Bangkok – A Thai teacher used a real pistol to start a primary school sports event and accidentally shot dead a six-year-old boy on the running track and seriously wounded a girl, police said on Tuesday. Seven pupils, all aged six, raced from the blocks for their sprint on Monday started by their teacher who fired a pistol into the air instead of a starting gun. But it was a false start and the teacher waved them back to the line. It was then that his pistol went off accidentally and the boy fell dead, shot in the head. The same bullet hit a girl next to him, seriously wounding her. The teacher fled.
Man uses electric saw to… Well, you read it
Tampa, Florida – A Florida man said he cut off his penis with an electric saw this week because he always wanted to be a woman. Doctors at Tampa general hospital were unable to attach the organ, a hospital spokeswoman said. Bill Sconyers, 23, of Arcadia, Florida, performed the crude surgery on himself, later saying to reporters: “I always wanted to be a woman.” Because of the flood of phone calls, doctors ordered his hospital phone be turned off, so Sconyers was not available to elaborate. Doctors say he is in fair condition.
Three encounters of the close kind…
Barcelona, Spain – A driver and passenger escaped alive after their truck collided with a car, fell onto a railway track and was crushed by a train. The truck driver sustained minor injuries, his passenger and the car driver suffered broken bones. Rescue workers took four hours to free the truck, which was pinned between the train and the railway embankment. The accident happened near Arenys de Mar, north of Barcelona.
The Rise & Fall of “The Ren and Stimpy Show” by Jim Swallow
Cartoon; to me, the word has always conjured images of Tom and Jerry, Bugs Bunny, the raucous crazy slapstick created by Fred Quimby, Chuck Jones and Tex Avery. In today’s TV paradise, you’ll find that proud tradition is almost non-existent, replaced with Disney-fed moral pap or cheap, heinous and vacuous dross… There are a few challengers, but sadly one of the greatest has been absorbed by the very forces it meant to gross out: The Ren and Stimpy Show.
This toon of toons sprang from the mind of Spumco Animation creator John Kricfalusi, as a fragment of another show pitched to the MTV-owned Nickelodeon children’s TV network. Originally, Ren Hoek, the Asthma-hound Chihuahua with the Peter Lorre voice and Stimpy, the kitty-litter-eating doofus cat were just wallpaper characters in a series concept called “Your Gang”. When they were spotted on the proposal by executive producer Vanessa Coffey, the germ of the idea began (the proposal to Nick also contained the seed for ‘Jimmy the Hapless Boy’, Spumco’s current project). From these humble beginnings came the shambling beast that became The Ren and Stimpy Show, dogged by machinations behind the scenes and outrageous tales of censorship, overspending and other backstage tomfoolery.
The show’s basic tenet was a simple one; a mis-matched ‘odd couple’, one pseudointellectual and borderline psychotic, the other grotesquely stupid and flatulent, but both best pals. In each story we would find dog and cat engaged in adventures of varying idiocy; out of this simple framework, Kricfalusi and his writers at Spumco spun cartoons the like of which had never been seen on Saturday morning kidvid. John K himself was a fan of the older toons from before the made-for-TV generation, especially the work of the legendary Bob Clampett. He took the classic weirdo slapstick and blended in a 90’s edge of such utter surrealism that at times it’s scary. While the kids would enjoy the blatant pie-fights and fart gags, adults tuning in would find themselves confronted with violent weirdness and disturbed humour. Whatever the execs at Nick thought, ‘Ren and Stimpy’ wasn’t just for children.
What it was, was crazed, dynamic and utterly hilarious in the most insane fashion. The show shot to instant cult status, even getting it a guest appearance for the leads on Fox’s “The Simpsons”. Head-twisting oddness abounds throughout the series, whether you’re talking about the Shaven Yak and his Enchanted Canoe, the ear-mangling ‘Happy Happy Joy Joy’ song, or the Bloody Head Fairy.
In terms of story content, at its weakest, Ren and Stimpy veers close to the more outrageous episodes of Tiny Toons, but more often than not it goes off the deep end of utter psychosis – witness Ren’s bathtime monologue in ‘Space Madness’. If you like your comedy twisted and your cartoons bizarre, you’ve found it here.
