Hey guys, pop quiz: Who remembers Charles B. Pierce? Think hard, it'll come to you. Here's a hint: Dawn Wells...
Give up? Charles B. Pierce was an independent filmmaker who directed the all-time classic horror shocker "The Town That Dreaded Sundown". He must've also had a knack for marketing, because he used his middle initial in the credits, which not only Made Him Sound Important, it also let you know that he wasn't just Any Old Charles Pierce, he was Charles B. Pierce, Jack, and to give you an idea of his way with words, he also wrote the legendary Eastwood line "Go ahead...make my day". Now, as you may know, I happen to have a memory for details (and one heck of a memory, period) and I always remembered Charles B.Pierce, not to be confused with another independent filmmaker named Charles Band, who was strictly a horrormeister. Charles B. Pierce made his name in horror with his first film, "The Legend of Boggy Creek" and continued with "Town/Sundown", but in the 1980s he branched out with a Western called "Sacred Ground" that I discovered the other night on Tubi.
Man, the brahmas at Tubi must be some expert filmcasters because they keep unearthing heretofore unheralded gems. "Sacred Ground"(1983) is one such, the story of an Oregon fur trapper (big Tim McEntire, remember him?) who rebuilds a destroyed log cabin in Paiute country in 1861. He's got an Indian wife who's pregnant; now they have a place to live. What he doesn't know is that the cabin they've resurrected is on Paiute burial ground. This ain't "Poltergeist", but the Chief is still pissed off. His braves pull a stunt on Tim and his gal that I won't reveal, and it sets off a chain of revenge. Bug-eyed Jack Elam plays a trader along for the ride. Western staple LQ Jones runs the local wilderness outpost.
This movie is a minor classic and highly recommended. Charles B. Pierce not only wrote and directed but was also the cinematographer. The man was talented, as shown by his eye for landscape and his ability with actors; an early, nine-minute scene with McEntire and LQ inside the general store draws you in to the idea that you're about to see a very good film with a different take.
Tarantino may know it. If not, I've one-upped him again!
Next up is "The Last Blitzkrieg"(1959), a low budget, b&w WW2 flick notable for being shot (almost) on location - Holland stands in for Belgium's Ardennes Forest. (Mini tirade - whatever happened to Holland? Why is it now "The Netherlands" and can Trump restore the name?) Van Johnson does an admirable job playing the leader of a German commando unit who are impersonating American GIs, right down to their Midwestern accents. They dress in American uniforms and are given a crash course in US culture: "Seig Heil! Who are the Cubs?" "A baseball team from Chi-ca-go, herr Hauptmann". Especially good is Dick York (later of "Bewitched" fame) as a genuine US Sergeant leading a recon patrol. The unusual script greys the line between good guys and bad guys. Ultra-handsome Kerwin Mathews (from the Harryhausen "Sinbad" movies) plays a dedicated Nazi soldier. This is yet another "Tarantino Probably Knows It" flick, and if he doesn't, you know the punch line: "Then I have another one up on him"!
Forget the Diddy Trial. That's nothing. How about The Sue Trial? Now that's something to get worked up about. The only thing is, it may never happen. Unlike Diddy, Sue is a Sovereign Citizen (or so she claims) and therefore cannot be prosecuted...
Question: what kind of trip is Mads Mikkelson on? Perpetual Nordic Stoicism? In "The Salvation"(2015), he's kind of a Danish Liam Neeson, deeply wronged and just as angry but lacking Neeson's Irish passion. Mikkleson is a total Stone Face, which I suppose is what his director wanted. This movie, a new-ish Western, was stylistically excellent but the dazzlery is all on the surface. The photography is computer perfect. The sets are fantastic, the look of the film uniformly grim, but the acting...well, Mads is very good but he's no Liam Neeson, who - though he plays the same role over and over - always makes you feel something. You connect with him. Mikkelson? Less so. And concerning Jeffery Dean Morgan, why does he seem to revel in playing the worst human beings who ever lived? I'm not even sure I like him as a person. That infamous "baseball bat" scene from "The Walking Dead" is the worst obscenity ever put on film or video. So yeah, to sum up: great looking movie in the "computerised, unnaturally lit and colored" sense (i.e. too slick), very good acting all around, but surface level. Eva Green glares her way through her scenes. The story? Nothing but pure violence and revenge. The verdict? A solid 90 minutes of brutal Western vengeance, but not as good as a Liam Neeson version would've been, filmed in natural light.
Can we do a top ten drummers? 1) Carl Palmer. I've never seen a performance like CP's at Cal Jam, and I've seen Neil Peart 32 times. 2) Neil Peart. If it wasn't for Carl P, no one could touch Neil P. Mike Portnoy? You're joking, right? But even Neil said he couldn't play like Carl Palmer. 3) Ian Paice 4) Bill Ward 5) Jerry Gaskill 6) Phil Collins 7) Cozy Powell 8) Andy Ward 9) Richard Coughlin 10) John Weathers. Honorable mention: Bill Bruford, Nick Mason, and Michael Shrieve, who stole Woodstock...
