cinema history class: helga, she wolf of stilberg (1977)

The session: Don't Make Ilsa Angry
Having shown us the original Ilsa movie, Ilsa, She Wolf of the SS, over ten years ago, Keith decided to show us some follow-up movies 

As always, there may be spoilers here. And the trailer may be NSFW and/or NSFL.

Week 4: Helga, She Wolf of Stilberg (1977)
Directed by Alain Payet

My Level of Prior Knowledge:
I knew there were a few Ilsa follow-up movies, but I wouldn't have been able to name them for you -- especially this, which doesn't even have the Ilsa name in its title.

Plot Synopsis:
A cartoonishly evil commandant spends most of the runtime proving she's the worst boss in history, while everyone else waits for the script to remember that revenge is a thing. It's less a war movie than a checklist of exploitation clichés with swastikas stapled to them.

Reaction and Other Folderol:
After four Ilsa movies, I suppose it was inevitable that someone would decide to make a fifth without actually making a fifth. So instead of Dyanne Thorne's infamous torture queen, we get Helgaa new blonde sadist played by a different actress, in what is essentially an Ilsa knockoff wearing a fake mustache. And to complete the identity crisis, Ilsa -- I mean Helga -- spends almost the entire movie in a bright red blouse that makes her look less like the commandant of a brutal prison camp than like she's on her way to Studio 54. It's the cinematic equivalent of changing one letter on a bootleg action figure and hoping nobody notices.

Unfortunately, this one makes even the weaker Ilsa sequels look respectable. The story is barely there, the acting is uniformly awful, and the soundtrack consists largely of atonal noise that seems less interested in setting a mood than in testing the audience's patience. Most scenes exist for one reason: to get another group of women out of their clothes before moving on to the next bit of cruelty.

One moment in particular perfectly captured how bizarre the whole production was. Two women are escaping, yet the soft-focus photography and syrupy music make it look less like a desperate jailbreak than the beginning of a romance. I honestly wasn't sure whether the filmmakers had become confused about which movie they were making.

Then there is the war sequence at the climax. The movie cut to stock footage of tanks and flamethrowers that make no sense in the context of the rest of the scenery or story. It went from tiny prison camp in South America to major battle in Vietnam and back. The scene arrives out of nowhere,  and disappears just as abruptly. And leave no impact whatsoever. It's as if someone found an old reel of old war footage in the editing room and thought, "Sure, why not?"

And just when I was ready for the ordeal to be over, the movie ends with an irritating tease that promises...something. I have no idea what. It felt less like an ending than the filmmakers saying, "Wouldn't it be funny if we implied there was more of this?"

Seriously...WTF?

As a final bit of trivia, Joe gave this one a zero. That's unexplored territory for him (for the class, honestly), and honestly, I can't say I blame him.

cinema history class: ilsa the wicked warden (1977)

The session: Don't Make Ilsa Angry
Having shown us the original Ilsa movie, Ilsa, She Wolf of the SS, over ten years ago, Keith decided to show us some follow-up movies 

As always, there may be spoilers here. And the trailer may be NSFW and/or NSFL.

Week 3: Ilsa the Wicked Warden (1977)
Directed by Jess Franco

My Level of Prior Knowledge:
I knew there were a few Ilsa follow-up movies, but I wouldn't have been able to name them for you. 

Plot Synopsis:
Apparently someone thought the previous movie had far too much plot, so this time it's mostly an excuse to string together prison torture, exploitation clichés, and the occasional reminder that Nazis are, in fact, the bad guys.

Reaction and Other Folderol:
In the lush jungles of South America, Ilsa—this time calling herself Greta—runs a psychiatric hospital for political prisoners. That's the premise, anyway. In practice, it's mostly an excuse to string together scenes of sexual violence, torture, and spectacularly excessive gore, with only the thinnest excuse for a plot.

This is widely regarded as Jesús Franco's bloodiest film, and it's hard to argue with that assessment. The makeup effects are impressively well done, even if they're deployed almost entirely in the service of making the audience squirm. Franco certainly wasn't aiming for subtlety here.

Ironically, the movie briefly threatened to become interesting near the end. There's a sequence where the imagery takes on an almost zombie-movie atmosphere, with some genuinely striking visuals that suggested Franco might finally be building toward something memorable. Then came the finale.

The climactic cannibalism sequence is genuinely horrifying. Franco intercuts the human carnage with footage of big cats devouring their prey, clearly hoping to elevate the scene into some sort of artistic statement about humanity's animal nature. For me, it didn't work. It was certainly disturbing, but disturbing isn't automatically profound.

To the film's credit, I did appreciate the twists in the closing minutes. They were clever enough that I wish the screenplay had spent more time constructing an actual story around them. As it stands, they feel like an unexpectedly solid ending attached to ninety minutes of exploitation set pieces.

