Sunset Boulevard may just be, with stiff competition from Double Indemnity, the ultimate American film noir. And even if that is debatable, I think very few people could argue its perfection.

Directed by Billy Wilder in 1950, it was daring in its cynical view of Hollywood and the way that the studio system built up stars only to tear them down. In fact, many real-life former superstars came back from the abyss to star in this film: Buster Keaton, Anna Q. Nilsson, and H. B. Warner make surprising cameos as a group of has-beens that the film's narrator refers to as “the waxworks”. Erich von Stroheim, whose own rise to fame, infamous suspected orgies and eventual decline can be read about in the pages of Hollywood Babylon, nearly plays himself as a former movie director turned butler.

But it's Gloria Swanson's show as the deluded Norma Desmond, a woman deranged into a monster of sorts after a life of fame and fortune followed by a slow decline into madness and oblivion which she can't comprehend or accept. With her wraith-like claws, wicked teeth, pointy eyebrows, and deranged plans for a comeback, she's surely one of the most intriguing women ever put on film, though she's not the only curious character.

William Holden plays Joe Gillis, a dashing young up-and-coming writer who has a real possible future ahead of him. His career isn't soaring yet, but he's working and he's even met a nice girl he could love (the two of them share one of my favorite romantic scenes ever when he says, “May I say that you smell really special?”) Yet through circumstances he ends up in the claws of Miss Desmond and, rather than running the other way, he somewhat happily stays put.

Like many young people before and after him in Hollywood, he decides to take the easy way, in essence working as Desmond's whore rather than struggle through life on his own dime. Ingeniously, he narrates the tale of his ultimate demise posthumously and with a had boiled edge. In the opening scene we see his corpse floating face down in a swanky mansion pool. From the very beginning, we're assured of a very unhappy ending.

Turned into an Andrew Lloyd Webber musical in 1992, the original film version lost the Academy Award for Best Picture to another jab at stardom, All About Eve. While both are worth a watching, Sunset Boulevard is a true masterpiece. The Academy Award winning art and set direction, the Edith Head costumes, the cinematography by John F. Seitz, are all representative of the best of the best.

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Posted on August 25, 2008

It's nearly impossible not to compare TruTV's Suburban Secrets with A&E's far superior City Confidential, the greatest true crime show ever put on television. Both focus on the community and people effected by a crime and both include a smug, slightly humorous narration.

City excelled thanks to the late, great Paul Winfield's extremely wry and sardonic voice and an hour long running time. 60 minutes always gave the producers ample time to develop extremely compelling portraits of the towns and cities they profiled, and the often unique denizens that reside there.

Grudgingly, I have to admit that Suburban Secrets' faults also make it pretty enjoyable, if you're willing to forgive, or at least forget, the network's cancellation of City Confidential (what happened, Arts and Entertainment network?! Gene Simmons needed a bigger budget? Criss Angel needed some more semi-competent After Effects artists and a new handcuff necklace?), and enjoy this new, dumbed-down, punned-up version for what it is.

First off: it's only 30 minutes long which, while the reduced running time hurts the storytelling, it does make it the prefect length for dinner time viewing.

Second, and most entertaining, is the way the producers cajole actual locals into recreating dramatic scenes like the first time they heard about the murder or the day everyone in the office was speculating as to who had done it. These clearly excited but decidedly untrained folks often come off a bit uncomfortable (almost every episode features a bevy of gossipy women exclaiming, “Well, I never!” over tea and knitting while their eyes dart nervously around the room), but the end result is brilliant.

It takes the age old art of the dramatic recreation, so beloved for its cornball genius on shows like Ripley's Believe It or Not or America's Most Wanted, and makes it new again.

And if I can't have new episodes of City Confidential (as you can tell,?I still have not forgiven or forgotten), I'll take this much slighter, but undeniably entertaining alternative.

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Posted on August 25, 2008

Even though you're likely never to have heard of him, you can definitely count Italian genre icon Ivan Rassimov among the most handsome serial screen villains ever.

