web...@polaris.net wrote:
>Tonight on Underground at 2:45 am: KISS OF THE TARANTULA (1976).
>Followed by ALICE, SWEET ALICE.
Horror movies have long availed themselves of the iconography and
sacraments of the Catholic Church, whose essential mystery has been
exploited by film directors to ramp up whatever horrors the
screenwriters have devised. Churches and their adjoining hallowed
grounds became a battle theatre in the war between good and evil in
such silent films as Georges Méliès’ DEVIL IN A CONVENT (1899) and
Benjamin Christensen’s HAXAN (1922) but the desire to skirt
controversy kept Hollywood horrors from being too church-specific.
Heroes of fright films churned out in bulk from Universal Studios
during the 1930s and 40s and from Hammer Film Productions in the
1960s and 70s tended to be laymen rather than clergy: academics
steeped in the occult or passersby who understood (or came to
appreciate) the power of the cross, while the church itself was paid
only lip service. Rare is the horror movie that grounds its plot
mechanics in Catholic orthodoxy, building character on a Papist
mindset, and using its doctrinal absolutism and attendant
contradictions as a catalyst for self-reflection and a springboard
for screams. The success of William Friedkin’s THE EXORCIST (1973)
was a genre game changer, encouraging a less generic approach to its
metaphysics while engendering the critical charge of being a
recruitment film for the Roman Catholic Church. Less personal, but
no less divested of Catholicism, Richard Donner’s THE OMEN (1976)
returned the conversation to the Holy See but bearing the message
that, even if God wasn’t dead, his battle was lost. Lost in the
shuffle of these provocative blockbusters, whose sense of spectacle
too often overwhelmed their finer points, was the most Catholic
horror movie ever made.
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Though THE EXORCIST made heroes of a pair of mismatched priests
thrown together in common cause, buddy-cop style, American horror
movies produced in its wake tended to rely on the old trick of
cashiering unaffiliated skeptics, agnostics, and downright atheists
to fight the good fight, with church folk assuming the duties of war
movie drill sergeants–characters who sound the charge but drop out
of the narrative well before the third act. An exception to this
rule is Alfred Sole’s self-financed independent feature ALICE, SWEET
ALICE (1976), which opens with the ghastly murder of a young girl
(Brooke Shields, in her film debut) on the day of her first holy
communion, suspicion falling on her own sister (Paula Sheppard, as
the eponymous Alice). A self-taught regional filmmaker who had come
to movie-making through the peregrinate study of painting,
architecture and drama, Sole shot the film in 1975 in his hometown
of Paterson, New Jersey, under the working title COMMUNION. Though
Sole and co-writer Rosemary Ritvo wring extreme disquietude from the
glum and not infrequently eerie iconography of Catholic Church,
their perspective is from the inside looking out. Set in 1961, at a
point in American history when papism was enjoying a measure of
legitimacy with the election of Catholic President John F. Kennedy,
but before the concessions to modernity of the Second Catholic
Council (aka Vatican II), ALICE, SWEET ALICE localizes tension and
horror in the dilemma of believers who find their complicated
personal lives to be at odds with the unyielding medieval tenets of
a faith that is supposed to be their bulwark against Satan and all
his works.
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Alfred Sole represents the reverse Hollywood dream, being a film
director who really wanted to production design — a vocation in
which Sole has worked for the past two decades, following a
relatively brief tenure as a writer-director. An interior designer
before he turned to cinema, Sole would accumulate props and set
elements on his own initiative, even before he had a film project in
which to use them; that packrat nature pays off in ALICE, SWEET
ALICE, which Sole made for considerably less than half a million
dollars (most of that in deferred payments) but which boasts a
texture and an abundance of quiet style that masks its lack of
wherewithal. Excommunicated by the Catholic Church in 1972 for
having made an X-rated movie as a money-raiser (and for using the
home of the Archbishop of Paterson as an establishing shot), Sole
nonetheless retained strong ties with local municipal agencies,
whose contributions to ALICE, SWEET ALICE resulted in exceedingly
high production values for an indie shot off-and-on over the course
of a year, with cast and crew working for the most part without pay.
Unable to afford Hollywood actors, Sole approached New York theatre
troupers, cadging leading lady Linda Miller (daughter of comedian
Jackie Gleason and ex-wife of THE EXORCIST star Jason Miller) from
Bill Gunn’s THE BLACK PICTURE SHOW (for which she had been nominated
for a Tony) and sending a script to Geraldine Page; then midway
through the two-year run of Alan Ayckbourn’s ABSURD PERSON SINGULAR,
Page passed on the chance to play the pivotal role of church
housemaid Mrs. Tredoni but recommended Mildred Clinton, then most
recognizable for having played Al Pacino’s mother in SERPICO (1973).
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Against all odds, the completed film (then still known as COMMUNION)
caught the attention of executives at Columbia Pictures, who agreed
to distribute and went the extra mile of commissioning a tie-in
paperback novelization from Bantam Books. Due to some shady back
room dealings on the part of the film’s producer, the Columbia deal
was suddenly off the table, forcing Sole to accept an offer from
Allied Artists, who ordered the title change to ALICE, SWEET ALICE.
(The novelization by Frank Lauria was published in July 1977 under
Sole’s original title.) Due to a copyright snafu, the film was
allowed to lapse into public domain, denying Sole and his
collaborators their rightful recompense. (The escalating celebrity
of Brooke Shields led to a 1981 re-release under yet another title,
HOLY TERROR, which garnered a surprisingly compassionate review from
New York Times critic Vincent Canby). It just may have been this
reversal of fortune that led to ALICE, SWEET ALICE becoming a bona
fide cult film, widely available (if in greatly varying degrees of
quality) on bootleg VHS tapes through the next decade rather than
being warehoused in the vaults of a major studio. Strong word of
mouth kept the film alive in the hearts of horror aficionados, who
classified it as an early example of an American “giallo” (Italian
for “yellow,” the color assigned to Italian pulp novels, a term
later associated by Italian psycho-thriller films of the 1970s,
which in turn paved the way for the American slashers of the 1980s)
and the cinematic lynchpin linking Bob Clark’s BLACK CHRISTMAS
(1974) to John Carpenter’s HALLOWEEN (1978).