Video

Rip It Up, Issue 118, 1 May 1987, Page 4

Video

Godzilla 85 (New World) The return of the Big G. Back to his old stomping grounds, beating the shit out of Tokyo's skyscrapers and transit system. (You ever notice that monster flicks always have some beast tipping trains up?) Back in 1954 Toho Productions unleashed this lovable green creature with the radioactive breath, and the original suit designed by Giji Tsuburaya is still in use.

The present Godzilla is a mean mother, not the wimp of the middle period as in Godzilla vs Megalon (1973), where he helps Jet Jaguar defeat the evil monsters. No, this time Godzilla is out to kick arse. -

Metaphorically speaking, the monster is the living symbol of nuclear war, the psyche that continually haunts Japan. All Godzilla movies are protests against the US bombings. All that aside, Godzilla 85 is a great disaster flick, with a very high body count (much

higher than Commando) and with acting that verges on the hysterical. Raymond Burr gives a superb performance in a role Orson Welles would have killed for, if he hadn't been busy doing the voice of a Transformer robot, his last tragic role. Trash fans will be salivating over this, but to the rest of you, | can only say it's not exactly Children of a lesser God, but it has its moments. ; Kerry Buchanan :

Stones in the Park (CEL) ~ It's difficult deciding what would be more interesting — the Rolling Stones breaking up, or making another album. But here they back at their 1969 Hyde Park free concert, remarkably composed just two days after Brian Jones’ death. This hour-long doco (at the budget price of S3O) is no Gimme Shelter; the sound is primitive and the cameraman cant seem to concentrate on anything for long. But there are plenty of shots of pale, greasy British hippies — and even more ludicrous are the British Hells Angels, a motley bunch of fashion-mongers about as frightening as Sha Na Na. You've also gotta laugh at Mick's stoned philosophising and ridiculous ‘Satisfaction’ rap. Keith looks his best/worst, depending on how you take the myth — mascaraed and toothless with the pallor of a cadaver. Musically, new recruit Mick Taylor carries the day, giving the band their purest blues sound — rough and raw slide on ‘Love in Vain' and, as always, “master of the boogieing jam” on ‘Sympathy for the Devil, the highlight. A curiosity. Chris Bourke

Frank Sinatra Portrait of an Album (CEL) When Frank Sinatra sang ‘LA is My Lady’ at a recent London concert he forgot his words, his ginaddled brain presumably not being able to decide what LA was. | didn't know “lady” was in his vocabulary. This hour-long doco shows the making of LA is My Lady, the album Sinatra did with Quincy Jones producing and an all-star jazz orchestra that included George Benson and Lionel Hampton. It’s a pretty tame affair, with too many interviews (read: endorsements, eulogies ...) and not enough music. But what there is shows Frank to.be in excellent, if

unadventurous, voice, and a master of the studio. Relaxed but not affable, Sinatra is treated with a nervous deference by those present. Among the numbers are ‘Stormy Weather, ‘LA is My Lady’ and ‘Mack the Knife! CB

Marc Bolan on Videon (CEL) Lovingly compiled by the Marc Bolan fan club, this 60-minute video holds an attraction to anyone with a passing interest in this mystical pop elf. Not much in the way of real early stuff here, in fact ‘Ride a White Swan'’ is actually a mid-70s re-make. Never mind though, ‘Metal Guru, ‘Telegram Sam, ‘Childen of the Revolution, ‘Get it O’ and an almost live Jeepster’ more than make up for it. Hilarious duets with Cilla Black (‘Life’s a Gas) and Gloria Jones (‘To Know You is to Love You’) coupled with the semi-metal of ‘Buick McKane' and Jewel’ make this great entertainment. Mark Phillips 9> Weeks (Roadshow) A new form of art movie that has its genesis in TV ads for cars and soap powders. Movies are consumer items, so why not make them like the advertising whiz kids do? The problem is these films have no heart, they shine and purr with their strikingly clean images, and attempt to be clever with abrupt jump cuts and nouveau vague attitudes, but underneath it all there's no art.

Directed by the man who gave us Flashdance and a few toothpaste ads before that. In this he attempts a yuppie version of Last Tango in Paris, throwing in a few ideas from Ken Russell’s wonderful Crimes of Passion. Man tracks down woman, and then plays games of domination and degradation. Each scene is an attempt at sexualising each small act and object. But it doesn't work, even the “famous” bits with the food, and the hurried sex-on-the-steps bit — they all look like empty Penthouse spreads. Designer sex for designer people. Just can't understand why Mickey Rourke is in this — catch Ciminos Year of the Dragon for his best role as the Polish cop. One of the emptiest pieces of cinema (I use that word lightly) I've ever seen. For those interested in this film's theme, wait for David Lynch's Blue Velvet.

Kerry Buchanan