I love eggplant. Its taste and texture are totally unique and it can stand hours of overcooking in a way the fibers of most vegetables can’t. How would I know that? Well, I grew up in England where Mushy Peas are beloved and vegetables are only eaten after they own no flavor. Anyway, this is a killer of a tasty veg dish that you can add as much extra heat to as your heart desires. Use one large American eggplant or two small Indian ones. Better yet, if available, buy Chinese eggplant. Chinese eggplant is far superior when it comes to a quick marinade for soaking up flavors and there’s no need to pre-prep by broiling (as in #1)because you eat the skin. Burtha is both a fine side dish or a superb dip
Ingredients
1 eggplant, or 2 large Chinese eggplant
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1/2 teaspoon cumin seeds
1 medium onion, sliced
1 teaspoon chopped fresh ginger
1 large tomato - peeled, seeded and diced
1 teaspoon cayenne
1 clove garlic, minced
1/2 teaspoon ground turmeric
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon ground coriander
1/2 teaspoon salt, or to taste
Ground black pepper to taste
1/2 cup chopped fresh cilantro
1/2 cup frozen peas
Directions
1. Preheat the broiler in your oven. Rub oil on the skin of the egg plant, or coat thoroughly with cooking spray. Place under the broiler, and cook until the flesh is soft and the skin is bubbling and beginning to blister off, app. 30 minutes. Turn when necessary for even cooking. Slice the eggplant in half lengthwise, scoop the flesh out of the skin, discard the skin; chop up the flesh, and set aside.
2. Heat oil in a large skillet or wok over high heat. Add the cumin seed still they crackle for a few seconds and turn golden brown. Act fast. Do not let them burn! Add the onion, ginger and garlic; cook and stir until tender. Lower the heat after two minutes to medium. Do not let the onions get too brown. Stir in the peas and tomato, and season with turmeric, ground cumin, ground coriander, cayenne pepper, salt and black pepper. Cook and stir for a few minutes.
3. Place the eggplant pieces in the skillet, and cook for 10 to 15 minutes until most of the moisture evaporates. Taste, and adjust seasonings if desired. Garnish with fresh cilantro, and serve.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Stop Snivelling: Make Your Own Vindaloo Paste
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| Lamb Vindaloo: Mmmmmhmmm! |
Anyone who follows my football site knows I just took my youngest home to England to watch Manchester United destroy Spurs and Arsenal. The second order of business was food. They call it the Curry Mile and us Mancs in exile miss it like mad. So me and me old mate Nobby Patel went on oe of our periodic heat hunts and ended up at the old tried-and-true Moti Mahal on Wythenshawe Road. They make the best Vindaloo anywhere. What makes theirs so especially good is something which ‘Britishizes ’it. Instead of using plain, white vinegar use malt vinegar.
And, remember, old spices in a jar will not keep well I use plain old, reasonably priced corn oil. Safflower oil is a good alternative if you prefer something slightly more viscous.
Chopped vidalia onions- 6 cups
Mustard seeds- 2 tsp
Tomatoes- 2 lb
Malt vinegar- 1/2 Cup
Red chilies-25 or 3 oz chili paste
Garlic- 30 cloves
Grated ginger- 5 tablespoons
Cardamom seeds 2 tsp
Cumin seeds- 1 tbs.
Fenugreek seeds- 1 tsp
Oil- 1 cup
Pink Wine-2 cups
Grind the red chilies with half of the ginger, garlic, cardamom, cumin & mustard.
Mix this into a paste with the vinegar.
Fry the other half of the garlic and the onions until golden brown.
Add the tomatoes and fry on a low heat for ten minutes before adding the ground spice paste and wine. Slowly add the remaining spices and fry until the oil separates from the mixture.
Allow the mix to cool completely.
