Simon, King of the Witches (1971)

☆ ☆ ☆

Simon, King of the Witches (1971) – B. Kessler

In search of folk horror, I stumbled instead onto this curiosity instead, reputedly screen-written by an actual warlock (Robert Phippeny) who wanted to document his real “double life” in Los Angeles, doing tarot readings and parlor tricks for rich socialites while secretly working on his own incantations seeking power and transcendence.  Simon (Andrew Prine) lives in a storm drain at the start of the film (although later earns enough bread to move into an unfinished basement) and associates with an acolyte of sorts, Turk (George Paulsin), who may or may not be a gay hustler. Turk introduces Simon to society parties where he meets the daughter of the D. A. (Brenda Scott), and several other characters who scoff at his supposed powers. After one passes him a bad cheque, Simon gets even with a death spell (featuring a glowing red circle hovering on the screen). Turk also invites him to a Wiccan ceremony led by Ultra Violet (including naked witches, old and less old, and the traditional goat) but Simon sneers at their lame efforts at magick. Throughout the film he pontificates about occult philosophy á la Crowley (the four virtues: to know, to will, to dare, and to keep silent) and you get the feeling that there is something authentic here (similar to The Love Witch, 2016). Unfortunately, that authenticity is trapped in a low-budget shell that feels like a time-capsule from the heavy comedown after the highs of the late sixties (replete with police and governmental corruption). Simon’s fate, after a Space Odyssey-type trip through a magic mirror, does not feel like a success (but presumably he will try again, in the next life).   

 

 

70 Up (2026)

☆ ☆ ☆

70 Up (2026) – A. Kapadia

Another seven years has gone by but surprisingly not much has really happened in the lives of the 14 children who were initially presented as case studies of the effects of social class in the UK in 1964.  This is surprising because the past 7 years seems to have contained a significant amount of turmoil in the world.  Perhaps stability is more likely than change between ages 63 and 70? Of course, one notable change is that director Michael Apted passed away in 2021, leaving these final two episodes (totalling about 2 ½ hours) to be directed by Asif Kapadia (known primary for sports documentaries, it seems).  I must confess that I was underwhelmed but I suppose the director can only work with the material that has been provided by the subjects.  As usual, there are plentiful clips from the past 9 episodes of the series but not much new material -- one subject suggests about 10 minutes per person ends up in each episode. And that meta-commentary about the series, from the subjects themselves, is perhaps the real draw of this final episode.  Kapadia and team make the decision to include Apted as a focus for discussion and explicitly question his premise (that class makes a difference to lives), his preconceptions and biases, and his relationship with the 14 people whose lives were the focus of his films, prey to his editing choices and sins of omission or commission. Indeed, some of the clips from the past offered this time around may never have been shown before, with Jackie or Tony challenging Michael (and vice versa).  Apted appears to have reflected on the problem himself. We also revisit the decisions by some of the cast to drop out of the series or particular episodes – Charles returns in voiceover only to reveal that he had a career working at the BBC and never felt he belonged to the posh upper class group to which he was originally assigned. The good news from this episode is that many of the characters have found peace and contentment, including Neil whose struggles with his mental health and living arrangements provided the most drama across the years. Sadly, Nick died from cancer three days after being filmed and his appearance is heart-rending, although as with much of the material here, not particularly deep.  Ultimately, this final series feels very much like a missed opportunity. I’m not sure we are treated to sufficient reflection about whether class really does help to determine a person’s life, their opportunities and challenges. As some of the subjects suggest, they just lived their lives and didn’t really think about it.  Perhaps Apted would have probed more deeply or perhaps the analysis is a job for social scientists rather than popular filmmakers. Nevertheless, despite its many weaknesses, the Up series has proven to be an exceptional opportunity for reflection, conversation, vicarious emotion, and anticipation.  I agree with the choice to let the remaining characters sail off into the sunset rather than witness what is inevitably a final stage of cognitive and physical decline, to which most of us will be treated.