I go down White Oak on my walks now. I started doing this last Christmas, to see the lights. My walk wasn't just White Oak then, but all of "Sherwood Forest", where my family once lived before it had that insipid name. After Christmas, my walk devolved to include only White Oak, because of the Meissner house, which is unnoccupied now and looks like it has been for quite some time. Walking past, I made the proclamation that it must never be lived in again, but maintained in it's empty, slightly run-down state for evermore: needing a coat of paint, maillbox askew, the right side gate eaten away. "It must never be occupied again," I state when I pass it, and that's because it's a House of Profound Evil, and thus must remain standing as a museum of evil deeds. Lys knows what I'm talking about...
...and speaking of Lys, I have many routes for my evening walks, which are five miles in length and take about an hour and a half to complete. One such route takes me down Prairie Street to Crebs. I chose that street because a lady named Freda used to live there, on Crebs between Prairie and Plummer. Before she moved to Northridge (and Crebs Street), Freda was Pearl's neighbor in Reseda. Her son Richie was one of my earliest playmates, when I was about four years old, and when I was five and six, Freda would pick us up from school at Lorne Street Elementary. My family moved from Reseda to Northridge in January 1968. Next I heard of Freda, she owned a New Age bookstore in Northridge, lo and behold. It turned out that Freda was a psychic and an expert numerologist, something I didn't know when I was a little kid. My Mom had stayed in touch with her after we moved. Mom was way into astrology (I am, too, because of Mom), and she would occasionally stop in to visit Freda at her bookstore, which was located at Prairie and Reseda Boulevard. That was in the late 1970s. Cut to 2023. Pearl had died two years earlier. I was thinking about her, which caused me to remember Freda, who'd been her neighbor in the early '60s. I Googled Freda, to see if she was still around - she wasn't...she passed away in 2018. I also remembered that when we would drive to the mall, Mom would say, "Freda lives near here, on Crebs Street." Just for the heck of it, I Googled Freda's address. This was in 2023. As noted above, Freda's house was located on Crebs between Prairie and Plummer. One night that Fall, I walked past it. On the other side of Crebs, across from Freda's house, is the little cul-de-sac of Liggett Street. Like Freda, I am psychic too, but not with a natural gift like she had. Freda was so talented, she worked with the LAPD, according to Mom. With me, my ability is closer to an extreme level of intuition, and I have to work at it, but sometimes things "come to me" because I have a lot of memories that have been deliberately blocked or buried. And when I walked past Freda's house, and saw the Liggett Street cul-se-sac, I pictured Lys's car parked there: her famous White VW Rabbit.
Lys was parked there because, in my memory, she was at Freda's house. I was there, too. So was Lilly. Maybe even Ann. This was in the days of The Clandestine Car Rides, early 1990s, maybe '92. Give or take a year. I remember nights when Mom would tell me "Lillian is going to call", and I'd get so excited. It would be a "special" phone call, where I was supposed to let it ring a certain number of times, then wait for her to call back, or I would pick it up and there would be some "beeps" or something before Lilly said "hello". There was some kind of code or system associated with these phone calls, and then Lilly would arrange to meet me. These were the legendary Clandestine Car Rides, which I had no awareness of until 2023. Lys came along on some of them. There were at least three of these rides, maybe one or two more. One time, I met them at the Northridge Mall, to avoid all The Bad Guys at my house. But another time, I met them at Freda's house on Crebs Street. In 2023, I remembered the bronze metal "Sun" face Freda had next to her door. It's still there. I also remembered Mom giving me directions that day, telling me to access Prairie Street by way of the college, to avoid The Bad Guys trying to follow me. "You'll pass a tall hedge on Crebs", she said. "The next house will be Freda's". I remember it was blazing hot that day. When I got there I was worried about being all sweaty when Lillian arrived. Luckily, Freda had good air conditioning. Several people were in the living room: Lys was definitely there, maybe Ann. If Ann was there, I don't think she was big on numerology. Ann is more scientifically-minded. We were waiting for Lilly to arrive, and when she did, Freda gave us some little blessing or ceremony. Soft drinks were served.
Then we left, or at least Lilly and me and Lys did. That's why I remember Lys's White Rabbit, parked on the Liggett Street cul-de-sac. We went on a Clandestine Car Ride, but I don't remember where we went...
My memory often blows my mind, especially since there have been so many things I was deliberately made to forget. One of the Clandestine Car Rides was a visit to see Ann, in some building in the Studio City area. Possibly a medical facility. Lys came along on that one, too, in her own car, which she had to move because it was parked at a meter...
Lys, Lys...where for art thou, Lys? She was something of a hero in those days (especially in 1988/89). Lilly, of course, was and is the one-and-only Lilly. No words can ever suffice. :)
Anyhow, that's the story of Freda and her house. And there's more to it. One day it will be in a book.
Thanks for reading. Tons of love.
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