Charles B. Griffith (1930 - 2007)

Charles B. Griffith in 1968.

Watching the supplementary features on the new “Supercharged Edition” of the Roger Corman-produced EAT MY DUST last week, I was somewhat surprised that writer/director Charles B. Griffith hadn’t been interviewed. After all, he made an appearance on Buena Vista Home Video’s DEATH RACE 2000 special edition DVD a couple of years back, and he had a lesser hand in the way that film eventually turned out (in that his best ideas in the script department never made it before cameras). Had he been rewritten out of his place in obscurant film history so badly that the producers handling such featurettes didn’t bother to contact the man calling the shots on this New World Pictures production on the day-to-day basis? Well, today, I’m hoping that it wasn’t due to a long-term illness, as I’ve found out on my daily visit to Tim Lucas’ Video Watchblog that Charles B. Griffith -- the caustic voice behind the greatest of Roger Corman films, both as director AND producer -– has passed away.

I was nineteen when my path crossed with Mr. Griffith. On a whim (perhaps after seeing and marveling at ROCK ALL NIGHT for the umpteenth time), I sent an e-mail to the webmaster of Griffith’s barebones website, expressing my enthusiasm for the screenwriter’s work and my interest in interviewing him some day; the webmaster wrote back to inform me that he passed along the message, and… I thought that would be it. Fortunately, I was pleasantly mistaken as Griffith sent an easygoing reply the next day thanking me for the kind comments and agreeing to as long an interview as I wish -– enclosing his telephone number at the end of the message.

Now somewhat faint, as I never had the opportunity to interview anybody before but was confident enough in my abilities and in my knowledge of film history to pursue the field, I researched what would best record a conversation through the telephone and constructed a number of questions on three, single-spaced pages. To be perfectly honest, I took inspiration from two sources: Tom Weaver’s countless invaluable and informative books interviewing the B-Movie stars and creative talent of yesteryear, as well as David Sheff’s 1980 “Playboy” interview with John Lennon, in which the author brought up every single Beatles song and asked the genesis and development of each. I figured I would do the same, with produced and unproduced screenplays alike, stray second unit directing work, films in which Griffith served as sole director, and even random, strange unclassifiable ideas that never materialized into full-blown scripts or novels (the form Griffith gravitated towards as his screenplays increasingly became too long and convoluted to develop as film properties). At the back of my head though (since I’d already written a number of scripts) was the fact that here was a chance to have the equivalency of a Master’s Class on the nature of screenwriting by a writer that I greatly admired.

The results of the interview (be kind, it was my first!) are here:

I wanted to concentrate on the films that have been given the short shrift in the few previously published interviews with Griffith in the past, but to not leave out these established classics (such THE LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS or A BUCKET OF BLOOD). I tried to touch upon such drive-in highlights as ROCK ALL NIGHT and TEENAGE DOLL, but even the Cannon-produced DR. HECKYL AND MR. HYPE, which remained a film Griffith was extremely proud of and never tired of talking about. His passion and commitment to that project was palpable even twenty-some years after it had been made, and even though my individual evaluations may hold it in lesser regards to his other work, I still find it a wonderfully inventive, gag-fueled film miscast with Oliver Reed (Griffith wanted Dick Van Dyke) in the central role.

Given the fact that it hasn’t really received a proper home video release, Griffith was puzzled at how I’d seen the film in the first place considering I wasn’t even alive when the film was shown in theaters. I told him I had a less-than-legal grey market copy, and after hearing the excitement in his voice about his desire to see it again, I agreed to send him a copy (he told me that he diligently checked the TV guides in the hopes of it turning up, but that it had not since the ‘80s).

The bitterness in Griffith that Lucas hints at in his vibrantly written remembrance could be detected, but strangely, and not surprisingly, was often quickly followed up by remorse; after letting a few nasty things slip about Corman (and others), and his suspicions that certain unproduced works had been ripped off whole sale, Griffith asked if I could please not use these allegations in the published form as he didn’t particularly mean any of it (and I didn’t use any of this).

After our close to three-hour interview (the second part mostly involving the craft of screenwriting, which is something I’ve held off on trying to get published for some reason), I hesitantly uttered that I hoped we could stay in touch, and Griffith delightfully agreed. I sent him a tape of DR. HECKYL AND MR. HYPE and he wrote back some scattered and random thoughts about his viewing. He also mentioned that I should be reimbursed for this effort –- even offering to send me an original prop from one of the many films he’s written or worked on (“though”, he said, “most of the good ones are already gone”). As much as the film enthusiast in me would have loved such a gift (or even to know WHICH film the item would have been from), I just couldn’t accept it – he was a hero of mine and this was a film he no doubt made with a lot of sweat and hard work, and the least I could do was to run off a copy for him.

