When a sniper guns down 14 pedestrians at random on the streets of New York City, cop with a troubled personal life, Peter Nicholas, is up for the job of reasoning with him. Though he doesn’t manage to talk him down from his killing spot atop the water tower, he does elicit a reason from him before he throws himself to his death. As Nicholas investigates further killings across the city it becomes apparent that something connects them all; the killer’s dying confessions reveal that “God told me to.” As the investigation takes shape, the common ground for each killer is having met an elusive long-haired stranger shortly before their crimes, but who is this ubiquitous being and what will Detective Nicholas’s connection to them be? Find out in Larry Cohen’s genre-busting cult classic.

New York City in the 70’s had a tendency to be portrayed in the movies and the seemingly endless cop shows of the same era as the perfect site of public paranoia; a sprawling concrete metropolis breeding suspicion and uncertainty where anything could be possible, and usually was, egged on by the media to fuel the almost palpable air of unrest that floated around the dirty streets. Writer/director Larry Cohen’s God Told Me To is certainly no exception and exploits this feeling well with his bizarre mix of the strange and the serious in this detective/mystery/horror/sci-fi hybrid that is as compelling as it is peculiar.

God Told Me To, despite being a mixed bag generically, belongs for the most part, particularly tonally, to the detective/mystery genres. With the opening scenes of a nauseatingly claustrophobic New York, our troubled detective has to act fast when a sniper opens fire, causing hysteria in the streets below. Reminiscent of the earlier Dirty Harry, God Told Me To uses the detective figure as an urban hero, combating one of the city’s most feared attackers; the sniper. This kind of crime perfectly utilises the self-perpetuating urban fear; a crime which preys on the city but which the city conversely and simultaneously conceals in safety. And if you are thinking there’s nothing too strange or unusual about this, well then you’d be right, but it is as the investigation gets underway that we gain the bizarre turn that has earned Cohen (Q The Winged Serpent and It’s Alive!) his rightful cult status.

Indeed, it’s only as the story develops that the bizarre horror/sci-fi elements begin to enter the arena. As we learn more about the tangled personal life of our hero, of his devout Catholicism, the parallel mystery similarly unravels. But don’t be fooled by Cohen’s crazy generic mix for it masks some grave undertones. There are some serious and still very relevant ideas about religion at play here, which helps to make this film timeless. Cohen presents some surprisingly open ideas about religion which won’t be to everyone’s taste; “You got all the blessing’s who needs religion?!” points to a false and almost greedy human search in desperation for a higher power which, as Cohen rather aptly presents, won’t necessarily be a good one.

Whilst there is some bloodshed in this film it is more a horror of ideas with some creepy and genuinely unpleasant and difficult scenes made only the more so as it is so plausible. As we discover that religion has a hand in the city hiding something more deadly, invested with the power of destruction more precise than a sniper, it is truly chilling. It is an idea even more relevant now than when Cohen wrote it; that the more modernised society becomes the more we search for some lost meaning and the more we open ourselves up to religion, fanaticism and the need to feel the presence of a deity to restore the human purpose (it is no accident that the sniper opens fire above the icon of modern American consumerism that is Bloomingdales). But fear not, if this all sounds a little heavy you can still relax and enjoy the bizarre story, direction and generic mix that make it peculiarly entertaining as this, after all, is what makes this a Cohen Classic; a strange film with intelligent undertones, and who can say fairer than that?

Part warning for modern society, part bizarre generic mix, but all-round Cult Classic.

"... They call him Silence, because wherever he goes, the silence of Death follows."

A gang of ruthless bounty hunters, for whom the "Alive" in "Dead or Alive" is mere filler, terrorise a snowbound mountain community, sanctioned by the town's corrupt Justice of the Peace, Pollicut (Luigi Pistilli) – who disposes of those he doesn't like by placing a price on their head.

Following the needless slaughter of her husband at the hands of the sadistic bounty killer, Loco (Klaus Kinski), Pauline (Vonetta McGee) enlists the aid of a wandering gunslinger, Silence (Jean-Louis Trintignant), to avenge his death. The presence of Silence in the desolate town of Snow Hill brings events to a head between the besieged inhabitants and the bounty hunters, and as the black-clad, mute gunman seeks retribution; he can do nothing to halt the massacre that is on its way.

