Deathlog 2019: Part 1

 

© BBC

 

As 2019 draws to a close, here’s a name-check of some literary, cinematic, musical, artistic and other inspirations of mine who passed away during the year.

 

Musicians who died in January 2019 included American blues singer and pianist Willie Murphy (of Willie and the Bees), who passed away on the 12th; and American punk rock bassist Lorna Doom who departed four days later.  Doom had played with the raucous band The Germs, whose very first gig in 1976 set the scene for their subsequent performances: “We made noise for five minutes,” recalled guitarist Pat Smear, “until they threw us off.”  Meanwhile, in the world of letters, January 24th saw the death of Scottish journalist Hugh McIlvanney, the only sports-writer ever named Journalist of the Year in the British Press Awards.

 

January’s death toll was particularly high in the acting world.  English actor Del Henney, who’d appeared in gritty British thrillers like Villain and Straw Dogs (both 1971), died on the 14th.  Sonorous Welsh actor Windsor Davies, who’ll be best remembered as the tyrannical and occasionally sarcastic (“Oh dear, how sad, never mind”) Sergeant Major Williams in the BBC’s wartime sitcom It Ain’t Half Hot Mum (1974-81), died on the 17th.  English actress Sylvia Kay, who played the enigmatic Janette Hynes in the greatest Australian movie ever, Wake in Fright (1971), died on the 18th.  And the much-loved American character actor Dick Miller, first a regular in the movies of Roger Corman and then in those of Corman’s numerous proteges like Joe Dante, Jonathan Kaplan and Alan Arkrush, died on the 30th.

 

© NLT Productions / Group W Films / United Artists   

 

Another slew of performers passed away in February.  English actor Clive Swift, best-known for his BBC TV sitcom work but whose movie credits include Frenzy, Death Line (both 1972) and Excalibur (1981) died on the 1st, while American actress Julie Adams, object of the scaly affections of The Creature from the Black Lagoon (1954) died two days later.  February 7th saw the departure of English acting icon Albert Finney.  Back in America, action-movie and TV star Jan-Michael Vincent, who appeared in 1972’s The Mechanic, 1977’s Damnation Alley, 1978’s Hooper and many more, died on the 10th.  And Katherine Helmond, the wonderfully out-of-it Jessica Tate in the US TV soap-opera spoof Soap (1977-81), and also a supporting player in the Terry Gilliam movies The Time Bandits (1981) and Brazil (1983), passed away on the 23rd.

 

Much-admired German actor Bruno Ganz, who appeared in Werner Herzog’s Nosferatu the Vampyre (1979) and Wim Wenders’ Wings of Desire and who’d just completed Lars Von Triers’ amusingly icky and provocative The House That Jack Built (2018), died on February 15th.  A month later, on March 13th, another Nosferatu-related death occurred when artist David Palladini, the artist who’d designed the movie’s gorgeously Art Nouveau poster, passed away too.

 

Musical deaths in February included those of Monkee Peter Tork on the 21st; Mark Hollis, singer-songwriter and co-founder of the respected synth / art-pop bank Talk Talk, on the 25th; and Andy Anderson, drummer from 1983 to 1986 on five albums by the Cure, on the 26th.

 

March saw another slew of deaths in the musical world, with the Prodigy’s memorably hissing, sneering singer and dancer Keith Flint dying on the 4th; surf-guitar maestro Dick Dale on the 16th;  and on the 17th, Yuya Uchida, singer with the psychedelic 1970s Japanese outfit Flower Travellin’ Band and also an actor in in Nagisa Oshima’s Merry Christmas Mr Lawrence (1983).  Finally, American-born, British-based singer-songwriter and composer Scott Walker, who achieved success both as a solo artist and as a member of the Walker Brothers, died on the 22nd.

 

© Laurel Entertainment Inc

 

Among the actors who died in March was American Joseph Pilato, on the 24th.  Pilato played the fascistic and repellent Captain Rhodes in George A. Romero’s 1986 horror film Day of the Dead and the scene where he finally gets his come-uppance is for me the most satisfying death in horror-movie history.  (“Choke on ’em!” he yells as some hungry zombies munch on his vitals.)  Canadian actor Shane Rimmer, long-term resident of the UK, voice-actor for Gerry Anderson’s puppet TV shows and for many years the British film industry’s go-to guy if a level-headed North American was needed in a supporting role, died on March 29th.  Rimmer’s credits included a few James Bond movies and, by a sad coincidence, English actress Tania Mallet, who played the ill-fated Tilly Masterton in Goldfinger (1964) died the following day, while Serbian actress Nadja Regin, who’d appeared in both Goldfinger and From Russia with Love (1963) died a week later on April 6th.