Around this time, Griffith was planning to visit some friends in Australia, and to take in a viewing of a brief run of the musical stage version of THE LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS. I guess I e-mailed him a question (concerning what, I can’t remember) when he had literally just missed his flight due to a misplaced passport. After briefly answering my query, Griffith followed up with a two-page diatribe about his aggravations in “tearing up the house looking for this passport”. I wish I could post it all here, but it contains some personal information that I would feel iffy about broadcasting in such a public manner, so I’ll have to keep it hidden -– still, I’m not exaggerating (well, not by much) when I say it had it had the originality, insightfulness and ferocious wit of some of his stories at its center. Still, through it all, Griffith remained bemused and amused by it all.

At the close of this message (one of our last exchanges), Griffith related that:

“and now you have cleared my brains and given me a new mood to write the two comedy jobs I have working!
Thanks again,
Chuck”

That –- for one brief moment -- I helped him get something off of his chest in order to start work on two new CHARLES B. GRIFFITH creations will remain my favourite memory of my brief time quasi-knowing him at this distance.

To invoke and reinterpret Quentin Tarantino’s dedication at the front page of the screenplay to DEATH PROOF:

Your work has always –- and forever will -– “Rock All Night”, daddy-o.

Myrt and Marge (Al Boasberg, 1933)

Myrtle Vail (left) as Myrt and Donna Damerel (right) as Marge.

“Myrt and Marge” began as a popular radio show sponsored by Wrigley’s chewing gum (with the leading character’s last names being that of their popular products: Spear and Minter); the series later featured STRANGER ON A TRAIN’s favorite psychopath Robert Walker between the years of 1940-42.

The story in the film, as from what I know about the radio show, concerns a failing vaudeville troupe, and the new blood (represented by Marge, first introduced here to Myrt, making it an "origins" tale) hired to shake and whip things up into a success once again. This is where the similarities between the two end, as Ted Healy and his Three Stooges show up as knockabout, knuckleheaded stagehands, and Ray Hedges essays the role of costume handler Clarence, an effeminate who needs to be told not to try on the women’s clothes (“Selfish!” he playfully intones to the girls).

Regrettably, this innocuous programmer that’s barely over an hour and marks Myrt and Marge's only feature film, is not as frenetic/free-wheeling, or as funny for that matter, as LOOK WHO’S LAUGHING and HERE WE GO AGAIN, Allan Dwan’s two radio-to-film adaptations of the Fibber McGee & Molly show (with both films featuring memorable turns by ventriloquist Charlie McCarthy). Here, the most conspicuous problem may be the incongruously contrasting tones that rub up against one another: namely, the unfortunate lapses into heart-tugging territory (the attendant feelings that come with growing older, with Myrt realizing that she’s the reason the troupe’s not doing as well as before) that are followed in short proximity by routine eye-gauging courtesy of Moe, Larry and Curly.

The most curious factoid here – indeed, why I watched the film in the first place - is Myrt and Marge’s relation to cult cinema royalty: Myrt being Myrtle Vail, grandmother of Charles B. Griffith, Roger Corman’s treasured scriptwriter back in the day, and Donna Damerel (Marge) being Griffith’s mother (tragically, she passed away after giving birth to her third child in 1941). Myrtle later turned up in the Griffith-scripted A BUCKET OF BLOOD and occupied a sizable role (and unforgettable performance) as the pill-popping nuisance of a mother to Seymour Krelboyne in the THE LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS. Always actively involved in her grandson’s contributions to low-budget exploitation filmmaking, she even mailed the script for CREATURE OF THE HAUNTED SEA to Puerto Rico when Corman requested Griffith do another reworking of NAKED PARADISE (Corman, 1957). Myrtle passed away in 1978 at the age of 90.