Store in an airtight container and freeze. Prepare your meat of choice, defrost your vindaloo and simmer on a low light for 90 minutes.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
An Evening With Paul Thorn
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| Photos by Kevin Craig |
How many rock ‘n’ rollers you know went toe-to-toe with Roberto ‘Manos de piedra’ Duran and didn’t get knocked out? When you go to see Paul Thorn in concert you’re getting something special. I’ve been going to watch concerts since 1966 and I defy you to name any band on the road, paying its daily dues right now that gives a show as good as the Paul Thorn Band. No ifs, ands or buts! Caught them June 15 at the Space in Evanston, Illinois and they were awesome. The word 'showman' may not mean a lot to you, but to me it’s the ultimate tribute to the live entertainer’s art. I’ve been at great shows where Sarah Vaughan stood there frozen, Dylan mumbled, Miles turned his back on me, Janis Joplin got blitzed onstage and Rory Gallagher off. Stage craft, however, that kind of “Ladies and Gentlemen, I love you” vibe perpetuated by the likes of James Brown, Jackie Wilson, Elkie Brooks, Ray Baretto, Billy Stewart, Mitch Ryder, the Ike & Tina Turner Revue, Otis Redding with the M.G.s and the Barkays, and, my favorite of all, Little Feat with Lowell George, is very very rare these days, A lot of it, I think is because 'professionalism' is so simple to parodize if it’s done in an insincere cynical manner, Nevertheless, Paul and his band make high art!!!
One thing I’m not going to do is go over his routine. There are plenty of other reviews where you can read the songlist. Suffice to say, he’s funny and dry-witted and relentlessly full of give-and-go and fliratation with his audience. “Getting your money’s-worth” surely is a cliché, but the whole band is the real deal. When they aren’t in one of their cut-away vibes that sound like a power-pop Beatles or Lucinda Williams-ish alt-country’ they are in a consistently Southern-fried synchronized mode. You know, the kind that the Black Crowes desperately try for, but never quite reach. The very best comparison I can make, because the band is just so-o fucking eclectic, is with Willie Mitchell’s house band at Hi Records featuring the Hodges brothers, They are Jeff Perkins on drums and his partner in synchronicity, Doug Kahan on bass. These two play off each other like they’re caught in a lover’s-lock for lifetime. The keyboard player, Michael ‘Dr. Love’ Graham, is kind of the busy, busy Keith Moon of the 88’s. And then there’s the jaw-dropping, fastidious, poker-faced brilliance of the band’s lead guitarist Bill Hinds. At different moments, I swear to God he was channeling Duane ‘Skydog’ Allman, Lowell George, Ry Cooder, Scotty Moore, James Burton, Roy Buchanan and, beyond that, just a lot of beautiful playing unto himself.
As for Paul Thorn himself, the dude is in shape. Not 'roidy, but with the body of someone who eats carefully and goes to the gym while on the road. Vanity reigns and Paul, whether he’s playing blues or roots/alt-country is an artist it’s hard to peg. Like many singer-songwriters, even though most folks have never heard of him, he’s had a long career working with the likes of Bonnie Raitt, John Prine, Huey Lewis, Sting and Nashville mainstreamers like Tanya Tucker, Toby Keith and Sawyer Brown: All have covered his songs. Well, they may do his songs, but only Paul sounds like Paul. His Mississippi accent oozes with masculinity, sexuality, down-home humor and the attack of a lapsed Pentecostal sex machine. Ah, the old eternal Southern-fried conflict between Man and God, the hard-on and the scriptures. All that ambivalence is couched in so much sincerity and fed to the scores of mature ladies in the audience, who maybe ought to know better but don’t, squealing like horny little platinum-haired pot-bellied pigs at his double entendres and silver-tongued come-ons (There were even moments where the show reminded me of going to see the likes of Tom Jones and Lovelace Watkins as a kid with my sluttish Aunty Gina, when she used to take off her knickers, give them a rub down there--you know where--and then throw them at the artist).
There’s nobody like him. He’s out there touring, coast to coast and all over the planet, ten months a year. GO see the show!
Here’s my Q & A with Paul Thorn. You can’t help but notice that I’m the one who’s running at the mouth.
Q: I got to be a fan of yours after just hearing one song, “Ain’t Love Strange.” I’m sat in a bar in Key West with no air-conditioning called the Green Parrot, feeling sorry for myself over a certain girl named Azúcar and I’ve had way too much Maker’s Mark when your song comes on some roots cable station with no D.J.. Band sounds like the fucking Hodges brothers with Lowell George back from the dead. And there are like three short-short stories in the song and its sort of like a trilogy of passion movie or a triptych painting. Blew me away. Took me months to hunt you down, Anyway, is there a story about how that one got written? It’s not really typical of your songs which, you know, tend to deal with one subject per song.
A: Ain’t love strange came into existance when me and my cowriting partner Billy Maddox put a drum machine on and just started making up little mini stories.. It was a fun song to write.
