When planning our Roundtables, we try to mix things up and not have two similar types or topics too close together. Ordinarily, then, we wouldn’t have Roundtables focused on an individual back-to-back. However, when the news broke in June of this year of the passing of Christopher Lee, there was immediate agreement that the next Roundtable should be a tribute.

Descended from the Emperor Charlemagne, and a veteran of WWII, Sir Christopher Frank Carandini Lee, CBE, CStJ was a linguist, an opera singer, a heavy metal rocker, a folk singer, and a voice artist. His acting career lasted sixty-eight years, from a bit part in 1947’s Corridor Of Mirrors and an appearance as a literal spear-carrier in Olivier’s production of Hamlet, to a most appropriate final role, playing “the boss of the universe”, in the not-yet-released Angels In Notting Hill.

In between there were, of course, some ups and downs…

Chris Lee himself may have had something of a love-hate relationship with his genre films, but there’s no disputing the man’s legacy. He was Dracula…and Frankenstein’s Creature, and the Mummy. He was Rasputin. He was the Duc de Richleau. He was Scaramanga. He was Lord Summerisle. He was Sherlock Holmes and Mycroft Holmes. He was Saruman. And yes…he was mod Dracula…and Jess Franco’s Fu Manchu…and he had the silliest character name in all the George Lucas universe…and he wore those damn sunglasses…

It was, in other words, a full, rich tapestry. Please join us throughout August as we celebrate it in all its diversity.

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When our very own Keith Allison reviewed Enzo Castellari’s Shark Hunter, he offered the following summation of the film’s opening sequence:

We meet the titular shark hunter, Franco Nero, looking like he just stumbled out of the jungle and fell into a puddle of crazed hippie biker, while perched on a rock overlooking the ocean. Suddenly a shark catches his eye, causing him to leap up, run down the beach while accompanied by the sounds of Guido and Maurizio DeAngelis prog rock, and struggle to haul the thrashing beast to shore. He then retires to his open air beach bungalow to make love to his beautiful Mexican senorita, then goes to a bar where he beats the crap out of half a dozen thugs. Happy that Franco has whooped ass on the goon squad, a local takes him out for a bit of parasailing. I know, I know. You’re thinking to yourself that while hauling in a fishing line hooked to a man-eating shark is tough, and making love on the beach to a sexy gal is tough, and beating up half a dozen hired bruisers is tough, there’s not much that’s tough about parasailing. That’s what sunburned fat Americans do when they visit resorts, right? What’s so tough about that? Well, nothing. But while Franco does admittedly get a kick out of the parasailing, what makes this tough parasailing is that, while in mid-air, he spies a shark in the water below, let’s out a primal whoop of excitement, cuts himself loose from the parachute harness, plunges into the water, and immediately starts punching the shark in the face…

…a description that provoked some of our more cynical blog-visitors into accusing Keith of making that up.

Well, you know that old line about truth and fiction; and so it turns out that Franco Nero isn’t the only person out there who likes punching sharks…

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But while about half of the inevitable meme-response to the incident was devoted to portraying Mick Fanning as an EXTREEEEME action hero, it turned out that, much to my delight, the other half was busy portraying the shark as a victim of a (more or less) unprovoked assault:

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And while the urge to argue with any and all comers over the fact that this was NOT (i) a shark attack, or (ii) a giant shark, is almost overwhelming, at the end of the day I accept that what I really need to do is put all of my energies into being very, very, very, very, very, very, very thankful that we didn’t get—a different kind of encounter—being broadcast all around the world on live television…and not just for the shark’s sake. (I haven’t forgotten Mick Fanning, honest!)

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As has become par for the course, I am running behind on the John Carradine roundtable. For that matter, I’ve written very few film reviews at all lately. In a rare turn of events, it’s not just because I am being lazy. I am, surprise, writing a book. Titled AT THE MATINEE OF MADNESS and originally meant to be a compilation of popular Teleport City articles, it has since become substantially more, containing maybe 60% new material, 40% revised and reorganized Teleport City material.