I’ve never heard of co-writer/director Boasberg, but even though his direction isn’t particularly remarkable, it’s interesting to find out that he began as a writer for Buster Keaton and others, and continued to work in this capacity even when he moved into directing, something not entirely widespread during this period in Hollywood.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

More information on director Al Boasberg, from a subsection of the Library of Congress’ website that deals exclusively with vaudeville and variety show comedy (the link also contains copies of actual telegrams of gags written by Boasberg and sent to Bob Hope!):

“Al Boasberg (1892--1937) was one of the most prolific comedy writers for variety acts. He wrote for vaudeville, nightclub appearances, motion pictures, and radio. At one time Al Boasberg was said to be receiving royalties from 150 different acts. Boasberg wrote for Bob Hope's acts in 1930 and 1931. Among his other clients were Block and Sully, the Marx Brothers, Sophie Tucker, Eddie Cantor, Jack Benny and Burns and Allen. Boasberg was responsible for the treasured Burns and Allen routine, "Lamb Chops," and the stateroom scene in the Marx Brothers' A Night at the Opera. At the time of Boasberg's death, Jack Benny called him "America's greatest natural gagman.”

Roger Corman turns 80 - ROCK ALL NIGHT

Many thanks to Tim Lucas for spreading the word regarding this momentous occasion
--------------------------------------------------------------------

AIP founders Samuel Arkoff and James H. Nicholson cashed in on the initial boom of the Rock ‘N’ Roll craze with this 1957 production, directed by Roger Corman and written by Charles B. Griffith from an Emmy award winning episode of “Jane Wyman Presents: The Fireside Theatre” entitled “The Little Guy”. Unfortunately, the meager budget Corman had to work with couldn’t accommodate the larger acts of the day – say, Chuck Berry or Bill Haley and His Comets, who appeared with some frequency in the Alan Freed-Rock ‘N’ Roll pictures – so the most popular group booked for the film were The Platters, and that was only for one day because they were in the middle of a tour. The group would also appear in Corman’s CARNIVAL ROCK (also 1957), a BLUE ANGEL-inspired tale of a night club owner’s burgeoning obsession with a vocalist (Susan Cabot) employed at his establishment. Cult favorite Dick Miller had the small, but pivotal role of the owner’s loyal best friend, though it was nothing like his impressive star turn here in ROCK ALL NIGHT.

Although the consensus seems to favor Miller as the lovable loser Walter Paisley in A BUCKET TO BLOOD as his ultimate performance in a Corman-directed film, I’d instead have to opt for his role here, as Shorty, the petulant “little guy” of the originally titled television episode who seems to carry the innate ability of pitting friends up against one another wherever he goes. And, in fact, Miller himself thought he did fine work here, as he took out a full-page ad in “Variety” at the time of its release with the hope of attracting some attention (and more acting parts). He didn’t. And so he went back to Corman, who would continue to graciously hire him for both his own films as director and those he would later produce for New World Pictures.

But back to ROCK ALL NIGHT -

We first spot Dick Miller as Shorty on the peripheral of things inside The Olde Roche, the nightclub in which The Platters perform “I’m Sorry” and “He’s Mine” at the start of the picture, idly observing a drunken conversation between the cherubic character actor (and director) Bruno VeSota and his girl companion. Miller’s eyes carry contempt for “this drunken phony” and when he speaks up to insult VeSota for leaving out the punch-line of a joke he’s telling to his companion, Miller’s presence commands attention. After VeSota plays his pompous importance card and succeeds in getting him thrown out, Shorty ventures into his regular night spot, the low-key Al’s Cloud Nine, which is where the story starts proper. Corman’s fondness for minimal settings and self-contained drama in this period of his career is patently relayed from here on in, as there’s only a brief sequence outside of the club (but also shot on a set) that strays away from this main backdrop.

Al’s Cloud Nine is a hotbed of activity on this particular night, with aspiring singer Julie (Abby Dalton), accompanied by her ridiculously ultra-hep, middle-aged neighbor and newly appointed manager Sir Bop (the greatly missed Mel Welles, in a role written for Lord Buckley), out to make an impression on bartender and proprietor Al (Robin Morse). Nerves get the better of her during two numbers with The Blockbusters, and Shorty doesn’t mince words in disclosing just how awful he thinks she’s done. Sir Bop, a true Charles Griffith concoction if there ever was one (it’s not too hard to see the satire towards beatniks and hipsters soon to be seen in A BUCKET OF BLOOD here), keeps everybody in check, but he’s the brunt of Shorty’s wrath much later on, in a scene that helps Julie to understand that her career path isn’t necessarily one she’s picked out for herself. Welles is simply a marvel to behold; his Lord Buckley impression is extraordinary. He would take to selling “Hiptionaries” of his made-up, bebop lingo out in theater lobbies during its first theatrical run.