The Upturned Glass (1947)

 ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

The Upturned Glass (1947) – L. Huntington

James Mason’s final British feature before moving to Hollywood, following in the noir trend established by his previous film Odd Man Out (also 1947). Although that magnificent film was directed by the excellent Carol Reed, The Upturned Glass was helmed by the less distinguished Lawrence Huntington. But Mason himself produced this one (along with Gainsborough chief Sydney Box) and it remains a suspenseful drama (some say Hitchcockian and perhaps there is an echo of the Master’s perverse sensibility in the scenes where Mason’s neurosurgeon rescues the young girl while his car is parked outside containing a dark secret). In true noir fashion, the film is told mostly in flashback (but not entirely it turns out), as Mason provides a lecture that recounts his encounter with a “sane” murderer, who may very well be he himself.  We learn how Mason (calling himself Michael Joyce) falls for the married mother of a patient and the (possibly) chaste affair they have until she mysteriously falls from a window.  This is when his upturned glass develops a crack. The second half of the film shows us Mason’s determined effort to discover what happened to his paramour and to effect his revenge.  I enjoy this era of British noir and, although not up there with classics like The Third Man or Odd Man Out, this did not disappoint.

 

The Beast of the City (1932)

 ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

The Beast of the City (1932) – C. Brabin

Who is the titular Beast of the City? Is it Prohibition-Era gangster Sam Belamonte (Jean Hersholt)? This would be the most obvious choice, given Hollywood’s obsession with gangsters in the Pre-Code days (noting that Prohibition was still in effect when this film was made). Little Caesar and The Public Enemy were released the year before and Scarface just a month or two afterwards, to note some key films in the popular genre. In fact, The Beast of the City is in some ways a reaction to the popularity of the gangster film, with its opening title card including a quote from President Herbert Hoover suggesting that movies should glorify the heroic police rather than the cowardly gangsters. So, is the film’s lead police officer, Fighting Fitzpatrick (Walter Huston), the real Beast of the City? He’s known for not holding back in his crusade against the bootleggers – and the final scene of the movie, at that point the most violent in all of cinema, reveals his willingness to take his fight to the limit. Another candidate might be Fighting Fitz’s brother, Ed (Wally Ford), a vice squad detective who betrays the force after falling for bad dame Daisy Stevens (Jean Harlow).  Of course, Harlow herself is pretty wild here and perhaps even beastly? Although the film plays by the numbers, it still holds interest, not least for its snapshot of a point-in-time (racist though that occasionally is) and its use of actors who appeared in even greater films.

 

We’re All Going to the World’s Fair (2021)

 ☆ ☆ ☆

We’re All Going to the World’s Fair (2021) – J. Schoenbrun

I had to ask myself: “Is the world really like this?”  Director Jane Schoenbrun’s first feature feels like part of the “slow cinema” movement even though it is only 82 minutes long. It is marketed as part of the burgeoning horror genre merger with internet content (possibly related to “creepypasta”). (The marketing may be misleading some viewers who expect something other than an arthouse first feature). Here, teen Casey (Anna Cobb) has signed up to an online role-playing horror game where, as I understand it, participants take the basic premise and then enact it for themselves, creating and uploading videoclips to document their engagement. In this case, the game is called “We’re Going to the World’s Fair” and the premise is that you watch a weird online video (not shown) which subsequently and reportedly has mysterious mental and physical impacts on the viewer.  Given that director Schoenbrun is transgender herself, it is hard not to make a connection here to the kinds of transformations that might take place for those assigned an incorrect gender at birth. But any changes that take place for Casey are relatively subtle – there’s a bit of childish acting out of monster-like behaviour and, more importantly, depression-like symptoms and suicidal ideation.  This attracts the attention of another player, JLB, who demands that Casey skype with him. The film then seems to shift gears to tell the story of their relationship (as it were).  As a viewer, I spent much of my time trying to understand what was happening (not necessarily a bad thing) and, like JLB, it became hard to sort out fantasy and reality. The take-home point seemed to be about the opportunities and risks for attaining social connection and belonging via the internet for lonely and isolated youth (or adults). Are these back alleys and hidden spaces of the internet a good thing or a bad thing (or both at the same time)?  And “Is the world really like this?”