In the end, I can't recommend this one. There are flashes of interesting imagery, some effective makeup work, and a surprisingly decent final twist, but they're buried beneath an avalanche of gore and cruelty that never develops into much of a narrative.

And joe...he gave it a 2! Which puts it among the lowest ratings he ever gave. He gave El Topo something in that neighborhood, but he actually missed that class, watched that movie on his won and delivered his rating after the fact. So that's non canon. He did give The Woman in Black a 2. But, three years later he retroactively revised it to a 9. I don't remember why. So I have no frickin' clue what to make of that.

cinema history class: ilsa, the tigress of siberia

The session: Don't Make Ilsa Angry
Having shown us the original Ilsa movie, Ilsa, She Wolf of the SS, over ten years ago, Keith decided to show us some follow-up movies 

As always, there may be spoilers here. And the trailer may be NSFW and/or NSFL.

Week 2: Ilsa, the Tigress of Siberia (1977)
Directed by Jean LaFleur

My Level of Prior Knowledge:
I knew there were a few Ilsa follow-up movies, but I wouldn't have been able to name them for you. 

Plot Synopsis:
A sadistic prison commandant escapes postwar justice by relocating to Siberia, where she discovers that the best way to rehabilitate criminals is apparently through forced labor, torture, sex and elaborate catfights. When a revolutionary hero shows up to challenge her reign of terror, the movie remembers it needs a plot and lurches toward an ending between bouts of exploitation and fur hats.

Reaction and Other Folderol:
Ilsa, the Tigress of Siberia gives us a pretty good idea of what we're in for right from the start. That occurs by way of a bullet in the frozen north. The trailer proudly quotes Oui magazine. If your marketing campaign begins with the endorsement of a men's magazine best known for articles that nobody read, subtlety is probably not on the menu.

I went into this one wanting to dislike it. The previous Ilsa films haven't exactly convinced me that the franchise has hidden depths waiting to be discovered. And for the first half of the movie, I felt completely justified.

The Siberian section is, for long stretches, little more than an exercise in increasingly elaborate cruelty. Plot seems almost optional. Instead, the filmmakers appear to have sat around a table brainstorming ways people could be tortured, maimed, or killed in creative fashion. Some of these ideas are admittedly inventive. The arm-wrestling match over running chainsaws certainly leaves an impression. But it's hard to shake the feeling that the movie is less interested in telling a story than in seeing how far it can push the audience's tolerance for gratuitous violence. At times it feels like a proto-Saw film, only with fur hats.

The sex scenes don't help much. One sequence featuring Dyanne Thorne, her real-life husband, and another man manages the impressive feat of being more vulgar than erotic. By this point I was pretty sure I knew exactly what kind of movie I was watching, and I wasn't especially impressed.

Then something unexpected happened.

The movie moved to Montreal.

At first I assumed the Canadian material would be a brief epilogue after the Siberian story wrapped up. Instead, it gradually became clear that Montreal was going to occupy roughly half the running time. And the longer it stayed there, the more interesting the film became.

I didn't notice the transition immediately. It sort of snuck up on me. Scene by scene, the movie started developing an actual plot. Characters had agendas. There were competing factions. People were spying on each other, betraying each other, and occasionally shooting each other. I often found it difficult to keep track of exactly which side was scoring points at any given moment, but that confusion was preferable to the straightforward sadism of the earlier scenes. At least now there was something happening besides torture.

The second half becomes a surprisingly entertaining mix of action film, espionage thriller, and double-cross-heavy adventure story. And interestingly, a number of scenes felt almost like spaghetti westerns transplanted into a Cold War setting. The sequences in Gulag 14 in particular had that familiar atmosphere of armed men facing off in dusty compounds while shifting loyalties determine who survives. Swap out the snow for desert landscapes and some of the scenes wouldn't feel entirely out of place in a Sergio Corbucci film.

By the end, I found myself admitting something I hadn't expected to admit: this was actually much better than I thought it would be. That's not the same thing as saying it's a great film. It's still exploitative, frequently ridiculous, and often unpleasant. But somewhere along the way it transformed from a plotless parade of atrocities into a reasonably entertaining action-and-espionage picture.

As for Joe, he once again found a way to keep us all on our toes. He awarded the film a real-world score of 8.9. He then clarified that, symbolically, it was a 10. I dutifully acknowledged this distinction at the time. Unfortunately, a few weeks later, I can no longer remember what on earth he meant by it.

cinema history class: ilsa, harem keeper of the oil sheiks (1976)

The session: Don't Make Ilsa Angry
Having shown us the original Ilsa movie, Ilsa, She Wolf of the SS, over ten years ago, Keith decided to show us some follow-up movies 

As always, there may be spoilers here. And the trailer may be NSFW and/or NSFL.

Week 1: Ilsa, Harem Keeper of the Oil Sheiks (1976)
Directed by Don Edmonds

My Level of Prior Knowledge:
I knew there were a few Ilsa follow-up movies, but I wouldn't have been able to name them for you. 

