One of the nicest people I've ever had the pleasure of interviewing [though to date, the results remain sadly unpublished] must be expat Brit director John Moxey- best remembered by fans of classic UK horror for his 1960 mock-American occult chiller CITY OF THE DEAD, but better known to Stateside audiences [after actually decamping there] for umpteen made-for-TV chillers and fantasies like THE HOUSE THAT WOULD NOT DIE, ESCAPE, THE LAST CHILD, A TASTE OF EVIL, THE NIGHT STALKER, NIGHT TRAIN TO TERROR, HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS, GENESIS II, THE STRANGE AND DEADLY OCCURRENCE, WHERE HAVE ALL THE PEOPLE GONE, CONSPIRACY OF TERROR, I DESIRE, KILLJOY, SANCTUARY OF FEAR, THE POWER WITHIN, NO PLACE TO HIDE, THE VIOLATION OF SARAH MCDAVID, DEADLY DECEPTION, WHEN DREAMS COME TRUE and THE CRADLE WILL FALL.
He also directed numerous episodes of popular series such as MURDER SHE WROTE, SCRECROW AND MRS KING, MIAMI VICE, CHARLIE'S ANGELS, SHAFT, THE NEW PERRY MASON, POLICE STORY, KUNG FU and MATLOCK, dramas like THE COURAGE AND THE PASSION, PANIC IN ECHO PARK, INTIMATE STRANGERS and the award winning NIGHTMARE IN BADHAM COUNTY, Westerns THE BOUNTY MAN and HARDCASE, quirky detective pilot EBONY IVORY AND JADE, disaster flick SMASH UP ON INTERSTATE 5 and Cold War espionager THE DEATH OF ME YET: in short [whaddya mean 'too late'] quite the resume! And, lurking somewhere in that shady, nebulous territory betwixt full-on horror and the 'psychological suspense movie', he also gave us this little curio, which I recently watched [for the first time in over 35 years!] in tribute to the late great David Soul.
I was 16 when I last saw it: looking at it now, as a man of 50 with aged and far more experienced [if not necessarily naked] eyes, I can't believe how low-budget it looks even for a TV chiller, having been clearly shot on low-grade videotape, and it's FAR too slow in pace even for my liking [bear in mind, my second favourite director of all time Is Werner Herzog] However, it's still effective in many ways- not least of all for a wonderfully subdued performance from its leading man, here playing well against type as shy, retiring Chicagoan classical flautist William Marsh.
By all respects, Marsh isn't any kind of conventional hero or male lead: he wears ill-befitting [as opposed to ill-fitting] glasses, whispers and mumbles when he talks, slicks his hair back in a most unflattering fashion, and exhibits all the standard mannerisms of the awkward geek. He also has a very strained relationship with his father [William Schallert] a distinctly non-music-digging jock of a sportswear salesman who left The Windy City years ago and takes precious little interest in his progeny's considerable achievements. Even more bizarrely, he shares - along with his soon-to-be love interest Pam Dawber, having already inexplicably dumped a girl he was dating within his orchestra who then promptly disappears from the story altogether - a penchant for staring out of his apartment window into other people's with the aid of his trusty binoculars, something which soon arouses the ire of local 'tecs Dick Williams and Gerald Castillo and convinces them he's the local serial killer.
Obviously, we know full well from the start that he isn't, but that doesn't stop them from laying siege to his block night and day anyway: even when noted police psychologist Fionnula Flanagan [only 41 at time of filming, but dowdied down to look considerably older] proffers her expert opinion that both gumshoes are barking right up the wrong tree, Castillo [who in all truth probably fancies Dawber a bit himself, thus creating an interesting 'coloured fish' situation] still goes to the lengths of convincing Soul's beau that she's "in grave danger", and sure enough, when a bunch of well-dodgy monochrome pictures of them making sweet luuuurve [and yes, they do do it to the sound of smooth jazz] arrive through his letterbox and she finds them, she starts to believe it too. Cue, inevitably, a handy bit of obfuscation and the customary cat-and-mouse climax as the 'wrong man' desperately tries to clear his name AND save his missus from a deathing. Sterling stuff. And who IS the culprit? Well, of course, you'll have to watch it yourself- if you haven't already - to find out...
