The Framer wasn't Framed

At an art auction in Hamburg, two men make an acquaintance that leads to murder in 1977's The American Friend. Among other things. Directed by Wim Wenders, it's based on one of Patricia Highsmith's novels about Tom Ripley, the talented sociopath. It's a film with surprisingly beautiful compositions for the subject matter (though not for Wenders) and the film's leads, Dennis Hopper and Bruno Ganz, both give terrific performances.

Hopper plays Ripley as basically Dennis Hopper, as per usual. We all love Hopper but he's not known as a chameleon, is he? He might as well be Frank Booth or Billy from Easy Rider. Apparently Highsmith wasn't happy with him in the role at first but changed her mind after a second viewing. He's certainly a far cry from Alain Delon or Matt Damon. He's a lot more butch than either of them, something that may go against the homoerotic subtext the Tom Ripley stories are famous for.

Or maybe it makes it better. Murder isn't gay sex, after all. But if you've been inculcated with a certain morality, even if your intellect disagrees with it, they might seem the same. Which is what's so fascinating about the possible metaphor at play.

Ganz plays a picture framer who meets Ripley at that fateful auction. He has a possibly terminal disease and Ripley uses that as a means of manipulating him into being a hitman. Ganz turns out to be rather clumsy at the job which makes for some terrifically suspenseful scenes. He's really not good at hiding his gun, for one thing and, oh, what could that mean?

The affection that springs up between the two is truly charming. More than being a metaphor, the film ultimately feels like a rumination on the indefinable substance of human feeling and relationships.

The American Friend is available on The Criterion Channel.

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A spot of light revealed the table game.
A dream remembered rose above the skin.
For satin gowns the gold invokes a name.
The law was smartly carved in brittle tin.
The wind remembered lunch was by the lake.
A distant dog and bird forgot the space.
As clear the mysteries of love could make.
This time she'd not but then she saw your face.
With clouds behind the sun we plotted dusk.
With wires choking malls they tore it down.
And now the pleasant park is but a husk.
As surely empty eggs control the town.
The list of names exceeds the people here.
The mound of graves precedes the living fear.

The Queen Stole Her Crown

I don't know why but I expected more from a movie called Queen of Blood. This 1966 American film, produced by Roger Corman and directed by Curtis Harrington, owes a lot to a Soviet film called Mechte Navstechu, including its screenplay and its best footage, which is ripped right from that film. But Queen of Blood does have Basil Rathbone in one of his last roles and Dennis Hopper in one of his first along with the always entertaining, and frequently underrated, John Saxon.

We meet Saxon in some lunar office space chatting up a coworker (Judi Meredith). The two go to lunch, where they run into Dennis Hopper and a friend, before they see a broadcast from Basil Rathbone, who plays Dr. Faraday, leader of this space exploration institution.

Around this time, we also start seeing footage from the Soviet movie of an alien ship. All the footage from Mechte Navstrechu is pretty gorgeous and ominous, filled with darkness and lurid colour.

The Sci Fi business of the humans investigating a crashed alien ship is developed decently enough and the plot turns out to be about an alien blood-sucker, played by a compellingly exotic Florence Marly. But mostly I came away from the movie wanting to see the Soviet original.

Both Rathbone and Hopper seem pretty checked out. For different reasons, of course.

Queen of Blood is available on Amazon Prime.

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The early rabbit thwarts the trusty knife.
At dusk, a dozen miles stretched ahead.
They gathered works for tea from flowers rife.
Remembered films would put the vamp to bed.
The bank was softer than the magma needs.
A sleeping dragon dreamt of vagrant beers.
Invention chained a row of random beads.
The dusty glen has cooled the demon's tears.
A flying nose rewrote the daisy bed.
With many nails the fingers painted touch.
It happens fate was little like we read,
Contracted hats were always billed as such.
For dames of green the fields of red were tilled.
With brews of black the hefty cups were filled.