If you've got the balls she's got the time.
Which movie star has the most posts ever on Pulp Intl.? Christina Lindberg? Humphrey Bogart? Reiko Ike? Marilyn Monroe? We haven't gone back over the decade of material we've shared and done a count, but blaxploitation star Pam Grier may be leading the pack. This photo of her in a cool tennis outfit is from 1976.
Man critically injured after late night shoe-ing.
This cover got us to finally look up spats in a dictionary to find out what they were for. Apparently they weren't just fashion statements. They were designed to protect shoes and socks from mud and dirt. Blood and spittle too—at least on this vintage cover for Donald Henderson's Clark's debut novel Louis Beretti, which deals with the rise of a 1920s era New York City hoodlum. He's an immigrant kid who grows up on the East Side, serves in the army during World War I, and returns during Prohibition to be drawn into bootlegging, which he leverages into restaurant ownership and a position of respect and influence. But you know what they say—you can take the man out of the hood, but never the hood out of the man. The book was originally published in 1929, but this Avon Edition is copyright 1949, with cover art by an unknown.
What's the most important Carnival accessory? Anonymity.
Who is this masked woman? We don't know, because she doesn't get credit for her appearance on this Rio carnival themed cover of O Seculo Ilustrado published today in 1948, but what a great image. A little anonymity is just the thing carnival goers need. We know because we've been to Rio during that raucous holiday and we can tell you plenty of people are simply not themselves. This is a beautiful photo-illustration, even frame-worthy, we'd say. Which is actually possible, since the original scan of this is more than 1100 pixels wide thanks to the Wordpress blog Ilustração Portugueza. Get your own while the page is up. It's been idle for a while and could, as blogs are wont to do, disappear anytime.
This bikini is about as plein as they come.
The word “plein” means “full” in French, and indeed when looking at this cover the female figure's bikini is not only nicely full, but looks like it's strained to the point of breaking. Plein son bikini was written by Jean Normand, aka Raoul Lematte, Fernand Petit, Jacques Lienart, et al, and it appeared in 1954 from Éditions Roger Seban for its Pigall collection. Really, we're just interested in the art here, which is by the always adept Jef de Wulf. We have numerous entries on him, including this winner. Click his keywords below if you want to see more.
Howell Dodd shows his political side.
Here's something unusual. This is a piece by legendary men's magazine and paperback illustrator Howell Dodd, obviously political in nature, titled “Danse Macabre” and commenting on Francoista fascism in post civil war Spain. Francisco Franco, like other former European dictators, continues to loom large over the country he ruled. Laws were only recently passed that might allow for his body to be exhumed from the massive mausoleum he had built for himself, for finally making a census of the estimated 500,000 victims of the Spanish Civil War, for investigations into the fates of tens of thousands who disappeared under fascist rule, and to find out what happened to 300,000 children who between 1939 and 1975 were stolen from their parents and adopted by—i.e. sold to—well-connected families. Some of those children even ended up with childless couples in the U.S. and Latin America. So it was quite a danse indeed. We aren't sure how much Dodd was aware of when he painted this item, but the visual is encompassing regardless. You see a couple of close-ups of the piece below, and you can see Dodd in completely different mode here and here.
Even the first blonde in history was a prima donna.
Raquel Welch revels in her own good looks and gold locks in this promo image made in 1966 while she was filming her schlock blockbuster One Million Years B.C. It's amazing how many blondes appear in prehistoric movies. Blonde hair first evolved around 11,000 years ago in cold, northern latitudes, so these blondes running around onscreen in fur bikinis are cases of filmmakers' wishful thinking, but they definitely sold movie tickets. It's all in good fun. We love Welch, Vetri, Berger, Mercier, and the rest.
I promised my husband I wouldn't smoke anymore, but since I already broke one promise I might as well break them all.
Above, a cover for Two Sided Triangle by Gus Stevens for Brandon House Books, 1965. The company's most beautiful covers were painted by Fred Fixler. Is this a Fixler cover? We don't think so. Brandon House, through its art direction, seemed to make all its illustrators paint like Fixler, but while similar, this doesn't look like him to us. We could be wrong. We could always be wrong. It's happened. More than once. But we like this cover quite a bit, and it amuses us that the male figure seems to be staring directly where the sun don't shine on his female companion, which is probably what we'd be doing under the circumstances too. If you have an idea who painted this, Fixler or otherwise, feel free to drop us a line.
Those dirty bushwhackers done hung him. And nobody else in the entire territory's got feet delicate enough to walk on my back when it acts up.