 

Tomorrow is Another Day (1951)

 ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Tomorrow is Another Day (1951) – F. Feist

Steve Cochran plays Bill Clark who has just been released from prison after serving 18 years (entering at age 13 as the youngest ever murderer in his state, we soon learn). He’s lost and confused given how much has changed; the treatment he receives in his hometown makes him leave for New York City. His luck is no better there – he throws himself on taxi-dancer Cathy/Cay Higgins (Ruth Roman), a tough bleached-blonde who finally relents to show him around the city.  Given this is film noir, bad things happen and soon they are on the run. This first half of the film feels genuinely edgy or at least a bit desperate before the film settles down to something resembling domesticity, albeit on a shoestring (the lettuce harvesting scene is startling). Bill never quite loses his wariness although we know he’s a decent human being; on the other hand, Cathy seems to transform from hard-edged to something much softer, in line with her move from blonde to brunette.  Although the film never really gets its edge back (and concludes in ludicrous fashion), there’s enough here to chew on for fans of the genre.  

 

Disclosure Day (2026)

 ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Disclosure Day (2026) – S. Spielberg

I’m looking back at the Disclosure Day poster now – the one with Emily Blunt’s blue eye in the centre.  You can see her eye has some unusual aster-like pattern in it.  Only on second glance did I notice that her eye and parts of her face are framed by the outline of a bird, presumably a cardinal.  Cardinals do have some symbolic meaning, having to do with a message from a lost loved one or perhaps hope in hard times or even Christian references to the blood of Jesus.  There are some nuns in this film but I’m not sure that’s the link (or is it? There’s some baked-on theology here, questioning whether the presence of life out there means God doesn’t love only us or maybe doesn’t exist, but it doesn’t take).  Perhaps the cardinal is bringing a message from Spielberg’s own past – specifically, a reminder of Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977).  In many ways, Disclosure Day feels like a sequel or replay of that earlier film, where Richard Dreyfuss and Melinda Dillon are incomprehensibly drawn to Devil’s Tower, Wyoming, just in time for an alien spacecraft to land (and take Dreyfuss inside – oops, spoiler). In this film, Josh O’Connor and Blunt instead are mysteriously and incomprehensibly drawn to each other (and then to a television studio), in the same way.  Maybe it isn’t that far from Escape from Witch Mountain (1975) where kids with supernatural powers are chased by Donald Pleasance and evil millionaire Ray Milland.  Here, evil corporate mastermind Colin Firth is trying to stop O’Connor and Blunt, particularly O’Connor who is poised to release evidence that the government has been suppressing knowledge of extraterrestrial life (and that crash landing in Roswell, New Mexico).  We see some of the video that he shows his girlfriend, Jane.  It looks just like you would think (if you ever watched an alien autopsy video). Firth also has an alien device that allows him to mind-meld with people, if he can see their social media accounts. I started to get some faint echoes of De Palma’s The Fury (1978) here and there. But whereas De Palma never was afraid of going freaky, Spielberg keeps his masterful control even though the plot itself feels pretty schlocky. He is good at directing the action scenes – at times it feels as though the movie is one long car chase -- and there’s even a Jackie Chan-styled leap from a car to a train too.  The lead characters make some inexplicable choices though – or really their choices are being guided by, uh, aliens. (Most other characters don’t really have much to do).  Are aliens the Macguffin here? Knowing that Spielberg and writer David Koepp started with the ending (and that youtube clip where the air force flyers see something inexplicable buzz them) and then moved backwards trying to figure out a plot that gets you there tells you a lot about this film.