Sergio Corbucci brought a manically fresh perspective to the Spaghetti Western with 1966's ultra-violent Django. With 1967's The Great Silence (aka The Big Silence) he rewrote the rules once again, not only setting his story in the snowy wastes of Utah, but making it so oppressively bleak that any shred of hope you may have entertained before sitting down to watch, are long gone by the time the closing credits roll. It's a bleakness matched only, as far as the Spaghetti Westerns I've seen are concerned, by Robert Hossein's Cemetery Without Crosses. Despite this, or perhaps because of this, it remains one of your humble reviewer's favourite Spaghetti Westerns outside of The Good, The Bad and The Ugly.

The moody silent-type, embodied by so many anti-heroes of the Spaghetti Western genre, is taken to a natural conclusion by having Jean-Louis Trintignant's Silence unable to speak. This is as a result of having his vocal chords sliced open as a child, following the murder of his parents by Pollicut's henchmen. The avenging angel is also given an extra dimension in that he only kills in self-defence, choosing to shoot the thumbs off of those deserving of his brand of justice, so that they may never fire a gun again. Of course, where the bounty killers are concerned and he has a contract to fulfil, his method is to provoke them into drawing, ensuring that when he shoots them dead he remains on the right side of the law. He also uses a Mauser automatic pistol, a departure from the revolver employed by the majority of ultra-cool killers in the barren badlands of the Spaghetti Western.

Klaus Kinski, a regular to the genre, puts in another fine performance as bounty hunter Loco, reining in his often twitchy excesses – the part of the hunchback in For a Few Dollars More being a case in point – to deliver a lesson in steely-eyed, calculated evil that's as cold as the landscape he mercilessly stalks.

Which brings us to the snow. It's impossible to review The Great Silence without giving over a few column inches to the powdery white stuff, of which this film has an abundance. There's no scorching heat, or dust caked panoramas providing a scenic comfort zone for the seasoned Italian Western veteran here. It's relentlessly cold, with horses literally freezing to death in the waist-high snow. This unforgiving climate augments the feeling of isolated desperation that permeates every frame of what is, in my opinion, Corbucci's finest work. Off the top of my head I can think of two other Eurowesterns set in the snowy wastes. These are Taste of Death and Cut-Throats Nine, the latter being more of a Spanish gorefest that just happens to have a western backdrop. Neither can match The Great Silence for sheer power, festering emotion, or chilly despair.

As with all Spaghetti Westerns, violence plays a key role throughout the film, guiding us towards its heartbreaking and austere climax. There are the obligatory shootings through the head, thumbs being decapitated, Mario Brega's face held over the hot coals of an open stove, and a child's throat being cut. It ramps up the blood-spattered savagery and nihilistic approach that had marked Django out from the crowd and destroys that last tiny vestige of faith in humanity you may once have harboured.

The Great Silence also gut-wrenchingly spells out in giant red letters that, as in the real world, the good guy doesn't always win and real evil has a tendency to prevail. Until then, a largely unheard of concept for the Western, Spaghetti or otherwise.

Once again, the musical score by Ennio Morricone sets the mood perfectly, adding to a cinematic treat that is brutal perfection, met on equal grounds by Damiano Damiani's A Bullet For the General, but only surpassed by Sergio Leone's audacious and ultimately majestic definition of the Spaghetti Western and the greatest film ever to have drawn breath, The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly.

With Christmas less than a week away and snow on the ground outside, The Great Silence ensures perfect alternative viewing for those in need of a more cynical, yet just as chilly, festive fave.

Samantha, the calculating wife of rich landowner Thomas Felton, plots to have her husband killed so that she and her equally ruthless brother, Pedro, can inherit the farm. After carrying out their plan and framing one of the servants for the murder, the conniving duo are more than a little put out when Felton's nephew, the rightful heir to the ranch Johnny Yuma (Matt Damon), arrives on the scene. Samantha hires an ex-lover, gunfighter Carradine (Lawrence Dobkin), to take care of Yuma, and with both him and her sadistic brother on the trail of the eponymous hero, the scene is set for an epic showdown.

Romolo Guerrieri ($10,000 For a Massacre) made Johnny Yuma during the early days of the Spaghetti Western boom. In 1966, before the impact of Sergio Corbucci's Django (also 1966) changed the game yet again, the Spaghetti Western was still largely influenced by Sergio Leone's Fistful of Dollars (1964) and For a Few Dollars More (1965).