Plot Synopsis:
An American woman is swept into the orbit of a cruel harem mistress who treats human rights the way most people treat parking regulations. Somewhere beneath the whippings, scheming, and general depravity, there may be a plot, but it's keeping a very low profile.

Reaction and Other Folderol:
More than a decade ago, Keith introduced our group to the notorious torture queen with a screening of Ilsa, She Wolf of the SS. For reasons known only to him, he recently decided that one Ilsa movie wasn't enough and embarked on a mission to show us the sequels. Thus...here we are.

The plot, such as it is, concerns a young woman who finds herself caught up in the depraved world of a harem overseen by Ilsa. That's really all the plot you need. The movie isn't particularly interested in story, character development, or even coherent narrative progression. Instead, it mostly functions as an excuse to move from one scene of sexual violence to the next. As Keith put it, this falls into the category of a "roughie," and if you're familiar with the term, you'll know exactly what you're getting.

That isn't to say the film is entirely devoid of entertainment value. There are occasional flashes of humor, some ironic revenge elements that work reasonably well, and a surprisingly amusing Henry Kissinger impression. One particularly memorable scene involves a young boy being sent to "service" Kissinger. The sequence somehow manages to be simultaneously creepy and funny, which is not an easy tonal balance to achieve. Whether that's a compliment is another matter.

The production values are actually better than one might expect. The sets look respectable, the makeup work is quite good, and the movie generally appears to have had a budget larger than whatever happened to be found under the producer's couch cushions. Near the end, the film abruptly shifts gears into a series of gunfights that felt oddly reminiscent of a spaghetti western, albeit one populated largely by nude Black women. That's not a sentence I expected to write today.

Joe described the movie as "squirmy," which is difficult to argue with. There is an unpleasantness to much of the proceedings that never really goes away. At the same time, Keith made an observation that helped me appreciate the film a little more than I otherwise would have. He suggested viewing it as a comic book rather than as anything resembling reality. Through that lens, some of the exaggerated villains, improbable situations, and over-the-top revenge scenarios become a bit easier to accept.

In the end, I gave it a 5. Left entirely to my own devices, I probably would have settled on a 4, but Keith's "comic book" interpretation earned it an extra point.

And finally, in perhaps the strangest twist of all, Joe appears to have made brief contact with the real world when assigning his score. Rather than his customary 10, he awarded the film a mere 7. Frankly, that may be the most shocking thing in the entire movie.

cinema history class: love brides of the blood mummy (1973)

The session: I Want My Mummy!
We revisit our bandaged buddies

Note: IU could not find a legitimate trailer. This is a fan trailer.
As always, there may be spoilers here. And the trailer may be NSFW and/or NSFL.

Week 4: Love Brides of the Blood Mummy (1973)
Directed by Alejandro Marti

My Level of Prior Knowledge:
Hadn't heard of it. 

Plot Synopsis:
A lovestruck mummy rises from the dead, convinced he's finally found his long-lost bride in modern-day Turkey. Unfortunately, his courtship style involves murder, kidnapping, and a complete disregard for personal boundaries.

Reaction and Other Folderol:
Love Brides of the Blood Mummy has a title that promises mummies, brides, blood, and presumably some combination thereof. What it actually delivers is something much closer to a vampire movie. The title character isn't really a mummy at all. He's essentially a fully intact ancient Egyptian who happens to have been dead for a few thousand years. Replace the Egyptian headdress and garb with a cape and you'd have a fairly standard vampire plot.

The story concerns a resurrected ancient Egyptian nobleman who becomes obsessed with a modern woman he believes is the reincarnation of his long-dead bride. This leads to a great deal of stalking, biting, kidnapping, and sexual assault. Unfortunately, the repeated cycle of rapes and blood-drinking becomes tiresome long before the film reaches its conclusion. There are only so many times you can watch the same sequence play out before it starts feeling less like storytelling and more like a contractual obligation.

Speaking of repetition, the filmmakers become oddly enamored of iris-outs during the final stretch. By the end I felt as though I was watching a silent movie that had wandered into the wrong century.

Not everything was unsuccessful. The severed arm crawling around on its own is a genuinely effective horror element and probably the film's most memorable visual. The musical score also deserves some credit. Whatever the movie's shortcomings, the music does a surprisingly good job of evoking both the time period and the setting.

One of the movie's stranger choices is its reliance on narration to explain plot points that probably should have been dramatized. Rather than trusting the audience to piece things together, the film repeatedly stops to tell us what's happening. Equally puzzling is the presence of an Egyptologist who appears to possess important knowledge about the situation, yet whose existence and involvement are never satisfactorily explained.

At one point Ethan remarked that the whole thing felt like purgatory. He wasn't wrong. The film settles into a strange repetitive rhythm where the same events seem to happen over and over, trapping both the characters and the audience in an endless cycle of pursuit, assault, and exposition.