I am hoping the damn thing will be done by the first week of July (I also hoped it would be done by the end of February, so…). As a thanks to those who follow the exploits of TC through the B-Masters Cabal, and for my fellow B-Masters themselves, I do have a little gift to tide folks over until the finished beast rolls off the presses (or gets uploaded in ebook form). The links below are for an ebook preview of the first chapter (which is about Louis Feuillade, Fantomas, and Les Vampires) in epub and mobi format. This is an unproofed next-to-final draft, so you might run across some mistakes and formatting foibles. The finished product might not be exactly the same. But it gets us in the ballpark.

Thanks to everyone. TC would not have stumbled to this point if it wasn’t for the support of folks willing to indulge my meandering reflections.

NOTE: You may get a prompt to join dropbox if you don’t already have an account. You can just click off of that alert and download the file without an account.

• epub format
• mobi format

He was tall, lean and aristocratic-looking. He had piercing eyes, a mellifluous & powerful baritone voice, and a commanding stage presence. You could hand him a script in the morning, and by early afternoon he knew not only his own part, but everybody else’s as well. He was a supremely accomplished actor on stage and screen, who established himself as a member of John Ford’s regular troupe, and worked with other fine directors including Douglas Sirk and Rouben Mamoulian.

But we’re prepared to forgive him for all that.

For unlike other talented actors — who find themselves forced to take on ever-more embarrassing roles as age and changing fashions catch up with them — John Carradine actually liked making terrible movies. He made ’em even when he didn’t have to. He had a tremendous sense of humor about himself and his career, and found that doing low-low-low-budget schlock gave him the chance to cut loose and really enjoy himself. Thus he also found himself listed in the stock company of directors like Al Adamson and Jerry Warren, making some of the most ridiculous movies ever made.

So join us through the month of May, as we look at the (often simultaneous) highs and lows in the career of a man who rarely turned down a role:

CARRADINE, Thou Wayward Son

Mesdames et Messieurs, les B-Maîtres veulent célébrer un type particulier de cinéma. Films qui sont parfois grands, films qui sont parfois mauvais. Oui, les films de France. Mais pas les films typiques.

Ce mois-ci les B-Maîtres célèbrant—

Ce est QUELLE HORREUR! Tout au long de Février sur le blog B-Maîtres!

…that time when we look back over the year past and <insert whining and excuses>, but <insert unrealistically optimistic promises>. In fact, <insert resolution broken by the end of the day>!

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However, there is one thing that we can guarantee: <insert genuinely heartfelt thanks and gratitude>.

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Ah, my friends…can you believe it’s already five years since the B-Masters gathered together to celebrate their 10th anniversary by sharing with the world the wonder that is the screen’s only were-jellyfish?

Those intervening years have not been kind. The combination of a generally hostile universe with that fact that one of our number evidently crossed an old gypsy woman and provoked her into putting a curse upon our collective technology has resulted in a certain degree of attrition…and yet we continue to defy our manifest destiny, laughing in the face of danger and climbing mountains to hurl anathemata at those who think that any amount or degree of obstacles can stop us going where no film reviewers have gone before.

It helps to be clinically insane, of course.

So this month we invite all of you who have so generously put up with our erratic behaviour and broken promises over the years to join us on this very special occasion—not just our 15th anniversary, but also our 50th Roundtable. To mark this double milestone, we’ll be taking a look at some films that are also about the marking of an anniversary…if not necessarily about a celebration…

And while it isn’t necessary, if anyone would like to buy us a gift, we’re registered at Blood Bath & Beyond.

It’s B-MENTIA 15…all throughout November at the B-Masters’ Blog!

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Just about everybody dreams of being a movie star someday, the same way we also dream about being rich, or famous, or powerful & influential. But what if you’re already rich, famous, powerful and/or influential? Hey, why not use your riches, fame, power & influence… to become a movie star? (Or, if you’re rich, famous, etc. because you are a movie star, haven’t you always wanted to direct?)

It’s easier than you might think. Chances are there’s some mercenary producer out there who’s anxious to give you your shot. Oh, it’s not because he has faith in your abilities. He just knows your name alone will be enough to draw in a few curious suckers and make him some easy money. Or maybe he really does believe in you — which is usually worse. Either way, whether you’re Clara Peller or Paris Hilton, Bruce Jenner or Liberace, Toonces the Cat or Shaq, you’re probably better off ignoring your producer and listening to audiences everywhere, as they scream…