That's certainly the case with Johnny Yuma, which has the more traditional feel in dress and style, but nevertheless looks every bit the Spaghetti Western. The screen exudes heat, sweat and dust, as the exterior scenery (Almeria) plays as integral a part as any of the characters.

Mark Damon (Johnny Oro, Train For Durango), in the lead role, makes a passable man of ambiguous morality, though he lacks the grim-faced pessimism that characterises the best Spaghetti Western anti-heroes. This almost jovial approach to his killing places him closer to Terence Hill of the Trinity films than an Eastwood or the Man with No Name's own tribute act, Anthony Steffen, and it's no surprise that Damon went on to star in so-called "comedy" Spags of such rottenness as Pistol Packin' Preacher (1972) and They Called Him Veritas (1972). Still, that doesn't mean he can't turn the heat up when necessary, like when he holds a white hot branding iron to the face of Pedro to extricate himself from the obligatory roughing of the good guy scene, or (graphically) breaking the same villain's arm prior to shooting him three times, ensuring his last breaths are extremely painful ones.

It goes without saying that despite the good-humoured approach to shooting expendable bad guys dead, Yuma can hold his own in a gunfight. This is ably demonstrated when he teams up with the gunslinger hired to kill him, in order wipe out Samantha's gang. Carradine is a western killer of the old school – honourable and immaculately turned out. There's no grime-smeared face or full-length duster jacket when he turns up to fulfil a contract. This final shootout goes down on the same street of whitewashed buildings that has seen gundowns in For a Few Dollars More, Day of Anger and many others. In fact, the scene is highly reminiscent of Manco and Col. Mortimer taking out Indio's gang at the close of For a Few Dollars More, except with one or two primary-coloured shirts splashed about for good measure.

When it reached American shores in 1967, Variety magazine branded Johnny Yuma, "The most violent Italian western ever." In places (snapping the arm, shootings through the head) it certainly displays, what for the time, would've been quite the brutal streak, but, of course, it pales into insignificance when measured against what's come since. As far as I'm concerned though, and despite Mark Damon's jollity, Johnny Yuma is one of the classics of the genre.

Violent and poetic in turns, Johnny Yuma is beautifully shot, and with a suitably spaghetti-flavoured score by Nora Orlandi, it offers a perfect example of a pre-Django Italian Western from the genre's formative years.

An insurance fiddle on a strongbox of gold is initiated by a scheming cabal of town dignitaries in Gianfranco Parolini's 1968 angel of death film ... If You Meet Sartana, Pray For Your Death. Into the breach steps the Sartana (Gianni Garko), the most stylish character ever to set foot in the usually grubby and sweat-drenched world of the Spaghetti Western. He takes it upon himself to serve justice upon the outlaws, Mexican bandits and corrupt officialdom, in the process walking away with a coffin-load of loot, as he influences events, turns up unexpectedly, or simply takes matters into his own hands with the silver Sharp's Derringer and Winchester rifle that play integral roles in his personal arsenal.

Ample death, ample destruction and muchos double-crossing quickly follow.

Sartana, to give it the more popular and less unwieldy title, brings together such heavyweights of the Spaghetti Western genre as Gianni Garko (Blood At Sundown,$10,000 Blood Money), William Berger (Sabata, Face to Face), Fernando Sancho (Seven Dollars on the Red, Pistol For Ringo) and Klaus Kinski (And God Said to Cain, For a Few Dollars More), in a tale of treachery and betrayal that does its damnedest not to tow the line of cohesion, frequently wading knee-deep in the murky waters of convolution.

Indeed, full concentration is required when watching Sartana, just to remain level with the game as twists, turns, multiple deaths and complete randomness are thrown into what is nonetheless a visually gorgeous example of Italian cinematic cuisine.

The character of Sartana carries shades of Colonel Mortimer (Lee Van Cleef) from For A Few Dollars More in dress, nonchalance and the fact he carries around a musical pocket watch that has a destabilising effect on the principal villain of the piece, Lasky (William Berger). Incidentally, Parolini would go on to reinvent the character as Sabata, specifically for Van Cleef, in the enjoyable Sabata and its awful sequel Return of Sabata.

Sartana is far more enigmatic than Mortimer or Sabata though (one a bounty hunter, the other a gambler), seemingly possessing a supernatural adeptness for being in the right place at the right time. When a hastily drawn villain - whose sole purpose in the film is to provide bullet fodder for the titular anti-hero - comments, "You look just like a scarecrow" (possibly the best dressed scarecrow in cinematic history, mind), Sartana replies, "I am your pallbearer." He continues this allusion to all things death-related throughout, claiming to be a gravedigger, a "first-class pallbearer", and aligning himself with the local undertaker, Dusty. The suggestion being that Sartana might actually be the angel of death, walking the earth to bring about the demise of those in need of it, or perhaps even a restless ghost, wronged in life, avenging in death.