He was dealt a tough hand early in his career when he had to decline a role in Fellini's Juliet of the Spirits for a role that was almost entirely cut from John Huston's The Bible: In the Beginning. From then on, it was all Mario Bava vampire flicks, giallo horror films, spaghetti westerns and a lot of work in the uniquely disgusting cannibal sub-genre with films like Eaten Alive and Man From the Deep River. Apparently he was not destined for a life of art cinema and his career lead him to the polar opposite; a job that I would assume is a lot more fun.

As with Edwige Fenech, it was Matthew's giallo trailers introduced me to Ivan's incredible looks–think Clint Eastwood mixed with Udo Kier but dressed like a swinging Italian Yves Saint Laurent.

I finally caught him in action as weird ex-boyfriend Jean in the The Strange Vices of Mrs. Wardh. His screen presence is fiery and striking and it's a shame that his name isn't more well known. For such a prolific career in such a cult world, I kind of thought there would be more information available, or at least some fan boys wild about this rugged, steely eyed heart throb. But alas, most of the information I could find is gathered from his obituary (he died in 2003).

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Posted on August 25, 2008

If you're under the impression that Hollywood scandal is new and that the seemingly pristine days of the Golden Age were free of shocking behavior, then avant garde film director and occultist Kenneth Anger's underground favorite, Hollywood Babylon, will set you right. Overdoses, suicides, mental breakdowns, affairs, statutory rape, and even murder! Tinseltown has been wallowing in bad behavior since its inception.

Anger's volume (the first of two), complete with lots of photos including crime scenes and contrastingly beautiful head shots, was originally published almost like a zine in France in 1959. So many people were enthralled by the lurid gossip in its pages that it gained quite a cult following before it was published here in the US in 1965.

Drawing outrage for decades, the book has been blasted for its possibly false accusations, plagiarism, and lack of taste–particularly in the bloody photos. You could also add hypocrisy to the list. With all the book's disdain for the gossip columnists of the time–one of whom is lovingly referred as “that syndicated, sob-sister, mutant, deadline hunting pecker”–Anger himself is just as bad (if not worse) in his exploitation of movie stars' and starlets' biggest heart breaks.

While the scandals and the public's insatiable need to hear about them haven't changed much since the days of Fatty Arbuckle and Frances Farmer, one significant development has occurred. Now a days, the number of Kenneth Angers out there is innumerable, anybody on the street can be a gossip columnist, all he/she needs is a celebrity sighting and within minutes it can be on Gawker stalker. Also, it used to be that the studio system would try to hide the shame of drug addiction, ugly breakups, and madness. These days, celebrities are more than willing to sell the dirt themselves.

So in a way Hollywood Babylon, with all its lurid and tasteless gossip, is a bit like a stroll down memory lane, to–unbelievably, a slightly more dignified era. But really, it's just vintage Star magazine stuff written with a much more snobby and charming tone.

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Posted on August 25, 2008

Sure, George Michael's been sleeping in his car and he's gotten caught in public bathrooms enough times that even when buoyed by the best self mockery and sense of humor, it's beginning to get sad. But never say never! The world has considered the man on the outs before and he hit back, settomg his former image (literally) ablaze, supermodels by his side.

Of course, I'm talking about the double whammy punch of Freedom '90 and Too Funky that featured anyone who was anyone at that time in the supermodeling world. Linda, Naomi, Christy, Claudia, even Ty-Ty. And as side note, has anyone else noticed how these ladies?are still dominating (minus Nadja Auermann, who I might just miss the most) – it seemed like at least half of the new September campaigns feature these throwbacks.

It's good to see them in the pages of Vogue, but when they got dressed in their big sweaters and chewed gum on the runway for G.M., that's when they really mesmerized my twelve year old mind.

Freedom '90 (but friends can just call it “Freedom”) came first and that iconic video was shot by David Fincher. G.M. was sick of his old image, man! No longer desiring to be a whore for the cameras (later he'd make an acception for the Beverly Hills public toilets) he decided not to appear in front of the camera. Supermodels were flown in and the rest is early '90s pop culture history.

The campier, day-glo Too Funky was next, featuring the outrageous work of Theirry Mugler (see this week's style icon) and yet another bevy of models, including some more interesting choices like former Cat Woman lovely Julie Newmar and Pedro Almodovar's muse, Rossy De Palma Maybe I was just at the right impressionable age but in my book fashion and music have never made such good friends.?

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Posted on August 25, 2008