But these story elements helped cause the eventual ‘death’ of the true Ren and Stimpy. Creator Kricfalusi argued with the Nickelodeon suits about the plot content, reportedly yelling and bugging his eyes to make points, answering requests to drop the most lavatorial moments by demanding even more in their place. The aforementioned executive producer Vanessa Coffey was quoted as saying that she did not want Nick to become known as “the network of boogers and farts”, and after skyrocketing budget problems and missed program slots, John K and Spumco parted ways with Nickelodeon, leaving voice actor Billy West (who provided Stimpy’s dulcet tones) to step in and speak for Ren, as Kricfalusi had done since the show began. It’s still airing on Nick both here and in the US, and surprisingly (or perhaps not), the Spumco-created are the faves. John K may be gone but the Network of Boogers and Farts lives on…
It’s been a very fraught couple of months for genre fans. I’m sure I need not go into precisely why, nor bother arguing against Alton’s amendment to the Criminal Justice Act. [If you need any convincing, then kindly return this magazine. You won’t like the rest of it] However, instead of preaching to the converted, I thought it might be nice to cover my encounters with some other “nasties” – namely, the inhabitants of the Palace of Westminster…
Alton’s bill wasn’t all that unexpected. I’d heard various rumours of ‘something’ in the wind after the Jamie Bulger and Susan Capper murder trials, but the first confirmed sighting of a torpedo approaching the good ship S.S. Video Tape came via ‘Time Out’, saying that Liberal MP David Alton had proposed legislation to create a new certificate for cinema releases, “Unsuitable for Home Viewing”.
Before long, Alton and the tabloids were feeding off each other like sharks in a frenzy. The best example of gutter-speak appeared in the Daily Star at the end of January. Under the banner headline of “Snuff Out These Sick Cartoons” was a classic of exaggeration, misrepresentation and down-right inaccuracy. No prizes for guessing it was about Manga Video, who must have been delighted to read things like “many show vicious gang warfare among teenagers in a futuristic society”, a description that only fits ‘Akira’ – unless the definitions of ‘vicious gang warfare’ includes supercharged schoolgirls battling for the attention of an alien princess. This climaxed in a description of them as “snuff cartoons”, which I assume means real hand-painted animation characters getting killed…
All this fuss was strange, given that the horror genre is at its lowest ebb for years – when was the last film you saw that could compare with ‘Videodrome’, ‘Re-Animator’, ‘The Thing’ or ‘Hellraiser’? But what this article had in common with virtually all other such pieces, was quotes from David Alton, saying he was outraged/disgusted/sickened/whatever, and was going to do something about it. After reading and seeing this man spew out totally nonsense, time and time again, finally it was too much for even this apolitical animal to take. Something had to be done. And it was: I sent a letter to Mr. Alton, politely pointing out the errors in his logic and suggesting he do something to attack the real causes of crime. In due course, a reply arrived.
The words “form” and “letter” spring to mind. Any connection to my original communication was purely coincidental; I suspect exactly the same letter would have been sent to someone writing to tell Mr. Alton what a wonderful person he was for saving us from filth like “Heathers”. He also enclosed an article. written for Catholic magazine ‘The Tablet’ – which says a lot about where Alton is coming from. Is he the nearest Britain has to someone like Pat Robertson, with this combination of politics and religion?
This mass-market reply was annoying. Had he ignored me, I would have accepted it as typical politico behaviour. Had he sent a defence of his views, I would have been impressed. But to be…fobbed off in such a manner was enough to get my ire well and truly riled.
Phase two. Attempt to arrange an interview with Mr. Alton – as you can see, the headed notepaper gave his telephone number (I’m sure he’d welcome more calls). At the first attempt there was no reply: this seemed innocent enough at the time but conspiracy theorists may like to note this was the very afternoon before Stephen Milligan was found dead in stockings and suspenders, with a plastic bag over his head and an orange in his mouth. Where was Mr. Alton? Enquiring Paranoiacs Want to Know! [There’s a film in there somewhere, about a serial killer MP, except it would undoubtedly be banned as providing “inappropriate role models” – though I’d argue MP’s were just as inappropriate as serial killers].