Or perhaps, as with everybody else in this film, he's simply after the gold.

Sartana would go on to appear in four more "official" sequels, three of which continued with Garko in the lead role and saw Parolini handing the directorial reins over to Guiliano Carmineo (Find a Place to Die, They Call Him Cemetery). The motives of the character remained ambiguous throughout. The film's success, as in the case of Django, led to scores of unofficial rip-offs and title change cash-ins.

... If You Meet Sartana, Pray For Your Death, despite its labyrinthine wrangling, is a solid Spaghetti Western, even if it doesn't benefit from the dusty reassurance of some Almerian scenery. Personally, I prefer the first sequel in this series, I Am Sartana, Your Angel of Death (1969), which is more of a reboot of the franchise under its new stewardship and features a returning Klaus Kinski, somewhat confusingly, in a different role.

Still, with a sumptuous shot composition, plus the silver Derringer, Lasky letting rip with the Gatling gun, and the final duel, Sartana has enough Spaghetti Western moments to keep fans of the genre more than happy.

Reduced to catching frogs for food, Confederate soldiers returning from the war are treated as second-class citizens and hunted down by a gang of bounty hunters (in a similar premise to The Great Silence), operating under the protection of local law enforcement agencies.

Guiliano Gemma (The Day of Anger, A Pistol For Ringo) plays Michael 'California' Random, one such soldier who takes the naive Willy Preston (Miguel Bose) under his wing. When his companion is shot in the back and strung up for stealing a horse, California travels to his parents' Georgia ranch to break the bad news. In typical style he falls for Helen, his dead comrade's sister, and following the senseless killing of three Confederates by bounty killer Rope Whitaker (Raimund Harmstorf) and his men, he gets caught up in the ensuing crossfire as federal agents arrive to take Whitaker down. The sister is taken hostage as the gang make their escape, and California vows to track down the bounty hunters and return Helen home.

Filmed in 1977, at the tail-end of the Spaghetti Western boom - a time when the "comedy" spaghetti had all but wiped the genre out – Michele Lupo's California, like Castellari's Keoma has an altogether more sobering feel to it. It's a film that, for the first act at least, knows that its time has passed. This is the death knell of the serious Western all'Italiana, and a sense of hopeless desperation pervades throughout. Perpetual rain and mud colour the canvas, as it does in Keoma, before the familiar dusty vistas of the Almerian badlands return for the final act, delivering us into the more traditional territory of the revenge-driven Spaghetti West.

Guiliano Gemma, in a welcome departure from his wide-eyed innocent act, pulls off the seasoned veteran role usually reserved for the likes of Lee Van Cleef and Gianni Garko, with the confidence of a man who has grown up in the genre (debuting 12 years earlier in 1965's Adios Gringo). His heroism, as with the best Spaghetti Western protagonists, is far from clear-cut, aiding and abetting a Wells-Fargo stagecoach robbery (For A Few Dollars More-style) to ingratiate himself with the fugitive Whitaker, and in perhaps the most shocking scene, smashing a whisky bottle into the mouth of the very same bounty hunter, neck first.

California works well as a reminder of how great this genre once was. It even ropes in another stalwart of Spaghetti Westdom in the guise of William Berger (Sabata, No Room to Die and many, many more), who is sadly underused as Preston senior, but still fulfils his position as an elder statesman of these wonderful films, as he did in Keoma.

The comparisons with the aforementioned Keoma are unavoidable. Both are twilight Spaghettis – classics filmed in the dying days of the late '70s - and both are tinged with a sense of gloomy pessimism. In the case of Keoma this lasts for the entirety of the film, whereas California manages to rekindle the original Spaghetti Western spark with its last half hour. For that reason, and despite what any other critic might say, California edges ahead of its twilight Spaghetti brethren, just because it avoids the navel-gazing and eventually takes us back to the genus's roots. It also has a far more traditional score by Gianni Ferrio, in contrast to the De Angelis one that tries its best to ruin Castellari's film.

I can recommend California to both newcomers and old-hands to the world of Spaghetti Westerns. In fact, the only problem I foresee you having with this rarity is getting hold of a copy.