There’s a host of other characters also convening at Cloud Nine to drink beers and fend off the verbal hooks and jabs of Shorty: blocked newspaper writer Steve (Richard Cutting), who carries on a bit of a Saroyan-esque discourse with Al throughout the 62 minutes; a bickering married couple (Richard Karan, Chris Alcaide); and a conniving boxing promoter (Clegg Hoyt), his meal ticket pugilist (Beach Dickerson), and the boxer’s apprehensive wife (Barboura Morris). Before the film ends, a shady pairing of criminals (Russell Johnson, Jonathan Haze) interrupt the proceedings and it’s solely up to Shorty to defuse this treacherous duo, which he does by preying upon the insecurities of Jonathan Haze’s Joey. The final scene depicts Shorty escorting Julie to a screening of KING KONG, but not before Al rhapsodizes to Steve on why Shorty’s so fond of the film:

AL
He’s seen it 20 times.

STEVE
Why so much?

AL
Remember the size of Kong Kong?

STEVE
Sure, he was 50 feet high.

AL
Remember the size of the guy who knocked him over?

It’s easy to see Corman relating to this analogy, if one considers his tiny budgets in regards to the major studios he was competing with. Also, this is just one more instance of the outsider on the fringes of society as represented in many of Corman’s directorial work, from the aforementioned Walter Paisley in A BUCKET OF BLOOD, to Seymour Krelboyne (Jonathan Haze) in THE LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS, on down to Heavenly Blues (Peter Fonda) in THE WILD ANGELS and Paul Groves (Peter Fonda) in THE TRIP.

Standing out as an independent filmmaker at a time when such a concept didn’t really exist must have been a frightening prospect when Corman began in the 1950s, but by adopting a no-nonsense attitude towards the bottom line and a stalwart rejection of pretenses towards film art (which he would nonetheless achieve, especially in the second part of his directorial career, post-LITTLE SHOP) that kept him afloat. And while I will reference the oft-mentioned notion that today’s American genre-oriented cinema essentially just remakes films that Corman has either produced or directed in his 50 year career, I won’t speak of it any longer, as this is a celebration of his legacy; a legacy that was firmly in place more than twenty years ago, but continues to grow and be prosperous. There’ll never be another Roger Corman, with his unique combination of tenacity and verve in the treatment of exploitation movies that others simply couldn’t/wouldn’t have done as well, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Happy 80th!

Death Race 2000

The "Real" Don Steele as the lead media commentator in New World Picture's DEATH RACE 2000


“The race is the symbol of everything we hold dear; our American way of life. Sure it’s violent, but that’s the way we love it – Violent! Violent! Violent!”

Released this week as part of a trio of titles in Buena Vista Home Video's brand new line of Roger Corman "Early Films" (which is a bit misleading – are we talking about Corman’s early films as Producer, or the early films of the various actors and directors later to make it big in Hollywood?); Death Race 2000 is finally given a luminous widescreen transfer that’s thankfully better than the New Horizons edition that came out during the technology’s infancy in 1998. With packaging not unlike that earlier release, complete with Corman’s introductory blurb on the back, it splashily displays a new collage of clipart for a cover that emphasizes supporting player Sylvester Stallone’s role as “Machine Gun” Joe Viterbo. Unfortunately, it doesn’t contain that release’s interview with Corman conducted by Leonard Maltin, although there’s a brand new retrospective documentary featuring Corman, Mary Woronov (“Calamity Jane”), Joe Dante (who had nothing to do with the production, save for maybe editing the trailer), and scriptwriter/Second Unit Director Charles B. Griffith.

There’s a commentary track between Mary Woronov and Corman, which happens to be more enjoyable than the latter’s solo tracks for his Poe pictures because Woronov is there to jog his sometimes faulty memory. He also had a tendency to go in depth on incidents already covered in his autobiography, “How I Made a Hundred Movies in Hollywood and Never Lost a Dime” (1990), on those previous DVD discussions. Corman lets out a few pieces of heretofore trivia during his talk with Woronov, the best of which is his admittance that he did some automobile stunts that the hired stunt men just would not do, either because of safety or legal reasons; it’s easy to see this maverick producer jumping behind the wheel of one of the ludicrously decorated sports cars just to quickly finish a shot before the end of the day.

It’s also gratifying to see the DVD release being dedicated to the late, great Paul Bartel (1938-2000), who no doubt contributed his own witticisms and thoughts on society’s lust for violence somewhere in the production pipeline.

Interview with Charles B. Griffith

I'm extremely happy that Senses of Cinema found a photo from Dr. Heckyl and Mr. Hype. Now if only that film wasn't so damn hard to find!