Thanks to Moxey's by-then-considerable experience in the more macabre end of the TVM market, THROUGH NAKED EYES avoids the tempting trap of turning into just another cop thriller and stays JUST the right side of horror, with most of the murders shot in chilling, giallo-style POV fashion: the killer's modus operandi is also refreshingly original, as rather than being yet another bog-standard stalker of helpless dollybirds, this particular nutter offs both men AND women with equal venom and considerable frequency. Moreover, one is still never clear, even after their identity has been revealed, quite what their motive is- although as far as I can see, it ties in with writer Jeff Bloom's pointed statement on privacy within major cities and how, as time progresses and communities become more populous, it becomes increasingly difficult to maintain such a thing [in one key scene, almost every other inhabitant of two adjacent high-rises is seen wielding "bins" or telescopes of one kind or another, clearly a Midwestern American fashion of the time that didn't quite catch on over here in England] Given the prevalence of drones, security cameras, surveillance apps, mobile smartphones and intrusive social media we now live with daily, I'd love to see how he would write it now. He's still very much alive and working, so if anybody knows him, do ask- and while you're at it, you can quiz him on what that 'twist' [if it's meant to be one] in the final shot signifies as well. For what it's worth, I think I know.
Like I said, it's no classic: it's the perfect length, for sure, but there are still far too many longeurs during that time for its own good, something which tells me that the usually mega-efficient Moxey was probably under pressure from the agents of certain performers to gift them the requisite amount of 'screentime' [it happens] or from the sponsors [flute and visual apparatus manufacturers, perhaps?} to drop in a bit of subtle product placement. But it was great to see it again, if only to remind myself what a varied actor Soul could be when given the right material. Unfortunately, its continued ownership by whatever dodgy rights company currently holds it has prevented it from any form of official DVD release thus far [trust me, it's not the classical music, most of which has been out of copyright since about 1900] but it IS still viewable on PooTube, and a more than enjoyable way of frittering 90 minutes should you find yourself so inclined- so "take my word, believe me" and report back with thy findings. And then track down and watch the rest of Moxey's oeuvre, as it REALLY is a fascinating body of work. It's just a shame that he never lived to see my article in print. Will I ever even manage to do that? Watch this space.
He also directed numerous episodes of popular series such as MURDER SHE WROTE, SCRECROW AND MRS KING, MIAMI VICE, CHARLIE'S ANGELS, SHAFT, THE NEW PERRY MASON, POLICE STORY, KUNG FU and MATLOCK, dramas like THE COURAGE AND THE PASSION, PANIC IN ECHO PARK, INTIMATE STRANGERS and the award winning NIGHTMARE IN BADHAM COUNTY, Westerns THE BOUNTY MAN and HARDCASE, quirky detective pilot EBONY IVORY AND JADE, disaster flick SMASH UP ON INTERSTATE 5 and Cold War espionager THE DEATH OF ME YET: in short [whaddya mean 'too late'] quite the resume! And, lurking somewhere in that shady, nebulous territory betwixt full-on horror and the 'psychological suspense movie', he also gave us this little curio, which I recently watched [for the first time in over 35 years!] in tribute to the late great David Soul.
I was 16 when I last saw it: looking at it now, as a man of 50 with aged and far more experienced [if not necessarily naked] eyes, I can't believe how low-budget it looks even for a TV chiller, having been clearly shot on low-grade videotape, and it's FAR too slow in pace even for my liking [bear in mind, my second favourite director of all time Is Werner Herzog] However, it's still effective in many ways- not least of all for a wonderfully subdued performance from its leading man, here playing well against type as shy, retiring Chicagoan classical flautist William Marsh.