Q: Your band is really eclectic. I think I heard you say that the band’s been together for 12 years, except for the bass player. There are very few bands that last that long. Like,you’ve got to see these guys more than you see your wife and daughters and, I’m guessing from reading, that you spend even more time than that with Billy Maddox. Are you that mellow or do you guys bitch and fight a lot? Further to that, these guys are so fucking good. This Bill Hinds guy is about as gifted a guitarist as I can think of. Is the Tupelo/Memphis area a hotbed of musicians, or did you luck out?
A: We get along great. Having our own private hotel rooms every night gives us time to ourselves which is important in any relationship. whether its a band or a marriage.
Q: Is there a story behind ‘Joanie, the Jehovah’s Witness Stripper’ or did that just come out of your brain as a wild imagining?
A: Joanie was written about a real person I know who, after leaving home, supplemented her income by dancing topless on the weekends. Her family was all Jehovah's Witness. They never found out about her secret career.
Q: My dad was a British A.B.A. (Golden Gloves) Bantamweight and Featherweight champion. He had no punch, but you couldn’t lay a glove on him, so he was a champion amateur but useless as a pro. Boxing is a solitary game. You know, up at dawn doing road work. I remember my dad chewing on steaks but never swallowing, and no pussy for weeks before a fight. How does that square with you, in that you seem to be a very social animal?
A: I disagree that you should abstain from sex for weeks before a fight. A couple days before the fight is plenty. Its hard to focus on training with a pole in your pants. This is boxing not fencing.
Q: What did you think of the movie ‘The Fighter’? Ha! Do you have a favorite boxer? Mine was Wilfrédo Benítez. He danced away from Sugar Ray Leonard for 12 rounds before Sugar cornered him. Do you have any favorite boxers or particular fights?
A: I have not seen ‘The Fighter’ but I am a huge Mickey Ward fan. he was a a great brawler with lots of heart. I actually got to fight my favorite fighter. In 1988, I boxed Roberto Duran on national television. The fight was stopped after the 6th round due to cuts on my face. Everyone always talks about his punching power but, honestly, I was more impressed with his defensive skills. He was incredibly hard to hit. He made me miss a lot. As far as favorite fights goes, there are many I could name but the Hagler-Hearns scrap is one that comes to mind. It was what they call a war.
Q: Who did you listen when you were a kid? You know, there’s a white boy named Eddie Hinton who used to play for Otis Redding’s tour band and his songs on an album called ‘Very Extremely Dangerous’ are in the same damnation/redemption vein as yours. What songwriters did you like as a kid?
A: I grew up on church music. Holy roller hell fire hymn book songs really molded whatever musical mojo I have. As far as writers go, I like guys like Roger Miller, Tom Waits, and Kristofferson.
Q: My Grandma, who brought me up, used to say “Count to ten before you throw a stone,” too. In a very general way, with that, “Whatever you believe, you might be wrong” message, you’re speaking for what the Obama man calls “our good angels.” Thing is, in all the years I’ve been here since 1977, I’ve never seen us all so divided. Any comment?
A: I am no longer a religous person. Exclusive clubs that say they possess the absolute truth seem arrogant to me. I dont believe that anyone knows whats on the other side of life. I do believe in a higher power, but I don't think he wants 10% of my income. Paying tithes is something man invented.
Q: I really admire how you’re making hay out of being independent. I’ve published two books with so-called legit publishers and had to stand by while my work got butchered by editors and agents. Both times their accounting meant I somehow owed them even after one book was reprinted four times. I’and saving my money to publish a bunch of already published short stories and poems, which I’ll need to take on the road.. Anyway, I don’t know how good your finances are from doing it yourself, but this do-it-yourself ethic works for me. If a big label came to you now, would you rethink what you’re doing, or has the game changed too much already?
A: Being on a major label is like being a competitive pit bull dog. they will keep feeding you as long as you are winning. When you start losing, they kill you. They are in it for the quick buck. They don't develop artists anymore. You either become an instant star or you fade away. I believe winning fans one at a time is the only way to last in today's musical climate. I have no interest in major labels. They also make you water down your art to please the masses, which has sadly made most main stream music bland.
I definitely recommend you all sample his work at You Tube or check out his personal website at http://www.paulthorn.com/ or friend him at Facebook. Available along with his new album ‘Pimps & Preachers’ and a number of other superb albums is a superb concert DVD ‘So Far So Good Live!’
Friday, June 3, 2011
Ivor Gets Rockin'!
