November Streaming
High and low art to keep the extended family entertained...and on their toes...this holiday season
We’re in the last mad dash now, folks.
Welcome to November, and November streaming. I hope everyone had a safe Halloween and is not too melancholy putting away the fake skeletons. I love those early November days when rogue skeletons still sit atop awnings or rest half-buried in front lawns, lingering reminders of the macabre from those too lazy/sad to put them to rest, like the end of Fantasia (1940) when the evil night gives break to a holy morning…a sequence I always skipped because it made me sad, even as a kid. This year, I went as Mothra, that great kaiju goddess of the skies, and boy are my arms tired! As we put another spooky season to bed, we’re staring down the imminent holiday season with an extra helping of grit: film noir! Big, beefy men! Plus: a look at how film has captured the world of radio broadcasting and a new Turkey Day tradition a year in the making.
Well, build my gallows high, baby, because I’m resting firmly in the shadows this month…
Noirvember: A Film Noir Primer
Remember, remember the noir of November, I always write, just days before November streaming publication is set to launch, when I finally remember that November is Noirvember and I’ve almost forgotten to honor it once again. If horror programming launched The Spread, then film noir programming Made It a Thing: it was the second program we ever did, and appears in its fourth iteration after years of research and refinement. That’s more noir and neo-noir (180+) films to sit [in the shadows] with this month, from the classics to the obscurities to the knock-offs to the international takes on the genre. I’ll leave you with our go-to definition of noir, for the uninitiated: "film noir" was a term invented by the French to describe the particular quality of American films that were shot roughly during or post World War II and excavate the contradictory social mores of our culture. There is no single definition of "noir." Noir generally depicts crime, but not all crime films are noir. Noir films are typically in black-and-white, but several noirs were also shot in startling Technicolor. Noir is often associated with masculinity, but a number of noir films are led by powerful and/or fraught women. For many, the definition of "film noir" is really just a collection of signifiers: femme fatales, shadowy streets, masculine antiheroes (broken and hardened by the world), guns, plays of light and shadow from chirascuro lighting, etc. When you dig into what films get considered "noir," however, you come to find that it's much more complicated than that. Noir is certainly a vibe but it's also a mode or critical tool: simplistically, we might see it as a way of looking at the whole world, not just the pleasant one that Hollywood typically showcases, but the one underneath as well. Noir examines the underbelly of the world but also the darker impulses that constitute the human psyche. Noir is reactive: critiquing American society from the far left (the works of many progressive and blacklisted artists have been labeled noir specifically for their anticapitalist critiques of an unjust society) as well as the far right, with hard-boiled writers like Mickey Spillane and studio heads like Howard Hughes expressing paranoia about immigration, communism, homosexuality, and the increased sexual freedom of women after the war. Noir has roots before the War, and its influence persisted long after the post-War period, recycled and recontextualized by international artists right up to our current moment. It's impossible to talk about American Cinema without discussing the way film noir has shaped our understanding of American Heroes and Villains, and the way it keenly dissects and regurgitates our worst ills back to us: racism, homophobia, anti-semitism, misogyny, xenophobia, ableism, class rigidity, and the carceral state. For films largely made under the stifling censorship of the Hays Production Code, that's pretty impressive.