Still, it has a certain dreamlike weirdness, a memorable crawling arm, and enough odd decisions to keep a bad-movie crowd engaged.

And, of course, Joe gave it a 10.

cinema history class: the curse of the mummy's tomb (1964)

The session: I Want My Mummy!
We revisit our bandaged buddies

As always, there may be spoilers here. And the trailer may be NSFW and/or NSFL.

Week 3: The Curse of the Mummy's Tomb (1964)
Directed by Michael Carreras

My Level of Prior Knowledge:
Hadn't heard of it. 

Plot Synopsis:
After an archaeological expedition uncovers the tomb of an ancient Egyptian prince, the mummy is brought to England as part of a lucrative exhibition. When a series of murders follows, it becomes clear that the curse of the tomb has crossed the Mediterranean—and the mummy has come to reclaim its vengeance.

Reaction and Other Folderol:
In Hammer's second foray into mummy territory, an archaeological expedition uncovers the tomb of an ancient Egyptian prince. The mummy is transported to England for a publicity-driven exhibition. Predictably, this proves to be a poor decision for everyone involved.

I wanted to like this one more than I did. There are certainly some good moments scattered throughout. The film opens with a memorable severed-hand sequence and neatly bookends things with another hand removal at the end. There are flashes of atmosphere, and the story moves along well enough.

But ultimately, the movie feels content to do exactly what is required and nothing more. The plot hits the expected beats, the mummy stalks his victims, people die, and the story reaches its conclusion. There's nothing particularly wrong with any of it, but there isn't much that elevates it above the ordinary either. It's competent, professional, and generally watchable—just not especially memorable.

One thing that did strike me was Fred Clark's character who comes across as a sort of 1900s Geraldo Rivera. He turns an archaeological discovery into a publicity spectacle, eagerly promoting the exhibit and cashing in on public curiosity. In retrospect, it's hard not to think of Geraldo's infamous televised opening of Al Capone's vault—lots of hype, lots of promotion, and ultimately rather less payoff than promised.

In the end, The Curse of the Mummy's Tomb isn't a bad film. It simply never quite becomes a good one.

As for the ratings, Joe gave it a 10. Because of course he did.

cinema history class: the mummy (1959)

The session: I Want My Mummy!
We revisit our bandaged buddies

As always, there may be spoilers here. And the trailer may be NSFW and/or NSFL.

Week 2: The Mummy (1959)
Directed by Terence Fisher

My Level of Prior Knowledge:
I'd known that there were a bunch of movies titled "The Mummy." 

Plot Synopsis:
An archaeological expedition uncovers the tomb of an ancient Egyptian princess. After the tomb is desecrated, a resurrected mummy, Kharis, is sent to England by a fanatical guardian to take revenge on those responsible. As the killings mount, the surviving archaeologists discover that the mummy's relentless quest is tied to a tragic love story from thousands of years earlier.

Reaction and Other Folderol:
I went into this one with modest expectations. Egyptian-themed horror and historical curses have never really been my thing. But this was better than expected.

One thing that immediately stood out was Christopher Lee's performance. The man spends almost the entire movie wrapped head to toe in bandages and makeup, yet somehow manages to convey emotion, determination, anger, and even sadness almost entirely through his eyes. It's an impressive piece of acting when you consider how little of his face is actually visible. Lee's Kharis isn't just a shambling monster; there's a sense of tragedy underneath all those wrappings.

I also thoroughly enjoyed the verbal sparring between Peter Cushing's John Banning and the villainous Mehemet Bey. Every scene between them crackles with tension. Cushing, as always, brings intelligence and stubborn determination to his role, while George Pastell's Bey is cultured, polite, and quietly menacing. Their exchanges are often more entertaining than the action scenes.

One aspect of the story left me scratching my head. Did they ever actually explain why Banning's wife looks exactly like Princess Ananka? The resemblance is central to the plot, but I don't recall the film ever providing a clear explanation. Are we supposed to assume reincarnation? Some mystical connection across the centuries? Admittedly, that's a common enough trope in mummy movies that perhaps I shouldn't hold it against them, but it still felt like the screenplay skipped over a detail that might have deserved a little more attention.

The version we watched also reminded me how much censorship could affect these older horror films. Several bits of gore that were present in later restorations were absent here. We hear about the severed tongue but don't actually see it. Likewise, the climactic destruction of Kharis is much less graphic than in the restored versions, with much of the footage of him being riddled with bullets removed. The movie still works perfectly well, but it's unfortunate that audiences for years saw a trimmed-down version.

The title itself is a little misleading. This isn't really the traditional "Mummy awakens and stalks modern victims" story that most people think of when they hear The Mummy. The real driving force of the plot is Mehemet Bey, the loyal guardian carrying out a mission of vengeance. In some ways, Guardian of the Mummy's Tomb might actually be a more accurate title. Kharis is certainly important, but he's essentially the weapon wielded by someone else. And, of course, there's the tragic love story which adds an interesting element.