 

Away from the acting fraternity, the fascinating W.H. Pugmire died on March 26th.  The Seattle-based Pugmire was a self-styled ‘punk rock queen and street transvestite’ who bore a fleeting resemblance to Boy George, and a distinguished author of H.P. Lovecraft-style horror fiction, and someone who’d spent the early 1970s doing the thankless job of being a Mormon missionary in Northern Ireland.

 

And now a few words about filmmaker Larry Cohen, who died on March 23rd and who was responsible for directing such ramshackle but thematically fascinating exploitation movies as It’s Alive! (1974), God Told Me To (1976) and Q: The Winged Serpent (1982) and scripting equally diverting items like Uncle Sam (1996) and Phone Booth (2002).  Even if the execution of those films never matched the originality of the ideas behind them, there was much to admire in Cohen’s oeuvre, especially in his love of improvisation.  When, for example, he and his crew nipped up to the top of New York’s Chrysler building without permission during the making of Q, filmed a gun battle there and unwittingly started pandemonium on the streets around the building because people thought a terrorist attack was in progress, Cohen promptly ordered his cameraman to film the fleeing pedestrians below as he thought they might provide valuable bonus footage.

 

© Hat Trick Productions

 

Finally, Irish actor Pat Laffan died on March 14th.  Laffan was best remembered for playing lecherous milkman (“There are some very hairy babies on Craggy Island and I think you are the hairy baby-maker!”) and vengeful psychopath Pat Mustard on TV’s Father Ted (1995-98).  His death, alas, wasn’t the only Ted-related one in 2019 for Brendan Grace, who played the drums-and-bass-loving priest Father Fintan Stack in another episode of the show, died on July 11th.

 

April saw the deaths of American fantasy / sci-fi writers Vonda N. McIntyre on the 1st and Gene Wolfe on the 14th; and, on the 18th, of British author and playwright John Bowen, probably best-known for his script for the BBC’s spooky folk-horror TV play Robin Redbreast (1970).  French actor Jean-Pierre Marielle – whom I’ll always remember for his portrayal of Arrosio, the gloriously eccentric but hapless and doomed private eye in Dario Argento’s Four Flies on Grey Velvet (1971) – died on the 24th.  British director John Llewellyn Moxley, responsible for the atmospheric chiller City of the Dead (1960), died on the 29th, while Boyz n the Hood director John Singleton died a day earlier.

 

For me, however, the saddest departure in April was that of seven-foot, three-inch English actor Peter Mayhew, who played Chewbacca – Han Solo’s best pal and a ‘walking carpet’ according to Princess Leia – in five Star Wars movies.  I love the fact that Mayhew was working as a porter at Mayday Hospital in Croydon when he was cast as Chewie in the original Star Wars (1977) and, despite that film becoming the highest-grossing one of all time, he continued to work there as a porter during the periods between The Empire Strikes Back (1980) and Return of the Jedi (1983).

 

From collectors.com

 

May 9th saw the death of English comedian Freddie Starr, whose finest moment for my money was when he appeared in Michael Apted’s 1977 crime thriller The Squeeze.  Musician Jake Black, aka the Very Reverend Wayne D. Love of the London blues / country / techno / electronica / indie band Alabama 3, died on May 21st, while the following day saw the death of English children’s author (most notably, 1968’s The Tiger Who Came to Tea) Judith Kerr.  American horror writer Dennis Etchison died on the 28th, and the final day of May saw the passing of psychedelic singer-songwriter and musician Roky Erickson, of the 13th Floor Elevators and Roky Erickson and the Aliens.

 

Meanwhile, May 11th witnessed the loss of yet another cast-member of Twin Peaks (1990-91, 2017), possibly the finest TV show ever.  At least the late Peggy Lipton, who played Norma Jennings, owner of the Double R Diner, got to see her character have a happy ending in Twin Peaks: The Return (2017) when Norma finally got together with love of her life Ed Hurley (Everett McGill).  Which is more than could be said for poor old Agent Cooper (Kyle MacLachlan), apparently left trapped forever in a nightmarish parallel-universe limbo.

 

Yet more actors shuffled off the mortal coil in June: American actress Sylvia Miles, wonderfully pathetic in 1969’s Midnight Cowboy, on the 12th; frequently villainous American character actor Billy Drago on the 24th; and British actor Bryan Marshall, who was most memorably cast in 1980’s gangster epic The Long Good Friday, on the 25th.   The French actress Edith Scob, who in her youth made a stir playing the recipient of countless failed face transplants in Georges Franju’s still disturbing horror masterpiece Les Yeux sans Visage (1960), and who also made a late-career appearance in Leos Carax’s Holy Motors (2012), died on the 26th.  And I was particularly sad to hear of the death of British TV actor Paul Darrow on June 3rd.  For people of a certain age, Darrow was the biggest hard-ass in the universe, i.e. Avon, anti-hero of the BBC’s surprisingly downbeat sci-fi series Blake’s 7 (1978-81).