Tom Weiss, who works with my wife Elsie, turns out to be one of those geeky geezers who actually reads the words. He read one of my poems 'Heart's Blood' and turned it into some kind of sweet blues/rock. Thank you, Tom!
Listen for free HERE: http://www.jango.com/music/Tom+Weiss?l=0
Listen for free HERE: http://www.jango.com/music/Tom+Weiss?l=0
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
The Descent
Ivorismo Rating*****
The Descent is a killer of a thriller. It's a unique, intelligent, savagely entertaining and bloody movie. Its writer/director, Neil Marshall and his cinematographer sidekick, Sam McCurdy, have created an intense, frightening underground world in the darkness. This British horror-thriller recalls other grueling, contemporary adrenaline-pumpers like Alexander Aja's brilliant High Tension, the original Alien, Saw and Wrong Turn, yet there's also a deft touch of empathy to help us feel something for the characters before the butchery begins. Shooting in a cave, beyond offering the eye the dark subtleties of the gray scale, really helps connect the viewer to the utter horror these innocents step into. It's that good. Yes, it's a scary movie with sharp teeth, but there's more to the story than just blood and entrails.
The Descent refers to a cave-diving expedition undertaken by six women into the bowels of the earth, yet there's also a parallel plummet into a deep abyss. A nightmare of primal chaos.
Plotwise, in a prologue, Juno (Natalie Mendoza), Sarah (Shauna MacDonald) and Beth (Alex Reid) go white water rafting in Scotland. There are hints at a shared tension, but nothing specific until Sarah's husband, Paul, and daughter, Jessica, pick her up and, in the midst of a bland conversation, get in a road accident on their way back to the hotel. Paul and Jessica are killed, but Sarah survives.
One year later, Juno, Sarah, Beth, Sam (Manna Buring) and Rebecca (Saskia Mulder) are reunited at a rustic Appalachian cabin in North Carolina. Holly (Nora-Jane Noone), Juno's new friend, arrives and the green-eyed monster of jealousy rears its ugly head as we get a vague hint at the vague dynamics of a number of unspecified relationships. They proceed to get very drunk and pledge to "Love each day."
The next morning they go caving. Having not been climbing for long, the group goes into shock when Sarah is almost killed as a cave collapses behind them. After much argument, Juno admits that she has deliberately taken them into an unknown cave instead of the well mapped-out cave system they had carefully planned for. Juno, with her massive yet clearly insecure ego locked into a notion of discovering a brand-new cave system that can be named after her narcissistic self, clearly disavows the unctuous rhetoric she mouths about plurality and the love of sisterhood. Additionally, Juno has manipulated the only other climbers who already know about their expedition into thinking they are climbing elsewhere, so there can be no rescue. Trapped, with no way out, the group then discover an ancient cave painting and leftover equipment from a previous climber.
When Holly falls and breaks her leg, they are forced to carry her along. Then, as a claustrophobic, angry Sarah wanders off, otherwise absorbed it takes a while before she sees a pale, humanoid creature drinking at a pool. As a shocked Sarah reacts in panic it scampers off into the darkness. In the melée that follows Holly's throat is cut and Juno defends her from the crawlers. Amidst the chaos and confusion, as matters take on a sort of battlefield reality, Juno accidentally stabs Beth. From then on, everything descends into savagery and a plot I refuse to give away.
This may all sound sort of trite. It's all been done before, you might say, but the essence of the movie is in its total physicality. Often shot from close-up in the utter darkness, each character's body is pushed, pulled, beaten, battered, and stretched to a violent breaking point. Smothering tight canals and cavernous potholes, sometimes illuminated by the light from pink flares, make it seem like a voyage through the rings of hell. Strained beyond the limits of their muscles and bones, these 'fit' women are confronted by the limits of their bodies, friendships, and belief systems.
A quick word about these humanoid creatures the women encounter in the caves. They are, as described by the film's director Neil Marshall, cavemen who've evolved after living underground for thousands of years. They've lost their eyesight, but own acute climbing, hearing and sensatory powers to be able to function in a pitch-black world. By creating a family of ruthless, blind carnivores to go to war with his female athletes, Marshall enriches what otherwise would have been simply a woman-in-danger monster movie.
Happily The Descent doesn't waste much time on the usual Hollywood-style obligatory schematic elements. We learn enough about these characters from their reaction to their predicament. Indeed, the dark, claustrophobic world under the surface is a character unto itself. The film's writer-director Neil Marshall has taken his excellent Dog Soldiers--the story of a platoon of British weekend warrior territorials out on maneuvers in the Scottish Highlands when they accidentally/on purpose stumble into a group of night hunter werewolves--and simply stepped it up a notch. Marshall and McCurdy love darkness. These caves have a terrifying emptiness, a vacuum full of both imagined and real dangers.