Biff Juggernaught productions presents The Voice Inside, a black and white short film for fans of the slightly more extreme. The Voice Inside is a kinetic short following one characters battle with and final decent into madness. The film opens with an unnamed man sat on a subway train, at first all seems normal, but soon we learn just why the film is called The Voice Inside.

The main and only role is played by Elias who you can see in a very different role as the hapless reporter in LovecraCked! The Movie. This is a good turn from Elias as well, as we see him tormented by an inner voice. He at first tries to suppress it with medication, but is told it is now to strong to be held at bay. After returning home from the subway, he again tries his medication, but only finds himself vomiting heavily. Next he goes for blunt force trauma as a means to fight the voice in his head. Head butting walls and pushing himself with the Iron rings from the stove. He manages to smash his face up pretty good, but the inner voice will not be silenced. Finally he is defeated and now the voice has its turn at desecrating the leads body, which means we are treated to a very nasty use of a hammer.

The Voice Inside is an impressive short film that will have many drawing comparisons to Darren Aronofsky' PI and Shinya Tsukamoto's Tetsuo, all be it not reaching the heights either of those full length outings achieve. The medium it was shot on does mean the picture is not the best, but in many way's it suits the films content. The Biff Juggernaught team manage to mix shock value with real skills, understanding that shock on it's own is in no way enough. The effects, both practical and camera trickery are fairly low level and not overdone, but are used to full effect. Normally I am not a huge fan of "shaky cam", but here the camera work is suited to the subject matter and defiantly adds to the quality of the short.

The Voice Inside is a short well worth watching, but be warned, its graphic nature is maybe suited only to those more used to extreme film. 

Biff Juggernauts "The Voice Inside" is available as an extra on the LovecraCked! The Movie DVD

Watch It (WARNING not suitable for minors): the voice inside (windows media) | the voice inside (quicktime) | YouTube

www.biffjuggernaut.com/thevoiceinside | www.biffjuggernaut.com

Sergio Corbucci's Django revolutionised the Spaghetti Western genre in many ways. The low-budget retelling of Sergio Leone's A Fistful of Dollars – itself a remake of Akira Kurosawa's Yojimbo – ramped up the violence, the amorality, the bloodletting and the insanity factor to an unprecedented scale, spawning a glut of rip-offs, cash-ins and unofficial sequels of varying degrees of quality. It also, quite unintentionally, began a trend for titular heroes whose names ended in the letter 'o' and when said quickly enough could possibly be mistaken for Django.

There was Anthony Steffen - the Spaghetti Western standard-bearer, himself no stranger to playing Django - starring as the main man in both Garringo and Shango. 'Sword and Sandal' star Brad Harris as the fast gun in Durango is Coming, Pay or Die. Montgomery Clark (Dante Posani) as the gambling gunslinger in Djurado and Ivan Rassimov in this, 1967's Cjamango.

Edoardo Mulargia's (Shango, A Man Called Django) film begins on a winning streak, which is brought to an abrupt and violent end when the saddle bags of gold Cjamango wins in a hand of poker are quickly lost to the combined gangs of Don Pablo (Livio Lorenzon) and Tiger (Spaghetti stalwart Pierro Lulli, who boasts thirty-four titles to his name) in a saloon massacre, of which our hero is the sole survivor. Well it wouldn't be much of a film if Cjamango pegged out before the opening credits.

What follows is Cjamango's hunt to reclaim the gold he thinks is his. Helped and hindered in equal measures along the way by an old drunk, an irritating boy, the obligatory sultry siren (Helene Chanel) and a mysterious stranger (Jayne Mansfield's other half and ex-Mr. Universe, Mickey Hargitay), Cjamango is clear in his own mind that it's the gold and the gold alone that he's interested in. Just as any spaghetti western (anti) hero should be. Ruthless privateering is the name of the game and there's never room for morality. Unless, of course, a decidedly nasty piece of work cut from the same cloth as villainous gang leader Tiger, sees fit to strap a bundle of dynamite to the chest of said irritating boy. When innocent children were dragged into the proceedings it would more often than not prick the conscience of even the most mercenary of bounty hunter/ gunslinger types, particularly if it was their name playing a key part in the film's title.