I tried again later, and eventually spoke to his personal assistant, who offered to give me some background before fixing details. I accepted. A mistake. As soon as it became apparent that I was intending neither brown-nose powder-puff nor piece of tabloid hysteria, the atmosphere grew chilly – I could hear nitrogen condensing with a crackle onto the telephone line. In short, no dice. It appeared that while Mr. Alton was readily available to give quotes to the liars who write for our tabloid newspapers, he is less willing to defend his views to anyone more critical.
However, it wasn’t an entirely useless conversation. I discovered the terms they were seeking to use to define “unsuitable for home viewing”. Afterwards, I skimmed through my top 20 all-time favourite films: fourteen were plausible candidates for termination. The imminent prospect of 70% of my video collection going onto the nasties list concentrated my mind somewhat.
Say what you like about Mr. Alton, at least he made a vague attempt to create the impression that he gave a damn (even if the execution was utterly screwed up). As for Ms.Currie, seems that she doesn’t care a toss about freedom, save the freedom to have anal sex with 16-year olds. Though given the rumours about certain of her fellow Conservative MP’s, this should perhaps not be too surprising.
After this, I drifted into cynical mode. Restrictions on the films I could rent were brought into sharp perspective when I realised it’s been three years since I last rented a film. So who cares? At least on a totally selfish level, life would go on, with the habitual methods of bypassing censorship merely becoming more frequently used. There were other important fish to fry, such as Guinness deciding to drop Rutger Hauer from their advertising campaign.
So I gave up my short, glorious life of political activism. I’m probably on the computers of MI5 as a result, but then, if I wasn’t there already, I’d be slightly disappointed – and also rather worried about the security of this country… Politicians are pond scum. The lowest of the low. Somewhere beneath estate agents, and even rating below financial advisers in my humble opinion. This had always been my opinion, though I hadn’t exactly had much contact with them (or pond scum, come to think of it). My views, if anything, had not been improved, but at least now I am able to state them from a position of personal experience.
POSTSCRIPT
For some time I’ve known that this country is not a democracy. However, the Alton affair convinced me this view should be supplemented with “…and a bloody good job too”. David Alton came close to punching through a law, which I suspect he only suggested as a starting point from which to bargain down. But after he deftly mugged the moral high ground, there was a stampede of MP’s rushing to join him, and before you could say “lynch-mob”, it was a 200-strong posse, bearing a rope with the video industry’s name on it. It’d have been very interesting to see what would have happened had it come to a vote. How many normally spineless Tory MP’s would actually have had sufficient balls to disobey a three-line whip?
The press coverage was generally about as grim as you’d expect. The only bright spot was an editorial in the Evening Standard, the day before the debate was due to take place. Now, the ES is not a paper noted for libertarian tendencies, so reading it was sort of like discovering your school headmistress moonlighted as a hooker. Below are reprinted both it, and ‘highlights’ from the Daily Mail editorial from April 13th, which represents the far more common viewpoint seen depressingly often in the press:
The worst was the ‘Daily Mirror’, which trumpeted “BANNED!” on the front over a ‘Child’s Play 3’ cover, completely ignoring the fact that there was no way it could be un-certificated. But this didn’t stop them – hell, when do tabloids let facts get in the way? Their story started “Horror videos like Child’s Play 3 are to be banned – thanks to the Daily Mirror”. Wrong again. The Mirror also published a hit list of the films they most wanted to see pulled, thereby guaranteeing they flew off video shelves in following weeks – albeit to customers, rather than Trading Standards officers. See if you can work out what titles they listed, given their synopses for the titles in question; answers are at the bottom of the page:
a) Homicidal doll Chucky possessed by the spirit of a mass murderer
b) Four youths turn to violent crime to win respect in the ghetto
c) Mad professor experiments on neighbours. A husband is attacked by his wife’s placenta
d) Killer’s butchery is filmed so he can watch it later
e) Zombie heroine eats her boyfriend
f) Woman bitten by monkey develops a taste for raw meat
g) Non-stop violence that ends in a 30-minute shootout
h) Horror genetics in tale of gore and revenge
i) Prostitutes lure victims to chainsaw death
j) Savage cannibal punks
The subject of video nasties has had it’s day, as far as the media is concerned, and is now as dead as all their other hyped-up out of nowhere problems: remember pit-bulls and flesh-eating bacteria? I predict that at some point soon, they’re going to discover the Internet, and when they do, watch out for more banner headlines – kiddie porn and bomb-making information will undoubtedly be mentioned.