This film is a definite must-see. Buy a big box of popcorn, people. Keep your jaws busy!
The Descent is a killer of a thriller. It's a unique, intelligent, savagely entertaining and bloody movie. Its writer/director, Neil Marshall and his cinematographer sidekick, Sam McCurdy, have created an intense, frightening underground world in the darkness. This British horror-thriller recalls other grueling, contemporary adrenaline-pumpers like Alexander Aja's brilliant High Tension, the original Alien, Saw and Wrong Turn, yet there's also a deft touch of empathy to help us feel something for the characters before the butchery begins. Shooting in a cave, beyond offering the eye the dark subtleties of the gray scale, really helps connect the viewer to the utter horror these innocents step into. It's that good. Yes, it's a scary movie with sharp teeth, but there's more to the story than just blood and entrails.
The Descent refers to a cave-diving expedition undertaken by six women into the bowels of the earth, yet there's also a parallel plummet into a deep abyss. A nightmare of primal chaos.
Plotwise, in a prologue, Juno (Natalie Mendoza), Sarah (Shauna MacDonald) and Beth (Alex Reid) go white water rafting in Scotland. There are hints at a shared tension, but nothing specific until Sarah's husband, Paul, and daughter, Jessica, pick her up and, in the midst of a bland conversation, get in a road accident on their way back to the hotel. Paul and Jessica are killed, but Sarah survives.
One year later, Juno, Sarah, Beth, Sam (Manna Buring) and Rebecca (Saskia Mulder) are reunited at a rustic Appalachian cabin in North Carolina. Holly (Nora-Jane Noone), Juno's new friend, arrives and the green-eyed monster of jealousy rears its ugly head as we get a vague hint at the vague dynamics of a number of unspecified relationships. They proceed to get very drunk and pledge to "Love each day."
The next morning they go caving. Having not been climbing for long, the group goes into shock when Sarah is almost killed as a cave collapses behind them. After much argument, Juno admits that she has deliberately taken them into an unknown cave instead of the well mapped-out cave system they had carefully planned for. Juno, with her massive yet clearly insecure ego locked into a notion of discovering a brand-new cave system that can be named after her narcissistic self, clearly disavows the unctuous rhetoric she mouths about plurality and the love of sisterhood. Additionally, Juno has manipulated the only other climbers who already know about their expedition into thinking they are climbing elsewhere, so there can be no rescue. Trapped, with no way out, the group then discover an ancient cave painting and leftover equipment from a previous climber.
When Holly falls and breaks her leg, they are forced to carry her along. Then, as a claustrophobic, angry Sarah wanders off, otherwise absorbed it takes a while before she sees a pale, humanoid creature drinking at a pool. As a shocked Sarah reacts in panic it scampers off into the darkness. In the melée that follows Holly's throat is cut and Juno defends her from the crawlers. Amidst the chaos and confusion, as matters take on a sort of battlefield reality, Juno accidentally stabs Beth. From then on, everything descends into savagery and a plot I refuse to give away.
This may all sound sort of trite. It's all been done before, you might say, but the essence of the movie is in its total physicality. Often shot from close-up in the utter darkness, each character's body is pushed, pulled, beaten, battered, and stretched to a violent breaking point. Smothering tight canals and cavernous potholes, sometimes illuminated by the light from pink flares, make it seem like a voyage through the rings of hell. Strained beyond the limits of their muscles and bones, these 'fit' women are confronted by the limits of their bodies, friendships, and belief systems.
A quick word about these humanoid creatures the women encounter in the caves. They are, as described by the film's director Neil Marshall, cavemen who've evolved after living underground for thousands of years. They've lost their eyesight, but own acute climbing, hearing and sensatory powers to be able to function in a pitch-black world. By creating a family of ruthless, blind carnivores to go to war with his female athletes, Marshall enriches what otherwise would have been simply a woman-in-danger monster movie.
Happily The Descent doesn't waste much time on the usual Hollywood-style obligatory schematic elements. We learn enough about these characters from their reaction to their predicament. Indeed, the dark, claustrophobic world under the surface is a character unto itself. The film's writer-director Neil Marshall has taken his excellent Dog Soldiers--the story of a platoon of British weekend warrior territorials out on maneuvers in the Scottish Highlands when they accidentally/on purpose stumble into a group of night hunter werewolves--and simply stepped it up a notch. Marshall and McCurdy love darkness. These caves have a terrifying emptiness, a vacuum full of both imagined and real dangers.