That's why the spaghetti west is no place for children. This isn't Shane or a multitude of other American westerns that tugged at the viewer's heart-stings with a kid as clean-cut as he was nauseating. Just take a look at God's Gun for another prime example of a horrible child (Leif Garrett) encroaching on what is essentially the territory of hardened, embittered men; their moral compasses shattered by a lifetime of killing or a soul-devouring desire for either vengeance or dollars.

Actually don't look at God's Gun. Besides featuring Lee Van Cleef in one of cinema's worst wigs, the film is awful, but it enforces the argument that the only place for children in Spaghetti Westerns is sprawled across the floor, riddled with lead. Leone had the right idea with the iconic Henry Fonda massacre of the McBain family in Once Upon a Time in the West.

But I digress. Cjamango has its faults but viewed as an entire package, it delivers the goods. Plot holes and inconsistencies such as why Tiger allows Cjamango to free the boy from his less than subtle dynamite death-trap before finding out where he's hidden his reclaimed gold are easily forgiven amidst the brutality and wanton killing that follows, setting things up nicely for the final three-on-one gundown in the sun-parched town Don Pablo has claimed for himself.

Obviously budget constraints mean we're not treated to a ten minute build-up to this denouement, as in the case of The Good, The Bad and the Ugly, one of the greatest examples of this much-maligned cinematic genre, but the fact that out of the entire cast it's only Cjamango, the mysterious stranger Clinton, the boy Manuel (unfortunately), and the barman Sancho (now severely lacking trade) who survive, should make up for any shortfalls on that count.

Indeed, Cjamango is comparable to a stripped down version of De Palma's Scarface when thumbing through the wafer-thin list of survivors. The fact that the main man ends up with nothing to show for his troubles apart from a whining brat, who one hopes is quickly dispatched from the back of his horse with a discreet elbow as soon as the end credits have rolled, highlights the downbeat nature of the Spaghetti Western. A place where it's not uncommon for the leading man to end up with nothing more than a face full of dust and a bellyfull of regret – or in some cases hot lead.

Never quite catching the public imagination in the way that the characters of Django or Sartana did, it spawned one unofficial sequel, Adios Cjamango (1969) featuring Mike Rivers (Miguel de la Riva) in the title role.

Cjamango certainly features at the higher end of the Spaghetti Western spectrum, nestled on the shelf alongside the likes of Johnny Yuma, Find a Place to Die, California and I Want Him Dead, without troubling the exclusive reaches reserved for certain films by the triumvirate of Sergios: Leone (Anything except My Name is Nobody), Corbucci (The Great Silence, Django) and Sollima (The Big Gundown, Face to Face), as well as Damiani (A Bullet For the General), Petroni (Death Rides a Horse), Parolini (If You Meet Sartana, Pray for Your Death) and the man behind the original Inglorious Bastards, Enzo G. Castellari (Keoma).

But Cjamango makes no claims to these enviable heights. Instead, it delivers an entertaining 90 minutes of no-brainer spaghetti action, keeping well within the traditions of the genre and knocking out a respectable body count to boot.

The widescreen print from the Wild East Spaghetti Western Collection is perhaps the best this film will ever be seen in and well worth seeking out and paying the extra for, over the previous grubby 'grey market' pan and scan versions that can be picked up on the cheap.

"...Around" is directed and written by David Spaltro and inspired by his experiences attending the film program School of Visual Arts (SVA) in NYC from 2001-2005. The film follows Doyle Simms, who at the age of 18 decides to finally live his dream of crossing the Hudson river and escaping a life of potential drudgery in his native New Jersey. Over a period of 4 years Doyle struggles to keep himself in film school while living on the breadline.

Thats the synopsis but at the same time its not really what "...Around" is about. Essentially a character study, "...Around" concentrates more on the introspective thoughts of it's main character. The world is full of people who like the idea of being seen as creative, rather than being driven by any creative vision. People like that tend to turn to talking about themselves or regurgitate clichés, photographers taking pictures of prostitutes and homeless, fashion designers making a sweater into trousers etc., all the while believing they are creating something avant-garde. Independent film just means films produced outside the large studios, however when you mention indie film in an American context, no doubt certain things spring to mind; the hip independent soundtrack, the mostly white middle class characters with "issues", self absorbed pretentious dialogue etc. I don't really care for that style of film much and will hold my hands up for assuming "...Around" would be self serving hipster drivel. And in many ways in the hands of another aspiring director it could of been. David Spaltro however is clearly well aware of the pitfalls and defly sidesteps most of them. Sure "...Around" has the feel of an American indie, but there's real substance here and true talent.