So what’s been the actual effect of the new legislation? The refusal of video certificates is well documented, but so far, the titles affected have almost all been urban thrillers like ‘Reservoir Dogs’ or ‘Menace II Society’; movies with more fantastic elements seem to have been scarcely touched. What it has done, of course, is to hand the video pirates a gift: I’m willing to bet there are more copies of ‘Reservoir Dogs’ in circulation, than you could shake a Harvey Keitel at.
It has also been interesting to note the fragmentation of protest against Alton’s amendment and the other proposals put forward in the Criminal Justice Bill. The rave crowd have been opposed to a measure that would stop them dancing all night in fields (personally, I feel they should thank Michael Howard), but were not present when my rights were threatened. This “someone else’s problem” reaction is understandable in some ways, but is also worrying. ‘Divide and conquer’ seems to be the order of the day, with our freedoms being carved away in such thin slices that there are never sufficient people opposed to any one restriction.
“…and when they came for me, there was no-one left to speak out…”
a) Child’s Play 3 b) Juice c) Body Melt d) Henry – Portrait of a Serial Killer e) Return of the Living Dead 3 f) Braindead g) Hard Boiled h) Death Warmed Up i) Hollywood Hookers j) The Hills Have Eyes
The Essential Guide to Hong Kong Movies – (Rick Baker/Toby Russell – Eastern Heroes, £11.99, pp315) – EH
Asian Trash Cinema – The Book – (Thomas Weisser, Asian Trash Cinema Publications, $19.95, pp187) – ATC
Typical, wait ages for a book on HK films, then two come along at once. No problem: with an empty field, two books are scarcely going to saturate the market. So, getting to the conclusion first, both are unquestionably worth buying, and are indispensable sources of information.
Having said this, which is “better”? This is to some extent an unfair question for what are basically collections of reviews, but technically, they have different strengths and weaknesses. For ease of use, ATC wins out. Want a film, look it up, alphabetical order, no problem. EH is divided into separate sections such as Modern Day Action, Heroic Bloodshed or the ubiquitous Fantasy/Erotic/Horror; to find any given movie, you first have to guess which part it’s in, which increases the search time.
This problem is exacerbated by the lack of an overall index, each section has one, but this is useful only for hunting alternate titles. I yearn for a comprehensive list cross-referencing people to films, though appreciate the effort that would involved. ATC makes some effort with a directorial index, but otherwise, they’re fine only for finding films by name.
Both are reasonably comprehensive; EH wins out for kung fu movies, while ATC does well in the fantasy genre. However, neither contain ‘The Magic Crystal’, an excellent movie released here by VPD, or ‘License to Steal’, a battling-babe film whose omission in EH is doubly surprising as Rick Baker has sold it to me, both on tape and laser-disc! In the picture department, EH is the undoubted winner, with lots of great photos, and a useful section at the back which puts faces to names for a lot of the main stars. It also has more extensive credit listings than ATC, which is terse in the extreme.
The reviews themselves are obviously not comparable; it’s all opinion. However, of 500+ movies in EH, only a handful rate under two stars. This over-enthusiasm is especially apparent under ‘Heroic Bloodshed’. no films are less than ‘ok’, and the relentless superlatives – one sequence has nine straight rated ‘top-notch’ or better – make it seem like a sales catalogue. While I know it is written by fans, more detachment would have helped. The problem with the ATC reviews is more one of familiarity: the book is an expansion of issue 1 of ‘Asian Trash Cinema’, which was itself a revision of an issue of “Naked! Screaming! Terror!”. Those who bought earlier versions may be justifiably peeved at paying again for the same text.
You’ve already got the conclusion. Neither of these two are perfect by a long way, but they’re both solid pieces of work. Readers with a fondness for flowery similes may care to think of them as like two search-lights probing into the pitch-black night sky. Till dawn breaks, we need all the help we can get…
The Crime Studio (Steve Aylett, Serif, £7.99, pp156)
This drifted into TC Towers with no enclosures save a telephone number on the inside cover. Never got round to calling it: didn’t see much point before, and afterwards…well, much of the book had a rather too cheery psychotic edge to it. I got the feeling the author had seen one too many John Woo movies, or Tom and Jerry cartoons. Mind you, the same could be said of me.
