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My Official Site and Side Projects
Monday, November 25, 2013
The Video Watchdog Digital Archive Kickstarter Campaign!
Saturday, November 23, 2013
Help RESTORE DETOUR at Kickstarter
Thursday, November 14, 2013
A Moon in the Gutter Q&A With Author and Film Historian Casey Scott
Hey Casey, thanks so much for taking time out of your schedule to participate in this! First off, can you tell us a bit about your background?
Was there a particular film, song or artist that initially sparked your interest in the arts as a child?
You are one of the leading film historians on this period in the world. How did you first get interested in the genre?
This genre and period has typically been all but ignored in film studies and film history in general but this thankfully seems to be changing. Do you feel like the tide is finally beginning to change and that these films, and the artists who worked on film, might finally start to get some long overdue acknowledgement and recognition?
There is of course a lot of mainstream opposition in the critical community to even discuss this genre. Have you felt any of that opposition to your own work?
Okay, lets talk up about In the Flesh, the exciting program you a curating at the Anthology Film Archives! Tell us about the program. The program looks wonderful and I so wish I could be there. Through the Looking Glass and Wanda Whips Wall Street are two particular favorites of mine. I hope it is very successful and the first of many. What do you hope viewers take away from the series, particularly those who are newcomers to the genre? As a wrap-up I was hoping you might share some personal favorites with us. Could you perhaps name ten or so vintage adult films that you think are seriously in need of rediscovery. Also, are there any particular performers of filmmakers that you would particularly like to see rediscovered? Wow, that’s a great question, and so different
from the expected “list your favorites of all time”! Um…I’m gonna cheat and give
you a lucky thirteen.
Why did you pick these particular films?
High Rise (1972) – We’re showing it in the Anthology series and it’s the least-known of the four, but should be wider regarded as the best early adult comedy. The soundtrack is Hollywood-caliber.
Resurrection of Eve (1973) – It’s way better than the Mitchell Brothers’ better-known Behind the Green Door and is also Marilyn Chambers’ best film.
The Seduction of Lyn Carter (1974) – Anthony Spinelli’s most neglected masterpiece, where Andrea True blows my mind as a housewife in an abusive affair with Jamie Gillis that she secretly enjoys.
Easy Alice (1976) – This is a marvelous meta film about the off-screen adventures of a San Francisco adult star, Joey Silvera, who also reportedly directed the film.
Punk Rock (1977) – Carter Stevens is all around underrated, and I think this is his best film tied with Pleasure Palace (1979). See both, they’re quintessential “adult noir”.
Skin-Flicks (1978) – Damiano’s most underrated film, wall-to-wall great performances, with special note made for Sharon Mitchell as an adult star eager for true love.
Tropic of Desire (1979) – Bob Chinn weaves a fascinating story of a WWII-era brothel in Hawaii. A personal favorite of Bob’s and I concur.
Randy (1980) – The one adult film from Phillip Schuman, this sex comedy following a clinical study of ‘anti-orgasmic’ women seeking a solution to their problem is one of the best films you’ve never seen. The theme song is a catchy gem.
The Seductress (1981) – Another of Bob Chinn’s most underrated, out of a filmography that needs more attention in general.
Mascara (1982) – Lisa de Leeuw and Lee Carroll are superb as, respectively, a sexually frustrated working woman and the prostitute she enlists to help her broaden her horizons.
Nasty Girls (1983) – Ron Sullivan’s most unsung “day in the life” film, following a group of people over one night at a bar as their lives intertwine.
American Babylon (1985) – The Roger Watkins film too few people have seen.
Getting Personal (1985) – Ron Sullivan directing Herschel Savage and Colleen Brennan as mismatched con artists. Funny, touching, beautifully acted. One of the last great FILMS in the genre before video took over.
I’ll stop there! As a gay man, there are underrated studs like Jeffrey Hurst, Ron Hudd, Mike Ranger, and John Seeman I would follow anywhere. Their wives are very lucky!
Directors in need of rediscovery: Alan Colberg was consistently great, as was Jeffrey Fairbanks, and both only made a handful of films so their names are not widely known as they should be. Two directors who are big names yet still don’t get the full credit they deserve are Bob Chinn and Ron Sullivan (Henri Pachard). But the most underrated are the French classic directors, like Claude Mulot, Gerard Kikoine, Francis Leroi, Didier Philippe-Gerard, and Claude Bernard-Aubert. Their films aren’t widely available here but they are almost always a guaranteed bargain.
Awesome Casey! Thanks so much for participating in this and I wish you all the best of luck with In the Flesh and all of your upcoming work. I look forward to doing another one of these down the road to discuss more of your upcoming projects.
Okay, lets talk up about In the Flesh, the exciting program you a curating at the Anthology Film Archives! Tell us about the program.
The program looks wonderful and I so wish I could be there. Through the Looking Glass and Wanda Whips Wall Street are two particular favorites of mine. I hope it is very successful and the first of many. What do you hope viewers take away from the series, particularly those who are newcomers to the genre?
As a wrap-up I was hoping you might share some personal favorites with us. Could you perhaps name ten or so vintage adult films that you think are seriously in need of rediscovery. Also, are there any particular performers of filmmakers that you would particularly like to see rediscovered?
Wow, that’s a great question, and so different
from the expected “list your favorites of all time”! Um…I’m gonna cheat and give
you a lucky thirteen.
Friday, November 1, 2013
Sanskrit Read to a Pony: A World Without Lou Reed
A life is filled with Sunday mornings. I have been thinking of a number of them these past few torturous days like the Sunday in the fall of 1987 when I found a copy of Lou Reed's Growing Up in Public in my father's record collection. I was fifteen and within the span of just under forty minutes my life was forever changed. It's funny, as many truly defining moments can happen without a person realizing it but I knew instantaneously. I had found the voice I had been looking for...the meaning. I had found the voice that I knew would be there from that day on and I knew I would never really be alone again.