This film is a definite must-see. Buy a big box of popcorn, people. Keep your jaws busy!
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Greenland: For Jim Craig on the Day of His Funeral
The oven was ticking.
It could have been a bomb.
You were eating with gusto.
Testing the Thanksgiving turkey
so we wouldn’t get poisoned.
Dinner made you noble.
We were watching college football on your dinky thirteen-incher.
A Kia commercial got me babbling
about my dad’s exploits.
Dead Chinese.
The wounds which occasionally suppurated out of his back,
like tears for his dead mates. And you said:
‘Greenland!’
How N onward got slaughtered at Pork Chop.
Snow melted, wound your clock,
Letting you chug-a-lug your living.
You sliced a hunk of meat, dipped it into gravy.
‘Greenland!’
A to M were slaughtered.
Diamonds glittered out of your eyes and teeth.
You smiled.
The oven clock rang in agreement;
Sweet buttered yams ready.
Like one of those perky girls, waiting to be examined in Kevin’s darkroom.
Her plentiful thighs, fat, sassy.
Then you were crying. Memory.
The dice of the alphabet.
—Ivor Irwin
It could have been a bomb.
You were eating with gusto.
Testing the Thanksgiving turkey
so we wouldn’t get poisoned.
Dinner made you noble.
We were watching college football on your dinky thirteen-incher.
A Kia commercial got me babbling
about my dad’s exploits.
Dead Chinese.
The wounds which occasionally suppurated out of his back,
like tears for his dead mates. And you said:
‘Greenland!’
How N onward got slaughtered at Pork Chop.
Snow melted, wound your clock,
Letting you chug-a-lug your living.
You sliced a hunk of meat, dipped it into gravy.
‘Greenland!’
A to M were slaughtered.
Diamonds glittered out of your eyes and teeth.
You smiled.
The oven clock rang in agreement;
Sweet buttered yams ready.
Like one of those perky girls, waiting to be examined in Kevin’s darkroom.
Her plentiful thighs, fat, sassy.
Then you were crying. Memory.
The dice of the alphabet.
—Ivor Irwin
Sunday, September 12, 2010
The Getaway
Ivorismo Rating****
Sam Peckinpah knew how to tell a story. He really knew how to entertain, not just with plentiful dollops of action and violence, but also how to impress film critics because he had wonderful insights into the human condition and the way society and bureaucracies work. At his best, Peckinpah's films worked equally at both a visceral and cerebral level. Movies like Ride the High Country(1962), Major Dundee(1965), The Wild Bunch(1968), The Ballad of Cable Hogue(1970), Straw Dogs(1971), Junior Bonner(1972), Cross of Iron(1977) and even the shrill, high-strung, eccentric Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia (1974), are a guilty pleasure for some, but masterpieces of film making craft to me. Forever forced to compromise by the Hollywood oligarchs who ran the old school system, Peckinpah made three total dogs in The Killer Elite(1975), The Osterman Weekend(1982) and the hugely successful at th box-office Convoy(1978), all executed in a coke and booze-filled stupor. Nobody had his work messed with by studio hacks more than Sad Sam. Indeed, anyone who knows their Hollywood lore, surely wonders if the the crazed depressive auteur played by Richard Mulligan in Blake Edwards' black comedy masterpiece S.O.B.(1981), isn't actually based on Peckinpah. Excuse me if you think I'm exaggerating or overstating my case, but I urge anyone who is truly curious as to how misunderstood and underrated his work really was to compare the hacked-up studio version of Pat Garrett & Billy the Kid(1973) to the more recently released Director's Cut which has over 95 minutes-worth of extra footage added to the film. The movie now makes complete narrative sense, versus the original release in which the 'plot' made no sense whatsoever.
Based on a novel by Jim Thompson and adapted for the screen by Walter Hill, The Getaway(1972) stars Steve McQueen and Al McGraw, Al Lettieri and Sally Struthers, along with some of Peckinpah's stable of character actor favorites, Ben Johnson, Jack Dodson, Bo Hopkins, Dub Taylor and Slim Pickens. If you're of a certain age, Mr. Man's Man, Steve McQueen--He of the rawboned, wiry frame, piercing blue eyes and the closed-mouth-uttering-few-words persona, was the penultimate in cool machismo. Brave, quiet and strong, once he became a star, he was very picky about the work he did in The Magnificent Seven(1960), The Great Escape(1963), The Cincinnati Kid(1965), The Thomas Crown Affair(1968), and Bullitt(1968).