It’s a slim volume – more on which later – of tales about Beerlight, a neo-apocalyptic urban jungle populated by larger-than-life characters with larger-than-life weapons (wasn’t sure whether to review it, or pass it to TC’s gun correspondent, Jim Swallow). There are many cracking lines, guaranteed to have you snorting into your angel dust i.e. “Aggie Swan had perfected the ‘wasted angel’ look to such a pitch that people shielded their eyes against the expected atomic blast of her ascension”. Nice. The only complaint is that they may be too good: some stories seem written expressly to let Aylett use a really cool turn of phrase he’d just thought up. However, as none of them are of ‘War & Peace’ duration – or even ‘W’ duration – this is entirely bearable, in the same way that few TV adverts are actively worth zapping (except the American Express one with bloody Anita Roddick).
This is, above all, cool. However, should a book barely thicker than TC (and with less nice illos) cost eight quid? I know how much we pay for printing, and someone, somewhere is making a healthy profit from ‘The Crime Studio’. I hope it’s Mr. Aylett. So, shoplift it. Or, in the spirit of the book, drive a tank into the bookshop, massacre the entire staff, and then shoplift it.
Invasion! (Darren Jones et al, £7.00, pp208)
Shunted from the ‘zine section to the books comes this quadruple issue of ‘Invasion of the Sad Man-Eating Mushrooms’. 15 months in the making, and with a price to match, this benefits from a lot of good writing, but is a tad let down by the presentation; some early copies rapidly converted into a loose-leaf format, though I’m informed this has now been rectified.
If you’ve seen the ‘zine, you know what to expect, brash and cheerful, covering a wide range of exploitation material from porn to Euro-horror to the ‘joys’ of getting raided. This last piece was as fascinating as a road accident, though left important questions unanswered, starting as it did with the police arriving. There’re also interviews with people such as David Warbeck & Stephen Laws.
It’s hard to fault the writing, a generally nice, relaxed style that I enjoy. However, there were a couple of reviews, such the ‘Tower of Evil’ review which goes on about breasts a lot, where I’m unsure whether the writer is being post-ironic, or very sad. A downside is the physical appearance. Things like the photo reproduction would be fine for a fanzine, but when you’re paying book prices, you expect something a little better. It may or may not be a problem, depending on your demands.
This thick creature represents a growing trend for fanzines to become larger but less frequent (cf Shock Xpress, and this humble creature). The effort involved is known: Jones and his colleagues certainly deserve a pat on the back for this solid hunk of pleasurable reading.
The major problem with travel guides is that they tend to cater for the majority. This is fine, if you want to admire great cathedrals, go round art galleries, or do the usual sort of things that tourists do. I’d rather not. My holidays usually revolve around spending heady amounts of cash on things you can’t get at home, usually in the sort of urban jungle a sensible traveller would avoid. This strikes me as totally logical, but information on the best places to buy video tapes isn’t something you’ll find in most books. Thus, we present the first in a sporadic (depends when I go on holiday!) series:
Getting there:
Boat/train, London Victoria-Newhaven-Dieppe-Paris. A five-day return is £55 and takes about ten hours. There are two advantages to this route: firstly it’s the only one that runs overnight, allowing you to save money on accommodation, and secondly, you get back into Newhaven at 5 a.m, at which time there are unlikely to be enormous swarms of Customs officers roaming around.
Accommodation:
Paris is better off than London in this respect; here you’d be hard pushed to find a hotel in Zone 1 for less than 30 quid per night, but in Paris, a double room can set you back about 130 Fr, about fifteen pounds. While this will not get you the Ritz, admittedly, who cares? Last time, I stayed in a hotel near the Sacre Couer, in what could either be described as (poetically) South Montmarte or (accurately) Pigalle.
The staff were astonishingly laid-back; we registered and asked about payment, expecting to have to pay cash in advance. “Oh, pay when you leave”, they said with much shrugging. This worried us so much that the next morning I insisted on paying – but the request for a receipt was waved off, which worried me even more. When we left, I fully expected to be met with sawn-off shotguns and asked for all our money. Sadly, at least for this article, nothing happened at all, but the area is good for finding cheap hotels, at least if you can cope with one that feels like something out of ‘Taxi Driver’.