When we saw this paperback at the blog canadianflybynight we immediately had to share it because it serves as an addendum to our cover collection of unfortunates who've been hanged. We gather the story here deals with a corrupt syndicate ganging up to steal the land of a stubborn rancher. Somewhere in there the cowpoke with the daintiest feet in the west is cruelly strung up. The novel is originally 1939, and this Harlequin paperback with curious cover art by D. Rickard appeared in 1950. See our hanging collection here.
It should have launched a memorable career but didn't quite work out that way.
Do people who like film noir also like NFL football? We ask because the Noir City Film Festival wraps up tonight in head-to-head competition with the Super Bowl. For football haters, the fest is a chance to get out of Super Bowl households for the duration of the game, but for others it's a tough choice. Film noir and football are similar. Both feature hardheaded men pitted in mortal struggle against forces arrayed against them. Both feature unexpected plot twists. Both put physical safety at risk. In both cheating is rampant (at least when the Patriots are involved). In neither is victory assured. We wonder what the festival organizers would have done if the 49ers had made it to the title game. Hah hah‚ that's a joke. They knew—everybody knew—the 49ers would suck this year.
Anyway, tonight the festival features two films, one of which is 1961's Blast of Silence. Written, directed by, and starring Allen Baron, the film is a fascinating counterpoint to Stanley Kubrick's Killer's Kiss, which showed at Noir City a few days ago. Both are low budget crime thrillers shot in New York City about men desperate for better lives whose needs center on women. Where Kubrick's protagonist is a pug boxer whose interest in a beautiful neighbor makes him want out of the ring, Baron plays a killer-for-hire whose random encounter with a woman from his youth triggers second thoughts about his chosen career.
Many reviews of Blast of Silence are of the glowing variety, but while it's seamlessly put together and the noir flourishes are well executed, it suffers from Baron's acting, as well as that of other performers. But everyone loves an auteur in the rough. It's easy to look past the acting and see Baron's behind-the-camera talent. Given a chance he might have had a very different career. Watching Blast of Silence you can imagine it. Like gruff voiced narrator Lionel Stander says at one point, “You get a feeling this is how it was meant to be.”
Instead Baron put together one more low budget movie before migrating into television, where he intermittently directed shows like The Brady Bunch and Charlie's Angels. Hmm... Brady like Tom Brady and Angels like Los Angeles? Um... where were we? Oh yes. It's amazing how Baron's career diverged from Kubrick's despite both making low budget NYC thrillers of similar quality. Was Baron as talented as Kubrick? We aren't saying that. Just that it would have been interesting to see what his cinematic career might have looked like. But if film noir teaches anything it's that in life, as in football, things don't always work out the way they should. Go Rams.
Is this what football announcers mean when they talk about a perfect snap?
Because we're like teenagers it amuses us when we hear sports terms that sound sexual. We've indulged in this juvenile amusement on Pulp Intl. once or twice. Or maybe even three times. The best unintentionally sexual NFL commentary we heard this football season was: “Look, here's my thing—” Which was followed by silence. And we thought, well these broadcasters are certainly making the most of their time stuck together in that tiny booth.
Anyway, 1930s movie star Lona Andre, née Luana Anderson, shows some ball control skills in this promo photo we thought was fitting for today, which is of course Super Bowl Sunday. Andre made a number of notable films, including 1934's School for Girls and 1937's Slaves in Bondage. This photo was made for her film College Humor, which is fitting, because that's about the level of our sports quips. It dates from 1933.
The headlines that mattered yesteryear.
1937—Carothers Patents Nylon
Wallace H. Carothers, an American chemist, inventor and the leader of organic chemistry at DuPont Corporation, receives a patent for a silk substitute fabric called nylon. Carothers was a depressive who for years carried a cyanide capsule on a watch chain in case he wanted to commit suicide, but his genius helped produce other polymers such as neoprene and polyester. He eventually did take cyanide—not in pill form, but dissolved in lemon juice—resulting in his death in late 1937.
1933—Franklin Roosevelt Survives Assassination Attempt
In Miami, Florida, Giuseppe Zangara attempts to shoot President-elect Franklin D. Roosevelt, but is restrained by a crowd and, in the course of firing five wild shots, hits five people, including Chicago, Illinois Mayor Anton J. Cermak, who dies of his wounds three weeks later. Zangara is quickly tried and sentenced to eighty years in jail for attempted murder, but is later convicted of murder when Cermak dies. Zangara is sentenced to death and executed in Florida's electric chair.
1929—Seven Men Shot Dead in Chicago
Seven people, six of them gangster rivals of Al Capone's South Side gang, are machine gunned to death in Chicago, Illinois, in an event that would become known as the St. Valentine's Day Massacre. Because two of the shooters were dressed as police officers, it was initially thought that police might have been responsible, but an investigation soon proved the killings were gang related. The slaughter exceeded anything yet seen in the United States at that time.
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