 

Italian movie director Franco Zeffirelli, best known for adapting Shakespeare to the screen in elegant films like Romeo and Juliet (1968) and Hamlet (1990), which generations of British kids then had to watch at school as part of their English syllabus, died on June 15th.  Spanish director Narciso Ibanez Serrador, responsible for 1976’s sinister Who Can Kill a Child? died on the 7th.  And finally, New Orleans’ Dr John, the legendary bluesy, funky, boogie-woogie-ing singer and pianist, passed away on the 6th.  I was lucky enough to see Dr John perform at the Fleadh festival in London’s Finsbury Park in 1998.  Truly, he was the only man in the world who could look cool wearing a pair of hush puppies.

 

From wikipedia.org / © Derek Bridges

 

To be continued.

 

Grouty’s greatest hits

 

© BBC

 

I suppose I shouldn’t feel too upset about the passing of the great British character actor Peter Vaughan.  He’d enjoyed an excellent innings – he was 93 when he died three days ago – and his seven-decade acting career had lasted right up to the present with his performance as Maester Aemon in the blockbusting HBO fantasy series Game of Thrones.  But I’m still sorry to see him go, primarily because he was one of those thespians who’d seemed so enduring and ubiquitous that I fancied he was going to continue popping up in films and on TV shows until the end of time.

 

Here’s a selection of my favourite moments from Peter Vaughan’s acting CV.  I haven’t picked his acclaimed performance in the award-winning 1996 BBC TV series Our Friends in the North because I haven’t seen it – I wasn’t living in the UK when it was broadcast.  And I haven’t mentioned Game of Thrones because, believe it or not, I’ve never watched it either.  (Though someday I’ll take half-a-year off and devote it to a seven-season Game of Thrones boxset binge.)

 

Fanatic (1965)

When the famous British studio Hammer Films wasn’t making gothic horror movies in the 1960s, it was making small-scale psychological thrillers.  These included Taste of Fear (1961), Paranoiac (1963) and this film, which despite some predictability and a disappointing ending is a lot of fun.  It benefits from a great little cast and from deft low-budget direction by Canadian filmmaker Silvio Narizzano, who’d later direct 1966’s classic Georgy Girl and the 1970 movie version of the Joe Orton play Loot.

 

Fanatic has Stephanie Powers crossing paths with and being imprisoned by a rich, elderly and demented religious fanatic, played with scenery-chewing gusto by Tallulah Bankhead.  In the roles of Bankhead’s husband-and-wife servants – who do her bidding because they hope to get a generous inheritance after her death – are Vaughan and the formidable actress Yootha Joyce.  By the late 1970s Joyce would be Britain’s indisputable Sitcom Queen, thanks to playing the dragon-ish Mildred Roper in Man about the House (1973-76) and George and Mildred (1976-1980).

 

© Hammer Films

 

The pleasure of Vaughan’s performance in Fanatic is what a total scum-bucket he is.  His character is by turns shifty, scheming, greedy, sadistic, thuggish, lecherous and cowardly.  You can’t help but cheer when near the end Bankhead shoots him in the face.

 

An additional bonus is that playing the household’s mentally subnormal handyman is a young and before-he-was-famous Donald Sutherland.  Yay!

 

Straw Dogs (1971)

Set in rural Cornwall, dealing notoriously with vigilantism, violence and rape, Sam Peckinpah’s Straw Dogs sees Vaughan essaying another scummy character.  He’s local patriarch, boozer and brute Tom Hedden, who leads the climactic assault on Dustin Hoffman and Susan George’s house after the village idiot accidentally kills his daughter, flees and takes refuge there.

 

© ABC Pictures / Talent Associates

 

When the village magistrate, played by T.P. McKenna, arrives at the house to try to defuse the situation, Vaughan blasts him apart with his shotgun.  Then Vaughan starts climbing in through one of Hoffman’s windows.  Hoffman tackles him and things don’t end well for him when his shotgun goes off again during the struggle.

 

After viewing Straw Dogs, one sick-minded friend of mine was prompted to quip, “Peter Vaughan never really found his feet in that movie, did he?”

 

Symptoms (1974)

Spanish director Jose Ramon Larraz’s British-made horror film is a languid, dreamy and quietly effective piece of work that’s regarded now as a minor classic.  Little seen for many years, it was finally scheduled for DVD release this year with the help of the British Film Institute.  Lorna Heilbron plays a young woman invited by a new, slightly-odd friend (Angela Pleasence) to spend time with her on her remote country estate.  However, Vaughan – playing yet another unsavoury character, the creepy groundsman – is soon dropping hints to her that she isn’t the first young woman to have been invited to the estate; and the previous one may not have left it.