Food ‘n’ Drink:
French cuisine is famous all over the world. However, the TC traveller will probably be more concerned with cost, having spent all his money on videos and comics. Supermarkets are good sources of junk food; rolls, a hunk of brie, some bottles of beer, and you’re ready to re-enact “Dejeuner sur l’Herbe” (nekkid babe optional). We’re even slowly managing to convince our Continental cousins of the immense gastronomic opportunity provided by the potato crisp – previously only available in “plain” and (of all flavours) “paprika”, you now have a chance of tracking down more acceptable kinds. Of the food available on the streets, the best is an interesting delicacy called “merguez frites” – a split baguette containing a double spiced sausage, with a cart-load of chips shovelled on top. At about £1.50, it’s scarcely budget-breaking and it is entirely possible to subsist for an entire weekend on nothing else, though readers should consult their doctors first… [You can also get decent doner kebabs in the Pigalle area though, as here, quality varies!]
As you might expect in France, pub hours are lengthy, and are good places to pass an evening. Just don’t actually drink anything. The prices, even outside the centre, are extremely high, a fiver for half a litre is not untypical. The solution: visit the supermarket again and buy ’em by the crate. Drink these before going out of an evening, and then you’ll be better equipped to imitate the French technique of lingering all evening over the same drink, instead of the British, “get them down and get them in” approach. French beer isn’t generally brilliant – they seem to have devoted most of their energy to wine – but there are any number of more than acceptable imports from Belgium and Germany.
Movies:
The French are keen on films. There are many tiny cinemas, which wouldn’t have a chance of surviving here, living off the fact that the French will watch anything. [The reason is rather a “social” one than a “national” one, relating to the areas in which these cinemas are located. Many of the people who live in these areas are unemployed and will watch anything to pass the time] I visited one such place, three quid got me in for a double bill. The cinema was a very run-down affair, which made the Scala look like a brand-new multiplex; never mind holding your bags tightly, I kept counting my limbs, and hoping I’d get past three. But I eventually relaxed; the crowd was overall more attentive than most you’d get here, though they may have been just drunk or asleep.
While that place was unquestionably very tacky, I enjoyed the experience, so was talked into visiting a porno cinema. Real bad move. Difficult to say exactly why, maybe it was just that everyone seemed to be taking the films so seriously, and intensely. Laughter – my first reaction to 95% of such movies – was not a viable option. After 30 minutes of staring fixedly ahead, not even wanting to contemplate what the noises coming from behind me were, I cut and ran, literally. It was a sobering experience, but perhaps proof that my sense of proportion is still intact.
I still feel a great sense of guilt about insisting that Jim come to a Parisian porno cinema with me. I should have known better, having visited the same dubious establishment with friends a couple of years before, while even more drunk. Being more inebriated on that occasion, and having had the strength of safety-in-numbers had probably blinded me to the cinema’s truly sordid nature. However, the cinema did seem to have gotten sleazier, so at the end of the day, I am really only partly culpable! If anybody fancies experiencing a genuinely disturbing porno cinema, it’s the Atlas, located on the Place du Pigalle.
French censorship laws are certainly laxer than here, with both ‘Hard Target’ and ‘Betty Blue’ rated “12”. Contrary to what people like David Alton might think, I did not notice cross-bow wielding Beatrice Dalle lookalikes stalking the streets (more’s the pity!). Truly vicious stuff like ‘A Clockwork Orange’ get a “16” cert, while only hard-core is rated “18”. The major problem cinema-going in Paris is thus not censorship, but trying to work out what’s on. Film titles in France may be the same as the English title, a literal translation of the English title, something that isn’t really a translation, but is close enough to point you in the right direction ( ‘Man Hunt’ = ‘Hard Target’), or a phrase that bears no resemblance at all to the English language title. Who’d guess that ‘Murder in an English Garden’ was ‘The Draughtsman’s Contract’?
You can check all the necessary details in one of the listing magazines. All of these are excellent: a quarter the price of ‘Time Out’ without the perpetually whining liberal sensibilities or ‘Gay’ section. If you want a specific recommendation, a court recently convicted one such guide, ‘Pariscope’, of using massage parlour ads as a front for prostitution. It’s 80-year-old director was fined £22,000 for serving as a pimping intermediary, while the head of the “Beauty and Relaxation” section(!) and the guide’s publisher were fined £5,500. I need not, I imagine, say any more.