On the Radio: Radio Broadcasting on Film
“And now in my heart I know I can say what I really feel,” Donna Summer once famously sang, “‘Cause they said it really loud, they said it on the air, on the radio.” The power and potential of broadcasting really does make it one of the definitive inventions of the modern era, with the capability to connect us as nothing else prior, though we tend to take it for granted in the post-internet era. In November 2020, the Federal Communications Commission observed a century of radio broadcasting, beginning with the first scheduled broadcast on November 2, 1920, courtesy of Pittsburgh’s Westinghouse Electric and Manufacturing Company under the call sign KDKA (a reading of the live results of the 1920 Presidential election between Warren G. Harding and James Cox). Radio really is almost a lost medium in America, with how little institutional support or canonization it receives, with next to no centralized forum for its historical analysis and study. Which is frustrating, because —in its heyday—it really was the people’s medium, with a diverse ecosystem of content all its own: news, music, sports, talk, drama, suspense, adventure...all brought into the home, nightly, for the cost of one radio set. In connecting all homes, it birthed “water cooler” culture among us; everyone pointed in the same direction, at the same time (for better or for much, much worse). With the radio, music could be heard by two people in wholly different lives; war could be witnessed, firsthand, over the radio waves; and human stories hit just a little bit harder. Hour-long dramas, including adaptations of literary and theatrical classics, brought some of the greatest actors in the world directly into peoples’ homes, a pantomime of intimacy. With his famous “fireside chats,” President Franklin Delano Roosevelt spoke directly into people’s homes, casually, eliminating the distance between head of state and subject; we’ve never been more connected as a nation, or more complicit in state propaganda. When radio broadcasting entered the American home it transformed domestic life, establishing the radio set as the new familial hearth, which would come to be replaced by television…one of the greatest existential threats the film industry ever encountered. But radio is more than a precursor to television: it’s a medium all its own, with its own medium-specific traits and a rich history. Video may have killed the radio star, but radio never died: from the shock jocks of the late 20th century to the podcasting boom in the new Millenium, its legacy remains, as does that desire to listen to connect disparate bodies in space. This program collects films that capture the world and signifiers of radio broadcasting, as well as films adapted directly from radio programs (it should probably came as no surprise that I had an “old time radio” phase in high school, listening to programs with my favorite actors each night before bed). Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?? The Shadow knows…
(It’s me, I’m the shadow).
“It's As Satisfying to Me As Cumming”: the Films of Arnold Schwarzenegger (Redux)
Long before this newsletter was afflicted with self-seriousness upon the realization that people might actually read it, it started as sort of a joke circulated between friends. Though I love film as an artistic medium, I am also, at the end of the day, a lover of genre film, deeply thrilled by lowbrow delights. So it may or may not surprise you that the very first “actor’s showcase” we ever did for The Spread was a summation of the films of bodybuilder-turned action star-turned Republican politician Arnold Schwarzenegger, one of my favorite cinematic curios. Nothing about Arnold’s stardom really makes sense to me, which is what makes his filmic legacy so compelling. He’s massive, bigger than any movie star to that date; he’s unconventionally attractive; he’s got that thick Austrian accent that you would assume would limit the range of roles; and he’s not a terrific actor, objectively speaking. There’s really no blueprint for him in American cinema…maybe silent film star Douglas Fairbanks, whose whole schtick was being incredibly athletic and buff, representing idealized American masculinity? But that was the silent era, and it’s not like Douglas Fairbanks was using (legal) steroids to tone muscle mass, or going on to win Mr. Olympia, the greatest bodybuilding title in the world, seven times. Like Douglas Fairbanks, however, Arnold somehow became irrevocably associated with American male fitness. Later, he’d build on that reputation to become one of the most beloved figures in conservative American politics, even inspiring calls for laws to be changed so that he could run for president (he’s European, so he’s the kind of immigrant that the Right just loves). It’s a curious trajectory that speaks to the sheer force of Arnold’s charm, which carried him in a number of action classics (as well as several action not-so-classics) from genre greats like Paul Verhoeven (Total Recall), James Cameron (The Terminator, Terminator 2: Judgement Day, and True Lies), John Milius, Walter Hill (Red Heat), and John McTiernan (Predator, The Last Action Hero). His physical prowess, which made him a natural for fight sequences, goes without saying, but it’s really his comedic timing that made him such a successful screen star, particularly for visionaries like Verhoeven and Cameron, who play up the contrast between his body and his wit so successfully. Unlike his European Action Guy contemporaries, Schwarzenegger acquired access to higher quality material throughout his career, including several films with cult comedy director Ivan Reitman (from the highs of Twins and Kindergarten Cop to the lows of Junior), the strangely fun antics of Joel Schumacher’s Campy Batman & Robin, and the delightfully self-referential yarn The Last Action Hero (“hey Claudius, you killed my father. Big mistake.”). And then there’s les autres: the Conan films, Red Sonja, Hercules in New York, Commando, Raw Deal…films that may be incredibly dumb, but never fail to entertain, inviting us to laugh as Schwarzenegger breaks skulls and nails incredibly funny one-liners of varying quality. As an actor, Schwarzenegger is still best associated with his numerous appearances as (sometimes good, sometimes bad) cyborg T-800 in the Terminator franchise, as well as the key phrases that became iconic pop culture nuggets: “I’ll be back,” “Hasta la vista, baby,” “I’m back,” etc. But to me, he’s the ultimate pop star actor, appealing across generations and cultures with his signature goofy charm and harmless cinematic offerings. As a country, we don’t care that his dad was a Nazi; that six women accused him of groping them in the lawless aughts; or that he’s a bad husband. He’s Captain America; he’s apple pie; he’s a living action figure…complete with a voice box packed with memorable catchphrases. He was engineered in a factory to be the ultimate internet-era icon: easily digestible and split up into tiny memes and clips.