Beyond all that, the film benefits enormously from Hammer's production values. The rich color cinematography, atmospheric sets, and strong performances elevate material that could easily have become routine monster fare. It's easy to see why so many fans consider this one of Hammer's best horror films.

Overall, this was much better than I expected. Not one of my favorite horror films, and not enough giant radioactive insects or vicious murderous gangs for my tastes, but an entertaining and surprisingly thoughtful monster movie with strong performances from both Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing.

As for Joe, nothing would stop him from giving it a 10. Rumor has it he was preparing to award it an 12 before remembering that ancient Egyptian mathematics had not yet invented that number (and Bobbo wouldn't let him anyway).

cinema history class: pharaoh's curse (1957)

The session: I Want My Mummy!
We revisit our bandaged buddies

As always, there may be spoilers here. And the trailer may be NSFW and/or NSFL.

Week 1: Pharaoh's Curse (1957)
Directed by Lee Sholem

My Level of Prior Knowledge:
I'd never heard of it.

Plot Synopsis:
An archaeological expedition in Egypt uncovers the tomb of an ancient high priest, only to unleash a supernatural curse that causes members of the party to die mysteriously one by one. As panic spreads, the survivors realize the mummy may be possessing the living in order to continue its revenge from beyond the grave.

Reaction and Other Folderol:
Keith started this ad hoc Egyptian archaeology festival with Pharaoh’s Curse (1957). The setup is pure drive-in B-movie comfort food: archaeologists crack open an ancient tomb, ignore every possible warning sign, and then act surprised when people start dying under mysterious circumstances. Somewhere, an undead Egyptian priest is very disappointed in modern workplace safety standards.

What makes Pharaoh’s Curse interesting (to the limited extent that it is) is that it’s not really a “big spectacle” mummy movie in the Universal style. The mummy itself barely appears for long stretches, and the movie leans more heavily on atmosphere, suspicious behavior, and a general sense that everyone on the expedition is making terrible decisions. The desert locations actually look pretty good for a low-budget film, and the whole thing has that dusty late-50s indie horror vibe where every scene feels like it was shot three minutes before the crew lost access to the set.

The cast mostly consists of earnest scientists, nervous assistants, and people who seem contractually obligated to wander off alone at night. Mark Dana plays the expedition leader with the exact level of confidence required for a man whose plan is basically “let’s keep digging while the body count rises.” Meanwhile, the locals repeatedly warn everyone that desecrating tombs is a bad idea, which naturally guarantees that the Americans and Europeans continue desecrating tombs at full speed.

One odd thing about the movie is that the “curse” itself feels slightly improvised from scene to scene. Sometimes it’s a mummy attack movie, sometimes it’s a possession movie, sometimes it feels like a murder mystery where the murderer just happens to be several thousand years old. The film never seems overly concerned with explaining the mechanics, which honestly may have been the correct creative decision.

The pacing drifts a bit in the middle, but that’s part of the charm with these 1950s programmers. You settle into the rhythm: ominous music, torch-lit corridors, suspicious glances, another doomed side character, repeat. And at just over 70 minutes, it has the good manners not to overstay its welcome.

Joe wasn’t there, but let’s be honest: if he had been, he probably would have given it a 10.

howard hamlin and hannibal hamlin: the detail everyone missed

 

One of the things that separated Better Call Saul from ordinary television was the frightening level of detail embedded into the writing. Nothing in that universe was accidental. Colors mattered. Background objects mattered. Throwaway lines mattered. The writers built entire emotional arcs around whether a coffee mug was facing left or right. Which is why I no longer believe it was a coincidence that the doomed attorney Howard Hamlin shares a surname with Hannibal Hamlin, Abraham Lincoln’s first vice president.

At first glance, this sounds ridiculous. But the more you examine it, the harder it becomes to dismiss.

Hannibal Hamlin famously served as vice president during Lincoln’s first term, only to be quietly replaced before the second inauguration. Historians have long noted that Hamlin was competent, respectable, and ultimately expendable — a polished institutional figure pushed aside as political realities shifted around him. Howard Hamlin occupies almost the exact same structural role within Better Call Saul. He is the embodiment of establishment legitimacy: immaculate suits, careful manners, elite credentials, and a sprawling, meticulously designed law office complex whose polished corporate aesthetic projects permanence and authority. And yet, despite all that prestige, he becomes collateral damage in a transformation he barely comprehends.

That part matters.

Because the creators of Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul consistently portrayed institutions as grand facades already beginning to crack internally. HHM’s immaculate office complex is not merely a workplace. It is a monument to the illusion of stability — carefully landscaped, tastefully modern, expensive without being flashy, radiating the confidence of an institution that assumes it will exist forever. Howard walks its serene hallways the same way late-1850s political figures walked through Washington believing the old systems would somehow hold together. Both Hamlins are men of decorum trapped in eras that have already moved beyond decorum.