By all respects, Marsh isn't any kind of conventional hero or male lead: he wears ill-befitting [as opposed to ill-fitting] glasses, whispers and mumbles when he talks, slicks his hair back in a most unflattering fashion, and exhibits all the standard mannerisms of the awkward geek. He also has a very strained relationship with his father [William Schallert] a distinctly non-music-digging jock of a sportswear salesman who left The Windy City years ago and takes precious little interest in his progeny's considerable achievements. Even more bizarrely, he shares - along with his soon-to-be love interest Pam Dawber, having already inexplicably dumped a girl he was dating within his orchestra who then promptly disappears from the story altogether - a penchant for staring out of his apartment window into other people's with the aid of his trusty binoculars, something which soon arouses the ire of local 'tecs Dick Williams and Gerald Castillo and convinces them he's the local serial killer.
Obviously, we know full well from the start that he isn't, but that doesn't stop them from laying siege to his block night and day anyway: even when noted police psychologist Fionnula Flanagan [only 41 at time of filming, but dowdied down to look considerably older] proffers her expert opinion that both gumshoes are barking right up the wrong tree, Castillo [who in all truth probably fancies Dawber a bit himself, thus creating an interesting 'coloured fish' situation] still goes to the lengths of convincing Soul's beau that she's "in grave danger", and sure enough, when a bunch of well-dodgy monochrome pictures of them making sweet luuuurve [and yes, they do do it to the sound of smooth jazz] arrive through his letterbox and she finds them, she starts to believe it too. Cue, inevitably, a handy bit of obfuscation and the customary cat-and-mouse climax as the 'wrong man' desperately tries to clear his name AND save his missus from a deathing. Sterling stuff. And who IS the culprit? Well, of course, you'll have to watch it yourself- if you haven't already - to find out...
Thanks to Moxey's by-then-considerable experience in the more macabre end of the TVM market, THROUGH NAKED EYES avoids the tempting trap of turning into just another cop thriller and stays JUST the right side of horror, with most of the murders shot in chilling, giallo-style POV fashion: the killer's modus operandi is also refreshingly original, as rather than being yet another bog-standard stalker of helpless dollybirds, this particular nutter offs both men AND women with equal venom and considerable frequency. Moreover, one is still never clear, even after their identity has been revealed, quite what their motive is- although as far as I can see, it ties in with writer Jeff Bloom's pointed statement on privacy within major cities and how, as time progresses and communities become more populous, it becomes increasingly difficult to maintain such a thing [in one key scene, almost every other inhabitant of two adjacent high-rises is seen wielding "bins" or telescopes of one kind or another, clearly a Midwestern American fashion of the time that didn't quite catch on over here in England] Given the prevalence of drones, security cameras, surveillance apps, mobile smartphones and intrusive social media we now live with daily, I'd love to see how he would write it now. He's still very much alive and working, so if anybody knows him, do ask- and while you're at it, you can quiz him on what that 'twist' [if it's meant to be one] in the final shot signifies as well. For what it's worth, I think I know.
Like I said, it's no classic: it's the perfect length, for sure, but there are still far too many longeurs during that time for its own good, something which tells me that the usually mega-efficient Moxey was probably under pressure from the agents of certain performers to gift them the requisite amount of 'screentime' [it happens] or from the sponsors [flute and visual apparatus manufacturers, perhaps?} to drop in a bit of subtle product placement. But it was great to see it again, if only to remind myself what a varied actor Soul could be when given the right material. Unfortunately, its continued ownership by whatever dodgy rights company currently holds it has prevented it from any form of official DVD release thus far [trust me, it's not the classical music, most of which has been out of copyright since about 1900] but it IS still viewable on PooTube, and a more than enjoyable way of frittering 90 minutes should you find yourself so inclined- so "take my word, believe me" and report back with thy findings. And then track down and watch the rest of Moxey's oeuvre, as it REALLY is a fascinating body of work. It's just a shame that he never lived to see my article in print. Will I ever even manage to do that? Watch this space.
statistics: Posted by Wyngarde — 6:00 PM - 1 day ago — Replies 0 — Views 160