The Muscles from Brussels: The Films of Jean Claude Van Damme (Redux)
And do you know who the second performer to receive an Actor’s Showcase retrospective for this very newsletter was? Naturally, it was Belgium’s answer to Arnold Schwarzenegger: Jean-Claude Van Damme, the iconic martial artist turned film star who long ago captured my heart as an underrated bit of action film catnip. He’s funnier, smaller, and prettier than all the other European Action Guys, so society looked upon him with fear. JCVD—the so-called “muscles from Brussels”—is for the ladies (and the gays!): each of the films made at the height of his career feel like showcases for the performer’s stunning athleticism, an appealing blend of fighting prowess and dancer-like grace. He’s so balletic in his fighting: his signature move, in which he spins in the air into a roundhouse kick, is just a pirouette with a leg extension. That makes sense, given his background: though he began karate at the age of 10, he also studied ballet for five years, beginning at age 16. That training is evident in every movement, and it makes him the perfect cinematic martial artist: power doesn’t translate to the screen, grace does. He’s Mr. Belgium 1978 by way of Cyd Charisse; those narrow hips and long, lithe legs, conditioned into deadly weapons, showcased in his signature moves — the aforementioned roundhouse kick, sharp as a whip, as well as his evasive drop into the splits. Yes, he’s beautiful in motion, but he’s also just so damn charmant. He has that particular kind of quality that’s kitsch, with an undercurrent of earnestness that just makes you root for him. One of my hottest takes is that if JCVD had been given the opportunity to work with better material, he could have been a real rival to Arnold Schwarzenegger as an action star and maybe even surpassed him as a performer.
Before you boo me, consider this: JCVD is a charisma supernova, winning the public over as action star through sheer likability. He can’t completely act…and his accent is as thick as molasses…yet it doesn’t matter whatsoever. You want to have a beer with him, maybe after hitting up a weekend pilates class. In the one film that really does justice to his unique appeal, John Woo’s Hard Target (1993), he proves he can carry the vision of an action auteur. He’s fun, sexy, and badass, sure…but he also nails that specific quality of Campy masculine posturing that’s a signature marker of Woo’s greatest works. He’s (convincingly) played twins; a luxury denim counterfeiter; Capcom’s Colonel Guile; and any number of fighters across a number of different styles, usually forced back into action by family or circumstance, often governed by a strict moral code. Sometimes he’s the baddie, such as in Black Eagle (1988), where he’s KGB!, or Expendables 2 (2012), where he outshines far bigger names than his own (including Arnold Schwarzenegger)…but you’re never rooting against JCVD. Sadly, his reputation as kitsch curio landed him in the dreaded direct-to-video hamster wheel in the 2000s, back when that distinction mattered, as he struggled offscreen with addiction and mental health issues. It’s been a while since he was taken even halfway seriously, which is ironic, because he’s only become a better actor over the years, even as the material wanes in quality. All is not completely lost: in addition to (fairly) recent appearances in self-reflexive material like Expendables 2 (2012), JCVD (2008), and Amazon series Jean Claude Van Johnson (2017), he’s most recently popped up in a Minions movie and remains a beloved figure on social media, where new generations of trolls learn of his great power. We need a Channing Tatum-like pivot from the aging action star, now in his 60s; maybe one day there will be a filmmaker smart enough to tap back into his real talent, with a script that befits his comedic timing and general world-weariness. Hey, it’s 2023 and John Woo is back in the American film fold; why not JCVD? Just, ah—maybe don’t look up his politics.