And then there’s the visual coding.

The showrunners used color symbolism with almost pathological precision. Howard’s signature blues evoke calm authority, professionalism, and institutional continuity. He practically glows with “respectable establishment energy.” Compare that with Jimmy McGill’s carnival palette and Saul Goodman’s eventual aesthetic descent into Constitution-themed chaos. Howard visually represents the old order — the same way Hannibal Hamlin represented an older, more restrained phase of Republican politics before the country slid fully into existential conflict.

The architecture of HHM is itself part of the symbolism. Rather than a predatory Manhattan skyscraper, the firm occupies a sprawling, serene corporate compound — the kind of place designed to reassure clients that serious adults remain firmly in control of civilization. Which, in the Better Call Saul universe, is usually a sign that catastrophe is about fifteen minutes away.

Even the hidden instability fits the theory. Beneath HHM’s polished exterior sits Chuck McGill’s unraveling mental state, simmering resentments, succession anxieties, financial pressure, and reputational fragility. In other words, it’s basically a metaphorical pre-Civil War Union with valet parking.

The key clue, however, may be Howard’s fate itself.

The tragedy of Howard Hamlin is that he thinks he is participating in a conventional professional rivalry when he is actually standing inside a completely different genre. He believes he’s in a legal drama about office politics. In reality, he wandered into a moral catastrophe populated by cartel psychopaths and human wrecking balls. Hannibal Hamlin faced a strangely similar historical predicament. He entered national politics assuming traditional democratic norms still governed the country, only to find himself adjacent to the collapse of the old political order and the onset of the Civil War.

Coincidence? Maybe.

But this is the same creative team that embedded symbolic meaning into shoelaces, ice cream cones, and parking validation stickers.

You really think they spent years constructing one of television’s most obsessively detailed fictional universes and then accidentally named a major tragic figure “Hamlin”?

cinema history class: man of a thousand faces (1957)

The session: Happy (Belated) 100th Birthday to the Phantom of the Opera
Keith shows us three classic Lon Chaney silent films and a documentary about his career

As always, there may be spoilers here. And the trailer may be NSFW and/or NSFL.

Week 4: Man of a Thousand Faces (1957)
Directed by Joseph Pevney

My Level of Prior Knowledge:
I'd never heard of it.

Plot Synopsis:
A gifted vaudeville performer rises to silent-film stardom by transforming himself into unforgettable screen monsters and outcasts, earning a reputation as Hollywood’s “Man of a Thousand Faces.” Behind the makeup and acclaim, however, he struggles to hold together a complicated family life shaped by sacrifice, secrecy, and personal heartbreak.

Reaction and Other Folderol:
Man of a Thousand Faces is a biopic of Lon Chaney, one of the first true superstars of the movie industry and the man whose elaborate makeup transformations earned him the nickname “The Man of a Thousand Faces.” Long before modern prosthetics and CGI, Chaney built unforgettable characters through sheer physical performance and painstaking makeup work, becoming famous for films like The Hunchback of Notre Dame and The Phantom of the Opera. The movie leans heavily into both the tragedy and mythology surrounding Chaney, and it works remarkably well.

I went into this with fairly low expectations, partly because I somehow expected more of a dry documentary than a full-fledged Hollywood drama. Instead, this turned out to be an extremely entertaining and well-crafted biopic, with a lot more emotional weight and energy than I anticipated. It moves quickly, covers a lot of ground, and never really drags.

One of the most interesting aspects of the movie is the strange double-layered performance at its center. Chaney himself was legendary for disappearing into grotesque and emotionally tortured characters, and James Cagney somehow manages the difficult task of playing Chaney while also recreating Chaney’s famous performances. Watching Cagney reproduce moments from Hunchback and Phantom could have come across as gimmicky, but instead it becomes one of the movie’s biggest strengths. He’s excellent throughout, and there are moments where you almost forget you’re watching an actor portray another actor.

Keith filled us in afterward on some of the behind-the-scenes reactions to the film, which added an interesting layer. Apparently, Lon Chaney Jr. felt the movie heavily whitewashed his father’s flaws, and honestly, I can believe that. The elder Chaney is portrayed in overwhelmingly sympathetic terms for most of the running time. Still, I can forgive a certain amount of mythmaking here because I was watching this primarily as entertainment rather than as a strict historical document.

Keith also mentioned that Chaney’s first wife, Cleva, reportedly walked out of a screening because she was upset with how she was portrayed. Early in the movie, it’s easy to see why. The film initially presents her in fairly harsh terms, starting with the scenes involving Chaney’s deaf parents, and extending into her growing emotional separation from both her husband and her son. It's particularly noteworthy that she is shown as not feeling any maternal love for her son until she is sure that he is not deaf. Ironically, by leaving early, Cleva missed the part where the movie eventually softens and rehabilitates the character considerably.