Kelley came down about an hour after I got up this most recent Sunday morning. We quickly got ready to go out to get some final supplies we needed for the Halloween party we were having that evening. I was feeling pretty rough due to an emergency root canal I had had the day before and I took some prescribed pain medicine to help forgot how uncomfortable I was. We got back in the early part of the afternoon from the store and, as we were unpacking the groceries, I noticed I had a message on my phone. Opening the notifications tab I saw it was a Facebook message from my friend John Levy. Without opening the full message all I could see was "Hey Jeremy, I'm sorry to report that Lou Reed has..." I didn't have to open the message to see the rest. Stunned and feeling sick I made my way over to the steps next to our door and fell against them. The tears didn't come immediately although I would have preferred them to the terrible feeling that surged through my entire body. Our little dog Maizie sensed that something was wrong and came up to check on me. I grasped on to her and whispered, "my voice is gone" and then the tears came...
The first time I ever got my heart broken came on a Sunday morning as well. Getting your heart broke by an unrequited love is a necessary part of growing up. The first time I ever had my heart truly fractured came around the winter of 1992 when I was rejected by a very special young lady who had been my best friend for the better part of a couple of years at that point. There is something really dramatic about being in love in your late teens and I was, of course, convinced the world would end. After the Saturday night rejection I had made my way to my friend Trace's house as the sun rose on an extremely cold and snowy Evansville, Indiana morning. The snow was beautiful, the roads were treacherous and a cassette dub of The Blue Mask, with Coney Island Baby on the flipside, kept me warm physically and spiritually that morning. Before we lost touch for a painful spell in the mid nineties (due to a fall off the planet earth that I took) Lou Reed was able to offer some solace to her as well, on another Sunday morning, when I sent her the lyrics to "Magic and Loss" to help her deal with the passing of one of her grandparents. On Sunday she was one of the first people to send me some much needed words of sorrow with, "I thought of you immediately. I can't believe he's gone." I got similar messages from many friends throughout the week, all of which were greatly appreciated.
I did my best to put on my own personal blue mask during our Halloween party, as the last thing I wanted to do was ruin it for Kelley. I had originally planned to dress as the mom from Psycho but changed my mind and attempted to morph myself into Candy Darling as my own internal tribute to Lou and a time that now seemed more far away than ever. I laughed, I socialized and I watched Kelley's friends make their way in all through the night...all of them much prettier and younger than I. I wondered what they thought of me, as the seven hour Halloween mix I had spent the week before creating played in the background. I couldn't hear it though, I could just hear Lou's voice in the distance but instead of having a Peter Laughner type breakdown I maintained my cool and somehow even managed to enjoy myself even though I dreaded waking the next morning.
Years before I stopped speaking to nearly everyone I had loved, and that had loved me, I would spend many a Sunday morning with friends and lovers. Late Saturday nights that bled into those mornings have been filing in and out of my brain all week. An impossibly late night with my friend Ryan listening to different versions of "Heroin" in his basement room with his father occasionally interrupting wanting to know what we were doing. A Sunday morning in 1994 spent with my most corrosive and passionate partner Shayna making love and listening to the Live in Berlin bootleg I had picked up the day before at a local Bloomington, Indiana record shop walking distance from her place. Introducing Take No Prisoners to my friend Dave, who just recently recalled a bit of his favorite between song banter to me again all these years later, and seeing Lou for the first time live with my oldest friend Kimbre. Memory after memory of hundreds of Sunday mornings have been coming back to me starring so many people from my past, a number of whom got in touch with me this week via phone-calls, texts and emails making sure I was okay.
It was indeed all those incredibly kind messages that I have gotten throughout the week, from people (some of whom I have never even met) who recognized that this wasn't just another celebrity passing for me. Lou Reed was family, the brother I never had, the best friend who I didn't let go of, the voice that helped me through every crisis (small and major) I have faced in my adult life. For the past quarter of a century the knowledge that there would be more lyrics and music from him to help get me through the most difficult nights, and darkest days, has always been there. Now that knowledge is gone and I don't know what to do. What am I going to do without Lou Reed? That thought has plagued and troubled me all week. One friend noted that the music and words will always be there to offer their help and support but the idea that there won't be more coming, that the voice I have depended on for so long has been silenced, is absolutely devastating to me. I still haven't been able to process the news of Lou Reed's passing. I recall the story that Jerry Schilling told about Brian Wilson's reaction to Elvis Presley dying. "What do we do now? I don't know what to do." I know I am not the only one feeling that way right now.
The world has felt and looked strange since Sunday October 27th. Feelings of anger and despair have mixed with a strong sense of gratitude and love the past few days. I feel different, dazed and not sure what my next move should be. I am grateful for Kelley, and our little furry family, and I am grateful for the memories...grateful for all those Sundays since that fateful day more than 25 years ago when I first discovered the artist who would have the greatest impact of any on my life. Lou Reed blew open my mind and introduced me to artistic, cultural and spiritual worlds I had never known of before. Attempting to imagine what my life would have been like if I hadn't discovered and fell completely in love with his work is not only impossible but also unthinkable. The Jeremy Richey I am today simply wouldn't exist...I wouldn't be married to Kelley, there would be no Moon in the Gutter, I wouldn't have the memories and friends that I do...none of it would be the same. More than likely I would have become that middle class conforming douchebag I have always hated and, while I ultimately might not be worth a damn, I can at least look myself in the mirror each day with the knowledge that I am still, deep-down, that transformed 15 year old kid in Indiana discovering and embracing a world I found in the dusty grooves of a cut-out record my father had buried in his collection.
Dedicated to Laurie Anderson and my Father.