Generally, the sleazier cinemas in Paris should be approached with a degree of caution. But if you can handle just a mild sleaziness, then there are some real gems on offer in a couple of screens in the city: the Agora, on the Boulevard de Clichy (the main sex street in Pigalle) and Le Brady on the Boulevard de Strasbourg. This pair of cinemas, in two of Paris’ most run-down areas, show two different double bills on a permanent basis every week – one from Sunday to Tuesday, the other from Wednesday to Saturday.
The Agora unfortunately doesn’t advertise its programs in Pariscope, so basically you have to go there to find out what’s on. Generally, this place shows a lot of 1970’s/80’s action movies, especially Chinese kung-fu films from the 70’s, but sometimes some obscure exploitation movies too, among them ‘The Virgin of Nuremburg’ (a 1963 film starring Christopher Lee, directed by Antonio Margerhiti), ‘Caligula – the Untold Story’, ‘Street Trash’ and other classics.
The better of the two from my experience has been Le Brady, which tends to offer more consistent programming of cult/sleaze exploitation movies. Here I had the ‘good fortune’ (depending on your perspective) of catching such terrible classics as ‘Zombie Creeping Flesh’, ‘Zombie Holocaust’ and an obscure Joe D’Amato movie ‘The Forbidden Loves of a Nun’. The prints are mostly uncut, though often quite worn because they come cheap to these little cinemas. Other features that have turned up here include some Godzilla (in the shape of “Son of Godzilla”), plus Paul Naschy and other European horror pics from the 70’s, although much of the time they screen movies that are just plain shite. [even by our, usually tolerant, standards.
Whether a fan of gruesome movies or not, the fascinating thing is watching this kind of material on the big screen with an unsuspecting audience. It’s like stepping off the street into the 70’s, with an audience ignorant of the exploitation going on, absorbed in anything they are shown by the cinema proprietor, regardless of its age. It’s especially fascinating watching a movie like Deodato’s “Last Cannibal World” in its complete form, from the front row of a cinema auditorium, with a real live crocodile getting chopped up and Me-Me Lay having hot rocks put into her stomach just a couple of metres in front of your nose. And not even a groan of disgust from the spectators (or even a cheer – the probable response if it had been shown at a place like the Scala.
However, it’s also worth keeping your wits about you in cinemas like these, primarily because the audiences consist of some of Paris’ greatest sleazoids. I’ve had no real trouble at either of the above venues (though one friend [not me!] claimed to have received advances from an old bloke in the toilets, which I can believe – keep reading). But experiences at a similar venue (which has since closed down), a couple of years ago, have led me to be prepared for the worst. We hit a double bill of a 70’s kung-fu film and a Chuck Norris picture, loaded with bottles of beer. What we discovered were the locals masturbating in the toilets, at the urinals. I guess it wouldn’t come as a shock in a porno theatre (hell, that’s the most normal behaviour at the Atlas), but it came as somewhat unexpected. Indeed, truly baffling, given the nature of the films, leading me to conclude that there is an aspect to old Chuck’s popularity that most people aren’t aware of].
Videos:
Typically, the French stubbornly opt for their own unique video standard, SECAM – contrary sods or what? – which gives a b&w picture on a British VCR. For best results, they need converted – or you can always stick to buying black-and-white movies… Price-wise, sell-through tapes are more expensive, 149 Fr. being a common price, and not much in Virgin on the Champs Elysees sells for less than 120.
However, you can do better, especially with genre stuff. There are discount stores; notably Mega-Video at 18-20 Boulevard St.Denis, which sell a number of good movies for 50 Fr, about six pounds. [Since writing, it has reduced its amount of stock a great deal. Two other shops are located at the top of the Rue Faubourg St. Denis (one has a marvellous upstairs room), but generally quite a few of the electrical shops in here or near Pigalle have a selection of cheap tapes] HK films are well represented, though beware – of three films on the Kara label, one box had the wrong film in it, and another tape was blank. But it is nice that even kung-fu films got the widescreen treatment, which is far more common in France. Laser-discs are also more plentiful than over here; Ondes (31 Rue Greuze) has the biggest selection I came across.