Peckinpah and McQueen had been friends for years. Tightly knit already as young actors in New York City and Hollywood, McQueen benefitted when Peckinpah became head writer and sometimes the director of his first T.V. show as a lead Wanted Dead or Alive. Having helped Peckinpah get the job as director of The Cincinatti Kid, McQueen had threatened to quit the film when the ever ultra-sensitive Peckinpah was fired a month into shooting after arguing with the producers over the script. It wasn't quite a man love affair up there with John Ford and John Wayne, but McQueen and Peckinpah understood each other well.
Costarring with McQueen was the incredibly beautiful Ali McGraw. A big star at that moment in time because Love Story had been a huge box-office hit, MacGraw became instantly enamored with sexy boy McQueen, abandoning her movie producer husband, Robert Evans, and giving up the chance to star in two other fine films from 1974, Chinatown and The Great Gatsby. Gossip-mongering aside, I only mention this because, clearly, there was a lot of tension on the set, sexual and otherwise, and it shows in the movie
Peckinpah and McQueen had been friends for years. Tightly knit already as young actors in New York City and Hollywood, McQueen benefitted when Peckinpah became head writer and sometimes the director of his first T.V. show as a lead Wanted Dead or Alive. Having helped Peckinpah get the job as director of The Cincinatti Kid, McQueen had threatened to quit the film when the ever ultra-sensitive Peckinpah was fired a month into shooting after arguing with the producers over the script. It wasn't quite a man love affair up there with John Ford and John Wayne, but McQueen and Peckinpah understood each other well.
Costarring with McQueen was the incredibly beautiful Ali McGraw. A big star at that moment in time because Love Story had been a huge box-office hit, MacGraw became instantly enamored with sexy boy McQueen, abandoning her movie producer husband, Robert Evans, and giving up the chance to star in two other fine films from 1974, Chinatown and The Great Gatsby. Gossip-mongering aside, I only mention this because, clearly, there was a lot of tension on the set, sexual and otherwise, and it shows in the movie
The film begins at a Texas prison, the focus clearly on one inmate in particular, the zen-calm Carter 'Doc' McCoy (McQueen), who's serving his fourth year of a ten-year stretch for bank robbery. Denied parole, Doc cuts a deal with a corrupt, politically powerful local Sheriff Jack Banyon (Johnson), who conveniently happens to be a member of the prison parole board. The deal involves McCoy pulling a one-shot bank job for Banyon.
Sprung and reunited with his wife, Carol(McGraw), McCoy's meticulous planning goes well and nets the robbers a large amount of cash. Unfortunately, a couple of the robbery crew were hand-picked by Banyon and the double-cross is in. McCoy is savvy enough to have pre-prepared for any betrayal, however. Still, even the ultra-cautious, competent McCoy is shocked to find out that a part of the devil's bargain he hadn't counted on was Banyon sleeping with his wife. Betrayal leads to betrayal, but love still conquers all. McCoy and Carol, after surviving a couple of assassination attempts, go on the run, headed for the Mexican border in El Paso with the money, all the while avoiding capture by the authorities. At the same time, with McCoy's face plastered all over the news, they are chased by Banyon's trigger-happy gang of sociopathic thugs.
Sprung and reunited with his wife, Carol(McGraw), McCoy's meticulous planning goes well and nets the robbers a large amount of cash. Unfortunately, a couple of the robbery crew were hand-picked by Banyon and the double-cross is in. McCoy is savvy enough to have pre-prepared for any betrayal, however. Still, even the ultra-cautious, competent McCoy is shocked to find out that a part of the devil's bargain he hadn't counted on was Banyon sleeping with his wife. Betrayal leads to betrayal, but love still conquers all. McCoy and Carol, after surviving a couple of assassination attempts, go on the run, headed for the Mexican border in El Paso with the money, all the while avoiding capture by the authorities. At the same time, with McCoy's face plastered all over the news, they are chased by Banyon's trigger-happy gang of sociopathic thugs.