Actually, even while watching it, I found myself somewhat conflicted about Cleva — meaning the character in the movie, not necessarily the real person. Her angry reaction upon discovering that Lon’s parents were deaf comes across badly at first. But at the same time, Lon really should have prepared her before suddenly introducing her to them. From her perspective, she was blindsided and embarrassed in a very uncomfortable situation. Of course, as Keith explained afterward, that entire episode was apparently fabricated for dramatic purposes anyway.

In fact, Keith pointed out that a number of scenes in the movie were either exaggerated or completely invented. That’s hardly unusual for Hollywood biopics, especially from that era. Still, one shocking moment that was apparently real was Cleva’s onstage suicide attempt by drinking acid, which remains one of the film’s most startling scenes. Knowing afterward that this part actually happened made it land even harder in retrospect.

And Joe rated it a 10. Of course, I also rated it a 10 so I am hardly in a position to criticize. This time.

still the place to be

I joined a Zoom meeting at work a few minutes early last week, which is always a dangerous time. There’s just enough silence for small talk, and just enough audience for someone (me) to say something.

Someone noted the size of the meeting. “It’s the place to be,” he said.

And before I could stop myself, I chirped in: “Like Green Acres!”

Among people of a certain vintage, this is a layup. The phrase practically demands the response. A few people chuckled immediately.

The younger employees? Blank stares. One of them actually asked what I meant.

Someone else (thank God it wasn't me) helpfully explained the premise of Green Acres—big city lawyer moves to a farm, chaos ensues. He even quoted the opening line of the theme: “Green Acres is the place to be…”

By then, more people had joined, the moment had passed, and we got down to business. But it stuck with me.

Because if a perfectly good Green Acres reference now requires a footnote, maybe it’s time. Maybe it’s time for a reboot.

The Premise Aged Into Relevance

In the 1960s Green Acres was a fish-out-of-water comedy. Oliver Douglas leaves his Manhattan law practice to live his dream on a farm, while his glamorous wife wonders what on earth he’s thinking.

In 2026, that’s not a joke. That’s a lifestyle pivot.

The modern twist practically writes itself: Oliver doesn’t give up his law practice. He just relocates it.

He’s now a remote worker. A Zoom lawyer. A man with three monitors, a hotspot, and a deep belief that he can have it all—peaceful rural life and high-powered professional relevance.

But the farm disagrees.

The Zoom Problem

This is where the show lives now.

Oliver is presenting to clients while:

• a chicken walks across his keyboard
• another one pecks directly at the camera lens
• a goat quietly chews its way through his Ethernet cable mid-sentence
• a rooster times its crowing to land exactly on his most important point

He tries to maintain composure.

“If you look at page—no, sorry, that’s…that’s not a slide.”

He thinks he’s handled it. He never has. The animals don’t respect the meeting. The meeting doesn’t respect the animals. And Oliver is stuck in the middle, insisting that everything is “under control” while the screen share drops and something feathers its way across the desk again.

The joke isn’t that he left the city. It’s that he didn’t. He brought it with him—and the farm refuses to cooperate.

Life Off the Call

And it doesn’t get better when the laptop closes.

Oliver expects:

• restaurants that answer the phone
• stores within walking distance
• cell service that exists

Instead, he gets:

• limited hours that seem more like suggestions
• One restaurant called the Wagon Wheel, with fifteen items on the menu
• a general store that may or may not have what he needs
• a drive that is longer than he thinks it should be, every time
• a signal that drops the moment he needs it most

He sounds, frankly, like an entitled snob.

“There has to be somewhere that delivers.”
“There isn’t.”
“Within…what, ten miles?”
“Within…reality.”

Meanwhile, the locals:

• plan ahead
• fix things themselves
• understand that some problems don’t have immediate solutions

They’re not struggling. He is.

And they’re amused.

Who’s Actually the Joke?

It’s easy to remember Green Acres as a show that made fun of the locals.

That’s not quite right.

Yes, the townspeople were eccentric. Surreal, even. But they weren’t simply the butt of the joke. More often than not, they understood how their world worked far better than Oliver did.

The real joke was Oliver:

• convinced he knew better
• armed with logic, law, and confidence
• and consistently out of his depth

He tried to impose order on a place that ran on its own rules—and lost that battle over and over again.

In other words, the show wasn’t “city vs. country.”

It was certainty vs. reality

The Reboot Gets to Lean Into That

A modern version doesn’t need to flip the premise—it just needs to sharpen it.

The locals aren’t fools. They’re competent in ways Oliver isn’t.

• They understand land, systems, and consequences
• They navigate rules Oliver doesn’t even know exist
• They don’t explain themselves unless necessary

Oliver, meanwhile, still thinks he’s the smartest person in the room.