Speaking of coming across films, on the “dodgy” side, the same applies in France as anywhere else; if your tastes are normal, avoid sex shops like the plague. It’s possible to pick up 80 minutes of heterosexual fun for 39 Fr, though this may be clips from other films, so the plot might not make much sense. I doubt anyone is bothered. Of course, if you’re after, er, more specialised stuff i.e. ‘Teeny Pissy’ (I wish this was a misprint, believe me), you’ll have to head either to Pigalle, or to the infamous Rue St.Denis. Not to be confused with the aforementioned Rue Faubourg St.Denis, the Rue St Denis illustrates the cool, laid-back attitude the French possess; it’s difficult to visualise any other city where you can stop a random stranger, ask “Ou sont les prostituees?” and receive perfect directions without so much as a raised eyebrow.
If you can put up with the fact that 99% of releases are dubbed into French, you can pick up some decent video-tapes in France. While French dubbing is actually very good as dubbing goes, if you don’t understand French, hermeneutic problems might present themselves. Fortunately, there is no censorship of French video releases nowadays, so most films are in their complete versions. However, be prepared for quality to vary – some might be beautiful, sharp, widescreen versions, others might be grainy reduced prints.
There also seems to be no legislation regarding titles and packaging. French distributors have a tendency to retitle exploitation pics in order to fool people into buying further copies of the same film. It’s not unusual to find a company with the same film released at the same time under two different titles and sets of packaging, or even a release that is incorrectly titled, incorrectly illustrated, and – when you resort to the synopsis to identify the film – fails to deliver one on the dubious grounds that the story is so terrifying that it’d be irresponsible to provide a synopsis on the sleeve, for fear of distressing any shoppers. Really, it can be a hard life for the video collector in France…
Comics:
Another area where the French are well ahead of us is in the field of comics, or “bandes dessines” as they’re called. Artists such as Mobius are far better known in France than their British compatriots are here and comics are read by a much wider audience. Almost any bookstore will have a decent BD section, though be warned that “bookshop” in French is, confusingly, “librairie” – attempts to borrow their books will not be viewed kindly…
Having said this, the attitude to browsing seems a great deal more relaxed, and any BD store will reveal it is seemingly okay to stand and read the books for as long as you want. And “books” they are; traditional comics, of roughly A5 size and with a floppy cover, are almost unknown; BD are generally A4, hardback and glossy, with hardback prices of perhaps a fiver per forty-page volume – if you’ve seen ‘Asterix’, you’ll know the sort of publication I’m talking about. The FNAC store in Les Halles has one of the largest selections, the Virgin Megastore on the Champs Elysees is open late, and the Librairie Glenat on the Boulevard St.Germain is the best of the specialist shops, with a lot of original artwork and so on. I’ll admit a knowledge of French is helpful, but it’s a far more interesting way to learn the language than school ever managed. The cool points gained by having them on your shelves are considerable, as there is a lot more than Gaullish freedom fighters to the medium.
Customs:
Should be no problem, especially if you’ve taken the advice in the first paragraph. The major advantage of France is that, unlike Holland, Customs Officers will only really be looking for people taking in alcohol for resale (an epidemic problem, especially in the South of England). Anyone travelling on foot is unlikely to be able to carry that sort of volume.
A few general points remain valid. Customs look suspiciously at single travellers, so if you are one, overcome your traditional British reserve and try and link up, even if only for the 100 yard dash off the ship. A school party is excellent – especially if you can get one of the little dears to carry your bag. Or you can go the other way, and offer to help with some aged grandmother’s cases. Here is also the chance to practice your method acting. You are not a devotee of trash culture returning from a shopping spree; you are a geology student coming back from a week’s climbing in the Jura Mountains. But if you do this, remember to dress the part, whatever the part is. If your rucksack is covered in patches from a selection of Britain’s national parks, you’ve a better chance than if you attempt to stagger through in an ‘Texas Chainsaw Massacre’ T-shirt. Pleasant shopping!
Finally, while in Paris, also worth popping into is Movies 2000 (49 Rue de La Rouchefoucault, south from the Place de Pigalle), a store managed by Didier Allouch, contributor to the French magazine ‘Mad Movies’. They stock various posters, tapes and other memorabilia. Fortunately, he speaks good English so you won’t have any problem communicating what you’re after. Happy Trails…