 

© Finiton Productions

 

In the supporting cast is Mike Grady, who along with Vaughan would later become a regular in the BBC sitcom Citizen Smith.  About which, more in a minute.

 

Porridge (1974-1977 & 1979)

I can understand why Vaughan was bemused at how a generation of Britons identified him completely with Harry Grout in the BBC’s classic prison-set sitcom Porridge.  He was in Porridge for only a couple of episodes and the 1979 movie adaptation.  However, he certainly made an impression.

 

Usually funny, occasionally serious, Porridge follows the adventures of a cynical old lag (Ronnie Barker) and his naïve young cellmate (Richard Beckinsdale) as they try to keep their heads down, serve their time with a minimum of trouble and navigate a safe path between the prison authorities on one hand and the prison’s more criminal elements on the other.  Representing those criminal elements is the prison’s Mr Big, the fearsome Harry Grout – Grouty as he’s referred to, under whispered breath.

 

Despite being a convict, Grouty lives a life of luxury with his every need attended to by obsequious fellow-inmates and crooked warders.  He’s clearly inspired by Mr Bridger, the character played by Noel Coward in the popular 1969 caper movie The Italian Job.  But while Coward plays Bridger for laughs, swanning about his lavish cell like a member of the Royal Family, the bear-like and quietly-intense Vaughn imbues Grouty with genuine menace.  You have no doubt that if you cross him, he’ll arrange for someone to break your legs.  And if nobody’s available to do it, he’ll break those legs himself.

 

© BBC

 

Citizen Smith (1977-78)

A BBC sitcom scripted by John Sullivan, Citizen Smith was a political satire starring Robert Lindsay and set in 1970s south London.  Lindsay plays Wolfie Smith, a hopeless Che Guevara wannabe and leader of a revolutionary, but equally hopeless organisation called the Tooting Popular Front.

 

Peter Vaughan would have been a shoo-in for the role of local gangster Harry Fenning (actually played by Stephen Greif), whom Wolfie frequently rubs up the wrong way while he tries to engineer a people’s uprising.  Instead, however, Vaughan landed the slightly milder role of Charlie Johnson, the father of Wolfie’s comparatively-sensible girlfriend Shirley (Cheryl Hall).

 

Much of the show’s charm came from the bickering between Wolfie and the conservative, no-nonsense, old-fashioned Charlie.  The latter’s sarcastic tones as he repeatedly refers to his prospective son-in-law as ‘Trotsky’, ‘Chairman Mao’ and ‘the yeti’ are a joy.   Citizen Smith lasted for four seasons, but it was never quite the same after Vaughan left at the end of season two.

 

The Time Bandits (1981)

Director / writer Terry Gilliam’s fantasy The Time Bandits is a lovely film with a lovely cast – and I don’t just mean the various Hollywood stars in (mostly) cameo roles, but also Craig Warnock as eleven-year-old hero Kevin and David Rappaport, Kenny Baker, Jack Purves and co. as the time-travelling dwarves.  Vaughan appears as a cantankerous, feeling-his-age and self-pitying ogre called Winston: “You try being beastly and terrifying… you can only get one hour’s sleep a night because your back hurts, and you daren’t cough unless you want to pull a muscle.”  He shares a houseboat with his wife, Mrs Ogre, who’s coincidentally played by another Sitcom Queen – Katherine Helmond, who was Jessica Tate in the legendary American comedy Soap (1977-81).

 

© Handmade Films

 

When Winston catches Kevin and the dwarves in his fishing net, he and Mrs Ogre make plans to eat them – “Aren’t they lovely?  We can have them for breakfast!” – but the dwarves turn the tables on him after he unwisely agrees to let them massage his sore back.

 

Terry Gilliam liked Vaughan so much that he cast him in his next movie, Brazil (1985).  Writing on Facebook the other day, Gilliam urged his followers to “put on Brazil or Time Bandits and lift a glass to him.  Farewell, Peter!”

 

The Remains of the Day (1993)

James Ivory’s The Remains of the Day is much admired but I’m not a huge fan of it.  Perhaps this is because before I saw it I’d read the Kazuo Ishiguro novel on which it’s based; and I prefer the book to the film.

 

Vaughan plays Stevens Sr., father of the main character played by Anthony Hopkins – James Stevens, a duty-obsessed and unthinkingly loyal butler to a 1930s aristocrat.   Stevens Sr. was once a distinguished butler himself, equally dutiful and loyal.  As his health and abilities fail, however, he loses his standing and dignity in the household and ends up a lowly cleaner.  His plight becomes a warning to his son about what lies ahead.  An added tragedy is that the son is too self-consciously reserved to show his emotions at the old man’s decline.

 

And for me, the most memorable thing in the movie version of The Remains of the Day is Peter Vaughan’s poignant performance.

 

© Merchant-Ivory Productions