He knows contracts. They know what happens when contracts meet weather, animals, and time.

And every version of this town needs someone who operates by a completely different set of rules. In this one, she’s less a stereotype and more a force of nature—and Oliver, naturally, has no idea how to handle it.

The Cast (Because This Is Where It Gets Fun)

You don’t reboot something like this halfway.

Oliver: Jason Bateman

A man who insists everything is under control while nothing is under control.

Lisa: Jennifer Aniston

Not the fish out of water this time. She adapts faster than Oliver—and may quietly thrive.

The HOA President: beloved character actress, Margo Martindale

Runs everything. Never says she does. Never needs to.

If you’ve seen her in The Americans, you know the energy: calm voice, measured delivery, and just enough steel underneath that you don’t even consider pushing back.

She doesn’t raise her voice. She doesn’t threaten. She just states things.

“Your grass is out of compliance.”

And that’s it. No explanation, no escalation. You don’t laugh. You don’t argue. You go get the mower.

She represents the rules—not the written ones, necessarily, but the ones that actually matter. The ones everyone else already understands.

With Oliver, she’s patient, but not indulgent:

“That’s not how this works.”
“Legally, I—”
“This isn’t legal.”

With the rest of the town, she barely needs to speak. Things get done.

And when she and Aubrey Plaza share a scene, there’s a sense that they both understand something Oliver never will—and have no particular interest in explaining it.

The Real Estate Agent / Something Else Entirely: Aubrey Plaza

She starts out as the real estate agent who sells Oliver the dream—“charming,” “rustic,” “full of potential”—and then never quite leaves.

After that, she’s just…around.

Sometimes she’s handling paperwork. Sometimes she’s enforcing something. Sometimes she’s advising Lisa. Sometimes she’s just standing there, observing.

Oliver, increasingly unsettled, eventually asks:

“What do you do?”

Her answer never changes:

“I’m involved.”

No one else finds this strange. The town accepts it completely. Only Oliver needs an explanation—and he’s the only one who never gets one.

The Neighboring Farmer: Keith Crocker

The kind of guy Oliver thinks he understands immediately—and completely doesn’t.

He looks like exactly what Oliver expects: pitchfork, overalls, the whole thing. But unlike Oliver, he actually knows what he’s doing.

He doesn’t explain much. He doesn’t need to.

“You’re gonna want to fix that.”
“Fix what?”
“…that.”

He shows up, gives just enough guidance to keep things from collapsing, and then moves on. The rest of the town treats him as entirely normal—which, in this town, tells you everything.

The Local Who Shouldn’t Be Underestimated: Brent Spiner

Seems like the most stereotypical country oddball—until he casually proves he understands everything better than Oliver does.

The Free-Spirit Neighbor: Paz de la Huerta

That “different set of rules” character. Always just around, always slightly disarming, and always treating Oliver’s sense of order as optional.

She flirts with him—casually, persistently, without much effort. Oliver has absolutely no idea how to handle it. He overcorrects into politeness, then into formality, then into mild panic.

Nothing ever comes of it. That’s not the point.

Lisa, importantly, is not threatened in the slightest. She understands exactly what’s going on and treats it as just another part of the landscape. If anything, she enjoys watching Oliver squirm.

“She likes you.”
“I wish she didn’t.”
“Why? You need the attention.”

Which, of course, only makes it worse for him.

The New York Paralegal (The True Power): Kate Micucci

Never leaves the office. Keeps the entire legal operation functioning. Solves problems before Oliver knows they exist.

The Agricultural Inspector: Christina Zuber Crocker

Shows up when things go wrong. Which is always. Takes everything completely seriously.

For those who remember her from The Bloody Ape—where she memorably played “Lady Who Has Her Car Stolen by Ape”—this would be a chance to show off her full comedic abilities. We got a glimpse there. Here, she gets the runway.

She doesn’t joke. She doesn’t react. She just documents, inspects, and enforces—no matter how absurd the situation.

“I’m going to need you to account for the poultry.”
“Don’t take the whole cake. That’s for everybody.”

It doesn’t matter what the situation is. The tone never changes.

And the Theme Song…

You don’t mess with it. Update it, remix it, rearrange it however you like—but there are two lines that are non-negotiable.

It has to begin with “Green Acres is the place to be…”

And it has to end with “Green Acres, we are there.”

Everything in between is up for grabs. Those bookends are not.

Because if you’re going to bring it back, you might as well get the part right that everyone remembers—well, everyone of a certain age.

Final Thought

The original Green Acres didn’t just laugh at the locals. It laughed at the guy who thought he had everything figured out.

A reboot doesn’t need to change that. If anything, it needs to make it clearer.

Because in 2026, we have a lot of Olivers—confident, connected, convinced we can drop into a new world and master it immediately.

And if someone makes that show?

I’ll be there.