Customer Reviews

Shock Corridor (The Criterion Collection) [Blu-ray]

5 star:		(17)
4 star:		(13)
3 star:		(6)
2 star:		(3)
1 star:		(2)

 

 

Perhaps Fuller's most audacious film--the first time I saw it, my jaw was on the ground. Some take it only as a cult item, but when you realize this was made in 1963 as an indictment of Cold War paranoia and homegrown racism, you begin to appreciate exactly how ahead of the curve Sam was. While Sam Fuller's films may not be for everyone (such as the previous reviewer), there's nothing cheesy about this at all. True, Shock Corridor is very low budget. But it also has Stanley Cortez (The Magnificent Ambersons) behind the camera. If it's so inept, why did John Ford often visit the set, saying he might learn something? Why did Jean-Luc Godard pay hommage to Fuller in many of his early films, even using him in Pierrot le Fou to deliver his definition of cinema ("A film is like a battleground--love, hate, action, violence, death...in one word--emotion!")? Why has Martin Scorsese (along with Quentin Tarentino and others) called Shock Corridor is "a masterpiece"? No, when such an array of talented people find so much of worth here, then you know this is far from Ed Wood territory. Experience Sam Fuller's "Kino-Fist" style right between your eyes--he may be one of our most neglected directors.

Alternately brilliant and infuriating, Samuel Fuller's Shock Corridor is without question a one-of-a-kind film. Shot in black and white in 1963, it tells the story of a newspaper reporter who's convinced he can win the Pulitzer Prize if only he can penetrate the inner sanctum of a mental hospital to solve a murder that's been committed there--something the police have apparently not been able to accomplish.

The bizarre juxtaposition of intensity and immaturity, anger and pulp, outrageousness and illogic tells you that this is the work of a film maker who's not afraid to take chances. Fuller seems to be deliberately trying to rattle or irritate the viewer: a stripper sings a slow torch song and only partially disrobes, a nuclear physicist prattles like a six year old, a 300 pound man sings the same opera aria repeatedly to awaken another man. It's not hard to tell that the dialogue is defiantly pulpy, with emphasis on "defiant". Fuller was obviously enraged with the more destructive qualities of American culture and let his audience know it in no uncertain terms.

But with the pulp--and how much more pulpy can you get than the reporter's girlfriend being a stripper?--there's also startling power. A war veteran relates his dreams of living with South American primitives, brought shockingly to life with a rare color sequence. A black man spouts virulent anti-black racial epithets and dons a makeshift KKK hood, chasing another black man down a hallway. The reporter himself wonders why, at crucial moments, he's unable to speak.

A scathing attack on the relentless American drive for success, power, and acceptance, this movie, for all its frequently dated, semi-trashy dialogue, ranks as one of the best films of its time or any period in American history. The ruthless, downbeat ending--the murderer is discovered, but at a terrible price--is a fitting, bitter conclusion.

A reporter seeking a Pulitzer Prize cons his way into being committed to an asylum to get the story on an unsolved murder case. Peter Breck (from TV's "The Big Valley") is good as the reporter. He blends in with the other male inmates trying to ferret out the facts but discovers insanity is nothing to toy with. Constance Towers (also in Fullers' "The Naked Kiss") is a stripper and his loyal girlfriend who notices Breck's mental deterioration on her visits. She tries but can't get him out. He has more or less sealed his own fate. The portrayals of the other inmates are powerful and there are some real doozies locked in with Breck. But I found the movie to be so vivid that it was almost unpleasant to watch. The scenes in the asylum are disturbing. The scenes outside the asylum are depressing and even Towers' strip routine at the nite club where she works is downbeat. Breck's plight is overwhelmingly doomed. This is without a doubt a challenging film but I can only recommend it with a warning. If you are emotionally affected by films be careful with this one. It will linger with you after you've seen it. Still it's a powerful and unusual film worthy of a cult following and a collector's item.

I remember the first time I saw this film. I'd heard a lot about it beforehand, but wasn't sure how it'd be portrayed on screen. I also had the good fortune of seeing on the big screen. From the first scene on I sat there with my eyes and my mouth wide open. It's such an amazingly powerful film, based largely on factual events and people Fuller had talked to - this doesn't mean it's by any means a true story, but what really grabs you is how you can see and understand how real all the issues he talks about were (and unfortunately still today are).

