticipated commentary track. Did you do any promotional tours with the 1973 Porsche 917/30 CanAm Spyder? Did you ever feel guilty or just plain dumb about the utterly heinous product placement with the Coca Cola signs in the opening shot? Did Majors ever worry this was a career-ender? Did anyone ever watch the dailies of the scenes in the war room for the police state’s surveillance system and say, “we can’t do this, it’s really fucking stupid?” Did any of you ever feel like a total heel, taking part in what is essentially a blatantly anti-public transportation, anti-environmental screed? Did big oil pay you off to make it? Was it your intention all along to make a poor man’s Damnation Alley, if such a thing is even possible? How about the scene towards the end with Makepeace and Majors, that’s lifted directly from Meatballs? We’re sure there are 20, maybe 30 people in the world who wonder about these things.

Note to the file: there are no buildings in the movie like the ones in the poster.