From the Vault: Keep Circling the Tapes: Mystery Science Theater 3000
Last year, I eked out this seasonally appropriate program to coincide with the November newsletter; it returns again this year as a new tradition:
There's only one Thanksgiving Day Tradition that we hold sacrosanct around these parts, and that is "Turkey Day," a longstanding marathon of episodes of cult television show Mystery Science Theater 3000. The original "Turkey Day" marathon played out on Comedy Central, the original cable host of the cult program, as an annual institution from 1991 through 1995, while the program was still on the air, then revived in the streaming era by original creator and host Joel Hodgson, who began streaming the marathon at mst3kturkeyday.com from 2013 onward…although the site currently yields a 404, and the show is currently crowdsourcing once more to make another season. Regardless, the cult tradition lives on, and serves as a nice excuse to delve into the wonderful world of Mystery Science Theater 3000, or MST3K, a groundbreaking "movie host" show that holds particular significance for me (I actually wrote my undergrad thesis, eh-em, Renegade Spectatorship: Critical Reading and the Horizons of Cinema, partially about it). The cult television program (and one feature film) began on local access station KTMA in Minneapolis and subsequently ran for ten years across two separate cable networks. The conceit never changed, although the legality of the content varied, as creator Joel Hodgson did not have access to the rights of several of the films shown on the early local access version of the program: Joel is an affable employee launched into space by his evil bosses and stranded on the Satellite of Love ("I love to watch things on TV..."), where he is forced to watch “terrible” old movies as a means of corroding his mind. The series exhibits old B-grade creature features, baby boomer melodramas and morality tales, cheap horror movies, and foreign action flicks; all under the guise of showing, as the iconic opening song states, “the worst [films] we can find.” In other words, it reappropriates the low-quality films originally exhibited on the drive-in or roadshow circuit — or found in a VHS bargain bin — as a sort of meta-entertainment for genre freaks, bad movie lovers, burnouts, and couch potatoes. The show first gained traction after fans recorded and shared VHS tapes taken from their own VCRs, circumventing copyright issues, and the first four seasons concluded with the mantra "keep circulating the tapes," which became the burgeoning online fandom's rallying cry (and honestly a raison d'être for any cinephile who has helped preserve media through their own illicit means). Eventually, its cult popularity earned it a spot on cable television, where it persisted, against all odds, for nearly a decade, inspiring countless fans, comedians, writers, and B-film lovers everywhere. Each episode, the show projects on screen whichever film Joel (or later, writer-turned-host Mike Nelson) is watching for the viewer at home, but framed in the silhouette of a movie theater, with Joel/Mike and his “robot friends" viewing the film from front-row seats. Think of it as a deliberate flip of Plato's Cave for the MTV generation: Joel/Mike and the 'bots are trapped in the theater, like the prisoners chained in the cave, forced to watch films as a simulacrum for reality (the shadows projected on the wall from objects passing in front of a fire, to extend the metaphor). To preserve their sanity, they "riff"...joking, talking, heckling, singing, walking around, and generally violating the sanctity of their theater...their observation of the media becomes the media. The spectator act of heckling dates back to vaudeville and is actually inherent to the origins of cinema, when early moving pictures were exhibited as sideshow attractions as part of multiple diversions; the drive-in and midnight movie show were similarly raucous environments. What MST3K suggests is that riffing within itself can be a creative act, like audiovisual marginalia...little bits scribbled in on the sidelines. As strange as it sounds, that is an act of love (they're on the satellite of love, after all!). With the erasure and incorporation of subculture into the mainstream in the past forty years, including the gentrification of urban space, MST3K represents the ultimate displacement of counterculture and niche taste from physical space, presaging the internet age. The host and bots' jokes and references run the gamut from popular culture to film history to philosophy, in a style not dissimilar from the kind of internet-era humor that comes from having limitless information and resources at your fingertips. It's no wonder the show has persisted in the digital age, where it takes up permanent residence on Youtube (keep uploading the tapes!), even culminating in a solid 2017 streaming reboot for Netflix. Here's a round-up of 50 of my favorite episodes from the show's original run for you to enjoy from the sanctity of your own couch (plus my favorite episodes from the Netflix reboot). Watch out for snakes!
That’s all for November streaming. How are you celebrating this Thanksgiving? Can I recommend filling out requests from the wishlist of NYC’s Books Through Bars program through Greenlight Bookstore, which sends books to incarcerated individuals? There are 250 copies requested of Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz’s An Indigenous Peoples' History of the United States (ReVisioning History #3); they have 95 so far.
You might say that glittering crowds and shimmering clouds in canyons of steel, they're making me feel I'm home…Until next time, keep circulating The Spread.