It's a kinetic, visceral experience, and the only film that has moved me like PSYCHO did, the first time I saw it. The colour sequence just made my spine vibrate. His vision is bleak, the film and acting can be crude, but the raw power it has will simply obliterate any such resistance. God, what an experience!

Shock Corridor (Samuel Fuller, 1963)

With all the hefty heaps of praise that have been lavished on Shock Corridor during the past decade, as Sam Fuller's films have been rediscovered by critics, I admit I went into it thinking it was going to be on a par with the second coming of Christ. Ah, the perils of reading too many reviews before actually seeing the film, which in this case is a B-grade melodrama, a cautionary tale that reminds me in many ways of Reefer Madness or the like, but about the perils of ambition. Perhaps another part of my problem is that I've watched two other classic hubris tales this year, both of them superior, Alexander MacKendrick's Sweet Smell of Success and Billy Wilder's Ace in the Hole; compared to those, Shock Corridor comes up desperately short.

Like MacKendrick's Sidney Falco or Wilder's Chuck Tatum, Fuller's Johnny Barrett (Peter Breck) is a newspaperman looking to make a name for himself; over the vehement objections of his girlfriend Cathy (Constance Towers), he hatches a plan with his editor to have himself committed to a mental institution to solve the murder of an inmate the previous year. The only witnesses to the crime were three other inmates, and the police can't get anything out of them; Barrett figures that if he pretends to be one of them, he can get more information out of them. He's right, but as Cathy suspected, being in the nuthatch seems to be rubbing off on Johnny Barrett in the worst way.

And, you know, it's the idiocy of that central premise, that insanity is contagious, that really bugged me about this movie. It probably wouldn't have bugged me so much were it not the central premise of the movie (and it wouldn't have made itself known as the central premise of the movie had it not been hammered home so hard in the opening scene). There is a lot to enjoy about this flick, as long as you take it in that same campy way in which you'd watch something like Night of the Lepus; it's got a streak of black comedy a mile wide, some really amusing characters, and all the weepy fifties melodrama you can shake a stick at, even though it was made in the early sixties. But oh, the neanderthal-level stupid that sits at the core just gets to me, and keeps me from being able to look at it in the lighthearted manner I'd need to to really just sit back and enjoy it. **

Ambitious journalist Peter Breck lusts after a Pulitzer Prize or, at the very least, "a book, a play, even a movie sale." So what's a starving, scheming, modestly talented scribe to do? Why, according to Shock Corridor, he ought to get himself committed to a loony bin to grill the crazies who witnessed an unsolved murder, crack the case, then cinch his immortality by exposing to the world the venality and corruption of - yep, you guessed it--The System. "I'm scared this whole Jeckyll/Hyde idea is going to make a psycho out of me," warns Breck's stripper girlfriend, Constance Towers. A shrewd guess, since such watch-the-cast-go-psycho classics as this, The Snake Pit, The Cobweb and the Caretakers, exist only so actors can shred, chew and swallow the scenery. Early on, we're treated to Breck rehearsing his "part," the better to get him committed. He and Towers are so hilariously hammy in their abusive-brother-and-victimized-sister act, it's surprising that the loony bin doesn't book 'em both.

The fun really kicks into high gear when writer/director Samuel Fuller locks Breck inside what has to be the Movies' All-time Greatest Ward of Bad B-Actors. You'll drop your jaw when Larry Tucker, as a 300-lb. wife-killer, bellows operatic arias in our hero's face while the poor guy's trapped in bed; later, Tucker tops this bit with a scene where he actually force-feeds Breck chewing gum. You'll shake your head in disbelief, too, when shell-shocked James Best sets an early standard for Jack Nicholson-style over-the-top theatrics by Method-acting himself into delirium while reliving Civil War battles. And you'll cheer when the ward's bird-like schizo stares into the camera and socks over this immortal line: "I am impotent and I like it!" No self-respecting mad-house melodrama would be worth its weight in Thorazine without electroshock scenes--and this movie's are pips.