The acting is fairly strong as it needs to be in a character driven piece, with Berenice Mosca as Dolyes mother and Ron Brice as a homeless sage being highlights for me, but there's no really weak turns. Robert W. Evans carries the film well as the slightly sociopathic / disconnected Doyle. I'd like to see more of Veronica Heffron who plays Mona, who exudes a lot of on-screen charm and charisma.

"...Around" is essentially as complex or as simple as the person viewing it wants it to be, which in itself shows Spaltro to be a writer of considerable talent. There's the simple idea that you should "stop and smell the roses", life is after all made out of a series of moments not just a "goal" you have to achieve while ignoring "the journey".  The tagline "embrace the fall" is very apt; the idea that happiness and not saftey is the better thing to strive for, that as long as life is interesting it's worth living, even if this means immediate discomfort. We live in times where in the western world more and more people feel, and in many ways are, disconnected, atomized and driven by routine. "..Around" reminds us that people are what make our lives what they are. They come and go, but they always add a bit more to our own story.

Some of the other reviews of "..Around" take the view that it's about being able to achieve anything you want. And at the end of the day what you take away from a film and feel is correct - it's an individual experience. For me however, thats not quite what I got and would hope it's not the sum total of Spaltro's intent. For one thing it's not really true, you can try and achieve what you want certainly, but meritocracy is an over simplistic daydream. Many hardworking, talented people give it their all and fail (in terms of what they where trying to achieve, not that life is about winning). For me its about accepting you just don't know what will happen, but lack of certainty is no reason not to do things. Its about stepping into the dark and understanding when the sun comes up again you will be a stronger person, even if you tripped a few times wandering blindly. Hell its about whatever you want it to be, but its certainly good.

Socrates said something along the lines of "The unexamined life is not worth living" and in my opinion there's a lot of truth in that.  "...Around" finds Spaltro doing just that and when the credits roll hopefully the audience do to. Slow burning at first ...Around builds into one of the strongest debut films I've seen in some time. A charming, uplifting introspective character study, that should restore your faith that great independent film making is about more than a hip soundtrack and a cool marketing campaign. Talking of hip soundtracks, the use of Kirby Dominant's Nauzeated while Doyle attends the hipster party made me smile. Hopefully that arrow in the heal to the theory of meritocracy, C.R.E.A.M. won't stop "...Around" from reaching a wider audience.

...Around - Trailer

www.aroundthefilm.com

In case your wondering I'm talking about the 1971 classic and Viggo Mortensen made for TV re-make which I have not seen and pretty much have no interest in seeing either. Having just watched Dirty Mary Crazy Larry (A film which I like), it was time to throw on Vanishing Point (A film I love). Vanishing Point is another film with a simple premise, but one which is given a near perfect execution. Barry Newman (City on Fire, The Limey) stars as "Kowalski" (No first name is ever used). Kowalski is a man who has had a varied career from military service in Vietnam, a cop, a speedway motorcycle rider, a NASCAR driver and now he delivers cars across the states.

Arriving in Denver with a car to drop off "Kowalski" decides against the advice of the guy at the depot to pick up another car and drive right back to San Francisco. The car he chooses is of course an iconic white 1970 Dodge Challenger. Just before he leaves Denver "Kowalski" drops by a speed dealing friend to pick up some amphetamines so he can keep those nasty slices of death known as sleep away. He bets that he can be back in Denver in record time or will double the price he pays for the drugs at his next purchase. Wired on uppers and sitting on several hundred horses of American muscle car "Kowalski" starts his run and nothing will stop him from reaching his goal ... nothing.

On his high speed limited time journey "Kowalski" is chased by the authorities almost from the start when he fails to stop for some motorcycle cops. How ever he is aided by various outsiders and members of counterculture, 1% bikers, drug users, an old hermit and maybe most importantly blind radio DJ Super Soul played by Cleavon Little (Greased Lightning) who is best known for his role in Mel Brooks Blazing Saddles. As the film moves along Kowalski becomes a kind of hero for those who believe in true freedom and in turn he becomes a deadly pariah to those who would keep order. Although in reality his "crime" is nothing more than a simple mistermeaner, his refusal to stop (and the failure of the establishment to stop him) becomes an insult those who believe respect is bestowed (In this case with a badge and a gun) and not earned. "Kowalski" though is no simple hippy maniac giving a finger to the man; he was a cop who stood up when his partner did wrong and a decorated war hero. No doubt these things were included in the characters back story to make it less easy for certain viewers to dismiss. Unlike Dirty Mary Crazy Larry which is really just an excuse to drive cars around having fun (Nothing wrong with that) Vanishing Point is more complex, it’s a look at American culture as the innocence of the 60's is lost to the escalating backdrop of the Vietnam War and the changing times. "Kowalski" is a much a visual representation as an idea or a theme as he is a character. He is in the words of Super Soul " ... the last American hero, the electric centaur, the, the demi-god, the super driver of the golden west!"

