“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to violence.” (CW)
#Subtitles wizard of oz movie#
Hailed by John Waters as “beyond a doubt, the best movie ever made,” Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! may just be the apotheosis of Meyer’s art, a relentlessly quotable entertainment machine that stands with the very best in American popular cinema. Few purveyors of smut across film history have proved themselves as dedicated to the craft of cinema as Meyer, whose paeans to mazophilia could always be relied on for crackling wit, airtight editing, and a fetishist’s sense for perversely striking visual compositions. They really spin out of control once the girls decide to pay a visit to a deranged, woman-hating old man sitting on a fortune just down the road. Things first begin to go awry when a naive, car-crazy young couple are goaded into racing Varla and unwittingly find themselves on the receiving end of her fatal wrath. Before the opening credits even begin to roll, the three of them are careening wildly through the desert in a pack of sports cars, a prelude to the terror they’ll sow across the Mojave.
#Subtitles wizard of oz skin#
“Let’s examine closely this dangerously evil creation, this new breed, encased and contained in the supple skin of woman.” Ostensibly members of this “new breed,” Varla (Tura Satana), Rosie (Haji), and Billie (Lori Williams) are introduced dancing in fringed bikinis for a crowd of braying perverts, the only moment across 80-odd minutes that the trio at the center of Russ Meyer’s cultishly revered drive-in classic are at all pliant to the whims of men. Monday, January 23 7:00 PM / Music Box Theatre Preceded by: “Glee Worms” (Ben Harrison, 1936) – 7 min – 35mm With its unconventional and imaginative soundtrack, Sunrise also suggested a more ethereal future for the talkies than Al Jolson minstrel numbers, while inaugurating the 1.19:1 Movietone aspect ratio. The industry noticed: Sunrise won the first (and only) Academy Award for Best Unique and Artistic Production, and continues to influence Hollywood and avant-garde filmmakers alike. Murnau was hired by William Fox with the proviso that he inject Art into Hollywood studio filmmaking, and he was given a freer hand than any red-blooded American ever would have enjoyed. Unable to carry out his heinous plan, the Man attempts to reconcile with his Wife, who is surprisingly obliging under the circumstances. (It also boasts unfathomable digressions, including a pig getting tipsy on table wine.) Western hunk George O’Brien stars as The Man, a loutish romantic whose affair with The Woman from the City (Margaret Livingston) gives him the idea to murder his Wife (Janet Gaynor). Sunrise is simultaneously a culminating work of silent melodrama, an experiment in cinematic Esperanto, a universalist fable that oscillates between the poetic and the pretentious, and a cacophonous ode to modern life.
For wherever the sun rises and sets, in the city’s turmoil or under the open sky on the farm, life is much the same: sometimes bitter, sometimes sweet.” This prologue appears at the start of Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans and sets the stage for the strange and wonderful film that follows. “This song of The Man and his Wife is of no place and every place.
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