What takes the film beyond the usual clichéd kind of heist movie are the peripheral adventures the McCoys' have as a result of being on the run. First there's a brilliant Hitchcockian tension set in motion when Carol is relieved of her bag full of money at a railway station by a bait-and-switch con man who runs away with the case, getting away on the first train he can find. Followed by McQueen, he is quietly hunted down on the packed train and then, just as he opens the case and finds the robbery booty, gets knocked unconscious. It's a brilliant bit of business. Peckinpah at his very best.
At the same time, the most evil robbery crew member Rudy(Al Lettieri), who has been shot by McQueen in an earlier post-robbery attempt to steal the heist money, keeps checking into the fast-running action every now and again. He escapes McQueen and hides out at a doctor's house, proceeding to practice a kind of bully-and-kiss Stockholm syndrome seduction of the physician's venal, horny wife (Sally Struthers). It's pretty kinky stuff as the wounded Rudy is attended to by the frightened doctor and then proceeds to have sex with his wife in front of him. Can this be little Gloria from All in the Family?Again, as with Charlton Heston in Major Dundee, the underrated Peckinpah was brilliant at pulling stunning performances out of underutilized studio and television hacks.
Later, after avoiding numerous traps and ambushes, Doc and Carol hide in a dumpster just as--conveniently or maybe not--a monster garbage truck empties them into its mechanical maw and carries their crushed bodies for miles to a giant trash heap. After the truck leaves they emerge from a pile in the dump like maggots pushing up for air out of a rotted fruit. This is yet another visually brilliant bit of Peckinpah business, a perfect amalgam of storytelling choreographed by Peckinpah's direction, Hill's deft script and the marvelous eye of cinematographer Lucian Ballard which help raise the stake of the film's narrative way beyond the usual mundane crime caper.
Over the years, many of the critics have questioned MacGraw's acting abilities, but the truth is that--as with Jack Nicholson--sharing the screen with McQueen is a thankless task for any actor of either gender. There are not many women in his movies who hold their own next to the sphinx-like macho star, save perhaps Faye Dunaway in The Thomas Crown Affair and Suzanne Pleshette in Nevada Smith. The lone chick on the set of a hard-drinking, dope-smoking boys' club, McGraw does rather well. Her little girl's voice may grate on the nerves, especially when she's the young Jewish Princess in Goodbye Columbus (1969), but, by the time she starred as the aging Jewish princess in Just Tell Me What You Want (1979), she had learned her craft and was able to hold her own in a town full of McQueen wannabes. Ten years in Los Angeles, hunh?
McGraw is fine in The Getaway. The contrast between the beautiful Choate/Wellesley educated Jewess actor/model and her macho, pot-headed, dour American-Scot of a costar, state-raised in Kansas orphanages, dyslexic and lacking in all but the most rudimentary education, is a massive one. Yet it works very clearly on screen. There really are sparks between them. It's a very uncomfortable moment for a modern audience when, after finding out that she's been unfaithful to him with Sheriff Banyon, he slaps her around a bit, but the truth is it works. It's a moment of passion and needs to be viewed in the context of the time it was made, rather than ill-judged in an out of context way as a piece of bad P.C.
McGraw is fine in The Getaway. The contrast between the beautiful Choate/Wellesley educated Jewess actor/model and her macho, pot-headed, dour American-Scot of a costar, state-raised in Kansas orphanages, dyslexic and lacking in all but the most rudimentary education, is a massive one. Yet it works very clearly on screen. There really are sparks between them. It's a very uncomfortable moment for a modern audience when, after finding out that she's been unfaithful to him with Sheriff Banyon, he slaps her around a bit, but the truth is it works. It's a moment of passion and needs to be viewed in the context of the time it was made, rather than ill-judged in an out of context way as a piece of bad P.C.
The critic Roger Ebert describes Sam Peckinpah's The Getaway as "a big, glossy, impersonal mechanical toy." But I think that's why I like it. Peckinpah's movies are ultimately all about the same damned thing. Peckinpah's heroes have a clear set of values, morals and ideals. They always go to war with a corrupted universe and rarely, if ever, win. In that sense, the movie dares to veer away from Peckinpah's usual trope of the good guy dying in slow motion after a series of betrayals. In this one, the good guy, albeit a recidivist criminal, gets away with the stolen money and the girl. Good entertaining stuff.
And, last, but not least: Be sure to avoid the Alec Baldwin/Kim Basinger remake at all costs!!!
And, last, but not least: Be sure to avoid the Alec Baldwin/Kim Basinger remake at all costs!!!
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