The thing I like about movies like this is they know they won't resonate well with everyone. It really depends on your mind set. For some people while they may enjoy the fast cars and naked girl on a bicycle they will be thinking "Why doesn’t he just stop when they ask him to". The rest of us however will be right alongside Super Soul cheering on "the last American hero" and personal freedom. No nation no matter its history is more synonymous with the motor car than America and Vanishing Point is a great slice of America on film. This is a road movie and thriller with very few peers and one rarely bettered.

A few years ago I picked up a book called Trash: The Graphic Genius of Xploitation Movie Posters. On page 42 and 43 are the posters for Dirty Mary Crazy Larry and Vanishing point. Also on page 42 is a flyer for a 1975 (Drive-in I assume) double bill of with both films. The flyer / poster bears the slogan "3 1/2 hours of high performance action as two of the great chase films return ... together". Now I've seen both films  over the years (Vanishing Point more, because its the better movie), but ever since I picked up the book I have wanted to watch them back to back as a double bill. With cult movie magpie Quentin Tarantino referencing both films in his "Grindhouse" movie Death Proof it reminded me of this, love or hate QT he does have the effect of putting older movies back in the public consciousness. Anyway you have obviously figured out where this is leading, I did indeed enjoy 3 1/2 hours of high performance action ...

Dirty Mary Crazy Larry was first up and it’s a pretty simple film with a simple premise. Iconic actor Peter Fonda (The Trip, Easy Rider, Race with the Devil, The Cannonball Run) stars as Larry. Larry is a down on his luck NASCAR driver, who feels he never really has a chance of winning because he lacks the money for a top of the range car. Susan George who is best known for her role as Amy Sumner the wife of Dustin Hoffman's character in Sam Peckinpah's mighty Straw Dogs stars as Mary. Mary is one of those laid back sexually active swinging chicks / groupies looking for excitement and the men that can provide it. The film opens up with Larry leaving Mary in bed after a night of passion and joining his friend and ace mechanic Deke Sommers (Adam Roarke). Today is the day Larry and Deke pull a heist to rob a supermarket of all its cash and get out of town. Deke keeps the managers wife and child hostage in their house while Larry pays him (Roddy McDowall) a visit to collect the cash. On leaving the supermarket Larry finds Mary sat in the getaway car unhappy to have been screwed and left without a goodbye. He now has no choice but to take her along for the ride. Picking up Deke, the three of them flee the town and head for the state line however grizzled cop Everett Franklin (Vic Morrow) has no intention of letting them get out of his jurisdiction and will do everything in his power to stop their escape. And so ensues a game of cat and mouse that makes this one of the most drive time heavy movies of all time.

Of course a driving action movie from 1973 completely differs from the modern concept. There's no "Michael Bay" style CGI cars flying in the air as trucks jack-knife left right and centre .... while the road becomes a series of enormous explosions. In the likes of Dirty Mary Crazy Larry the majority of cars are just run off the road and are brought to a standstill in the dust. This is one of those films that's probably not as good as you remember, but it has a great nostalgia factor whether that be because you where old enough to have seen it on the big screen back in the day or like me saw it as originally as a kid back when the likes of Smokey and the Bandit, Cannonball run and The Dukes of Hazard TV show where essential viewing. Sure it’s dated, but unlike films from the 80's it dated in that "Cool" way. I think that’s a lot to do with fashion and music, where 80's fashions still look ridiculous for the most part I would not blink if I saw a modern girl wearing Susan Georges bikini crop top warn jeans combo.

Realistically this is a movie about driving and muscle cars a lot of your enjoyment will hinge on a simple fact. Whether of not you think the 1969 Dodge Charger is a cool piece of machinery or not. I think it’s pretty cool and that's pretty much what I think of the movie, its not essential viewing unless you're really, really into seeing old school muscle cars on the big screen, but its pretty cool and the ending is a classic.