All the savage competition from the other hams finally unhinges Breck (and the movie, we might add). How can we tell that Breck's gone bonkers, you ask? For starters, there's his conjuring up, literally out of nowhere, Towers to chirp, "I need somebody to love"--her face covered in feathers, mind you--while gamely trying to bump 'n' grind. Then there's the inevitable ward filled with sex-starved babes: Breck wanders in with one of the best Bad Movie lines ever, "Nymphos!" Soon, as one of the femme-fatale inmates sings "My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean," the other women fondle Breck to a frenzy. There's more: watch for two of the nuttiest hallucination sequences in movie history, one consisting of what look to be home movies of Fuller's trip to the Far East, and the other a corker of a scene in which Breck sees a teensy Towers sashaying across his chest in stiletto heels, purring, "All the men want me, Johnny... and you, you want the Pulitzer Prize!"

Sad to say, by the time Breck cops the Pulitzer, he's too nuts to realize it. But you'll know, and by then you'll agree with us that this madcap madhouse movie belongs way, way up there in the Bad Movie pantheon. The single craziest thing about Shock Corridor is that it was judged by some critics to be among the best movies of 1963. What we don't know is how many of them were committed as a result of viewing the film.

This precursor to ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO'S NEST, Written, Produced and Directed by Sam Fuller (THE BIG RED ONE) was originally banned in NZ on its initial release and for some odd reason carries an R18 certificate today (higher than the UK's 15 cert). But even despite the twelve year gap between this and Milos Forman's multi Oscar winning masterpiece, I personally felt that SHOCK CORRIDOR came across as a more subtly unsettling movie.
In this overlooked classic Peter Breck gives a terrific performance as Johnny Barrett, a newspaper reporter who goes undercover as a patient in a mental asylum in order to expose the ill treatment of the inmates. But he soon finds himself fearing for his own sanity when he himself winds up being abused. The situation is not helped when he begins to have disturbing dreams about his stripper girlfriend (Constance Towers) whom he harbours a secret anger against for exposing herself to other men. (The stripping scenes are a special highlight too). However Johnny also gains the unwanted attention of half a dozen attractive-slash-deranged female inmates who want to sexually exploit and degrade him. Who said only women were victims? Unfortunately some of the audio synchronicity in SHOCK CORRIDOR is appalling, especially in this scene and as a result the potential power of this sequence is lessened somewhat. (I viewed the UK videotape so I'll presume this was the work of the Pommie censors and not the intention of Fuller).
As if all this isn't bad enough, among the other inmates is an African American man with a split personality- his alter ego being a white supremacist. This leads to one of the movie's more unnerving moments where he dons a KKK outfit and sets an angry mob upon another Negro patient. This would have been pretty wild stuff for 1963 and the scene still packs a wallop four decades on. It's safe to presume that this wouldn't be allowed in movies today (unless it was being spoofed by the Wayans brothers). It's also of note that several flashback scenes are shot in color- including a brief but effective montage of the movies most powerful incidents during the scene in which Barrett undergoes electroshock therapy.
The combo of b&w photography with a shady atmosphere help to give SHOCK CORRIDOR a chillingly brilliant claustrophobic feel, which is so effective that while watching it you feel that you are incarcerated along with Barrett and suffering with him. Keep your eyes peeled for James Best, later to be better known as Sheriff Roscoe P. Coltrane on THE DUKES OF HAZZARD.
There are also a couple of amusing parts amongst all the despair, most notably the scenes featuring the screaming mad cowboy and a bit where one of the inmates proclaims with pride: "I am impotent and I like it!" Yup, the man is certifiable in my opinion.
SHOCK CORRIDOR is a movie well worth tracking down. Fuller manages to seamlessly blend thriller, psychological drama, social commentary horror, black humor and exploitation into a richly textured and unique viewing experience which retains the power to disturb and challenge viewers today.

I like Sam Fuller movies --each one is unique -- some have the big studio backing while most others like Shock Corridor are small films and they're usually very good! Shock Corridor doesn't disappoint. It's classic Sam Fuller. The Black and White cinematography and contrast is superb. The print on the DVD isn't pristine-- you can hear and see some minor defects but the overall quality is excellent. This DVD is by by Criterion (I own several Criterion Laser-Discs -- they are the best) and the packaging is high quality.

The cast is from the Sam Fuller casting Mafia -- notably Gene Evans -- the tough Sarge from Fuller's The Steel Helmet. Evans plays one of the many unusual nutcases that you see in this DVD! It has some outrageous dialog and low budget effects that will have you laughing but that's what's fun about watching "Film Noir" genre movies.

Where to begin with this lurid, overheated mess from writer-director Samuel Fuller? The storyline is risibly improbable, the characters are pathetically one-dimensional, and the speechifying, which aspires to hard-boiled poetry, is stultifyingly dull. The actors playing mental patients are symbols of racial hatred and the brutality of war and a tumultuous zeitgeist rather than human beings. Those who portray doctors are required to throw around fictional medical diagnoses and supposedly scientific terminology that none of them understands. The film's stereotypes of mental illness were ludicrous even in the Sixties. Fuller can't even get a quote from "Medea" right: "Whom the gods would destroy, they first make mad" becomes "Whom God wishes to destroy, He first turns mad," transforming Euripides into a monotheist.

I could present an outline of the preposterous plot (an ambitious reporter has himself committed to a mental hospital to uncover a murderer and loses his mind to "erotic dementia"), but you can get more detailed descriptions elsewhere. I'd rather explain why this "psycho" drama is a bad one. Let's begin with the fact that each of the three gibbering, delusional murder witnesses our protagonist interviews -- a soldier who thinks he's fighting the Civil War, a black man who thinks he's a Ku Klux Klan member, and a nuclear scientist who thinks he's six years old -- conveniently returns to a kind of sanity in order to explain why he's in the loony bin (it's always society's fault) and give a clue as to the killer's identity. And the journalist, who is apparently driven mad by electroshock therapy, remains lucid just long enough to write a Pulitzer-Prize-winning article before succumbing to lunacy.

Let's add a few more artless, distracting touches: constant expositional voiceovers do more to annoy than to explain; the journalist's girlfriend is a burlesque dancer who, apropos of nothing, performs a clumsy striptease; the journalist walks through the wrong door and is mauled by a band of nymphomaniacal crazies; and despite this being a black and white film, the incarcerated witnesses hallucinate in color. (Fuller apparently had some stock footage of Japanese tourist attractions and native Amazonian dancers he wanted to use.) I could offer many more embarrassing examples.

Yes, I was at times amused by the campy ineptness of it all, and the fevered acting of the inmates is occasionally affecting, but "Shock Corridor" is simply not a well-made film. It was a pulpy B-movie when it came out; it's now at C-level and sinking fast, the cinematic equivalent of a cheap, poorly-written, sensationalistic tabloid newspaper. Like many of Fuller's films, it attempts to dramatize a blindingly obvious message while crudely titillating the audience. It's a shame the director worked for producer Darryl Zanuck rather than Samuel Goldwyn. One of Goldwyn's famous maxims is "If you want to send a message, call Western Union."

So why does this DVD have a relatively high rating? "Shock Corridor" is honored primarily because Fuller has champions in the fans of exploitation cinema, and especially in fellow auteur directors Martin Scorsese, Quentin Tarantino, and Jim Jarmusch. All three appear in an hour-long documentary, "The Typewriter, the Rifle, and the Movie Camera," an extra on the 2011 Criterion Collection release. This nonfiction feature is superior to the main film, giving us a view of Fuller's journalistic and military background as well as an understanding of his cantankerous personality and eccentric style.

Fuller made better movies earlier and later in his career: "Steel Helmet" (the first Korean War film) and "Pickup on South Street" (a film noir classic) in the 1950s and "The Big Red One" (based on his infantry experience in World War II) and "White Dog" (his final US picture, a controversial meditation on racism) in the 1980s. Unfortunately, most of his voluminous output, including the movie on this disc, was rubbish. If you're curious, you can rent it or check it out from the library, as I did, but you really don't need it in your collection.

This is one of my favourite movies - it improves everytime I watch it - and while it is great to own it on DVD it's a shame the transfer is so poor. The background hiss is unbelievable - it actually makes the film quite difficult to watch - and while the contrast of black and white images looks as startling as it should, there is so much dirt on the film itself that at times you can't quite believe you're watching it on DVD. If I'd known this, I probably still would've bought the disk as it's such a great movie, but it really is a shame that more effort hasn't been made to clean the film up.