Satanic mentoring program expands from boardroom to bedroom.
Devil: Now that she's out of her wedding gown, grab it and we'll sell it on Ebay. Snag her ring too.
Man: Get out of my head, shoulder devil!
Devil: Tie her to the bed and use her body until it's a dried out husk.
Man: Shhh... quiet!
Devil: What are you worried about? She can't hear us.
Man: Just stop, devil. It's my honeymoon. Take the night off.
Devil: No can do. Our pact is 24/7.
Man: But that was for you to make me a better businessman!
Devil: Trust me, what you wanna do to her is what big business wants to do to everybody. Now insult her and act like she deserved it. I taught that one to the president and he loved it.
There's nothing better than a memorable Win.
Win Min Than was born in what was then known as Rangoon, Burma, and became known to the world when she co-starred in the war drama The Purple Plain with Gregory Peck. Ethnically, Than was actually only half Burmese. Her father was Austrian, and she was born Helga Johnson. The movie, obscure today, was successful, but it turned out to be Than's only role. In 1957 she married the Burmese politician Bo Setkya and spent some years in her home country, but today she lives in Austria. This very nice shot was made the year her film came out, 1954.
French publisher Editions Ferenczi had a Verrou unique way of doing things.
Collection le Verrou (The Lock Collection) consisted of 205 pocket-sized crime novels published in France by Editions Ferenczi from 1950 to 1959. Some were written by French authors using pseudonyms that sounded English or American, while other writers used their real names, such as Alexandra Pecker (yes, that's a real name) and René Poupon (idem). Other books were written by U.S. or British writers and had been previously published. For instance, above you see Le singe de cuivre by Harry Whittington, which you might know as The Brass Monkey, and below you'll find entries from Lawrence Blochman and English scribe Peter Cheney, better known as Peter Cheyney. The art on these books is generally quite colorful. The cover above was painted by Michel Gourdon, and below you'll find another piece from him, many efforts from Georges Sogny, and a couple from as-yet-unknowns. We really like Ferenczi's output, so expect us to share more covers from this publisher later.
In a mirror, darkly.
Jennifer Connelly is one modern actress we often see cited as having classic looks, which we suppose to mean she could have been a star in 1945. We imagine she'd have been a star anytime. She debuted on the showbiz scene in the 1982 television series Tales of the Unexpected, appeared in one our favorite movies of the 2000s Requiem for a Dream, and a couple of years later won an Academy Award for A Beautiful Mind. The above imagery of her is from 1990, the same year, appropriately, she starred in The Hot Spot.
Whoa... is the floor swaying or is that me?
Audrey Totter isn't as well known today as she should be, considering she appeared in The Postman Always Rings Twice, The Lady in the Lake, F.B.I Girl, The Unsuspected, The Set-Up, Main Street After Dark, and Tension, but she was well appreciated in her day as a bad girl and film noir stalwart. Her career spanned radio, cinema, and television, and her life spanned ninety-five years, a good run on both counts. This promo photo of her in the typical bad girl's natural habitat—the local gin mill—was made in 1946 and appeared in Life magazine.
I'll have both your badges for this outrage. In the meantime, either of you got a condom?
Pretty tame by today's standards, 1959's Sex Life of a Cop is the book that turned into a legal nightmare for publisher Sanford Aday when he shipped copies out of California, was indicted in Arizona, Michigan, and Hawaii in 1961 of interstate trafficking of obscene material, and finally convicted in Michigan in 1963. The story deals with two small town cops named Dempsey and Thorne who give a fat helping of nightstick to any woman whose path they cross, everyone from the hot new dispatcher to a female reporter who goes for a ride along. Ahem. The action starts right on page one outside the police station and doesn't let up. Aday, who was also the author of this as Oscar Peck, earned himself a $25,000 fine and twenty-five years in prison, a sentence that was eventually overturned.
Sex Life of a Cop later caused legal reverberations all the way to the Supreme Court, where it was ruled not obscene in 1967. This was a stroke of good luck for publisher Reuben Sturman (the genius behind It's Happening), because he too was arrested and charged with obscenity when Cleveland police liberated more than 500 copies of the book from his warehouse. The Supreme Court ruling cleared him of wrongdoing. All this for a book that differs little from other sleaze of the era save that it stars two cops. But therein lies the lesson. When you cast aspersions upon law enforcement they'll move heaven and earth to punish you, first amendment be damned. We have covers for the original 1959 edition and the 1967 reprint.
Hitchcock's epic thriller shows his directorial gifts but misses the mark.
This Italian poster for Io ti salverò, aka Spellbound is wonderful. The movie, directed by Alfred Hitchcock, isn't. The central plot device involves a man who may have blacked out committing a murder. That's a good place for a thriller to start, but the actual psychiatric science is approached clumsily, the love story is overwrought, and the orchestral musical score is omnipresent and overbearing. You have to wonder if composer Miklós Rozsa actually watched the film, because while Spellbound is big, his music is positively galactic. A re-edit with 60% of his output removed would make this one a much smoother ride. It's always a danger to criticize a classic film, we know, but not all classics are created equal. This one lives on Hitchcock's reputation, the overall technical execution, and a groundbreaking dream sequence designed by renowned artist Salvador Dalí. At the end of the dream a faceless man drops a wheel. Maybe it was a steering wheel, because despite all the money and star power poured into Spellbound, somehow it went down a middling road. It premiered in 1945 and reached Italy as Io ti salverò today in 1947.
Totally lifelike. Just like a real woman. Limited warranty. Do not get wet—shock danger. Possible choking hazard. Vendor not liable for injuries resulting from friction burns.
Above, the rather interesting cover for Jack Kahler’s Rubber Dolly, published by San Diego based PEC, aka Publishers Export Co., in 1966. So, what you get here is the owner of a Hollywood advertising agency called Premium Art who is surrounded by beautiful women 24/7 yet builds the most lifelike love doll ever made. Why? Well, he’s never satisfied. His name is Sam Bollen, after all. Hah hah. Ball-en. Anyway he builds his dolls—"so lifelike in action and substance they shocked even hardened business executives"—and everything is peachy at first, but he soon has problems of various bizarre sorts and even runs afoul of Hollywood communists. Amazing that Kahler could fit that in, but he was a genius—we’re talking about the same guy who came up with Passion Sauce (not be confused with The Lust Lotion). Though rubber doll sleaze may seem fringe, Rubber Dolly was actually a reissue of Kahler's successful Latex Lady from two years earlier. And of course this isn't the first mechanical love doll we've had on the site. The art is uncredited. Go figure.
Stop squirming, stupid, or you might make me cut the damned thing off.
It’s anonymously written and the cover art isn’t great quality, but we couldn’t resist sharing this one. This is as low rent as sleaze fiction gets, even from a company—Special Collection Series—that published such fare as Hot-Assed Snow Bunnies, Degradation of Nurse Mercy, and the worrisomely titled Her Security Dogs. Do you really wonder why these authors refuse credit for their work?
They say money talks. It also writes.
Where would we be without leaked documents in this day and age? There’s an interesting story hitting the wires today about how the Mexican government pressured Sony Pictures and MGM to change the script of the upcoming James Bond film Spectre in exchange for $14 million dollars. The money took the form of tax incentives, but in the real world it’s no different than bagloads of cash. The information comes from hacked e-mails provided by an unknown North Korean person or group. According to the e-mails, the Mexican government wanted an assassin’s identity changed from Mexican to some other nationality, an assassination target likewise changed from Mexican to other, and insisted upon the casting of a Mexican Bond girl. The last demand was met with the hiring of Sonora-born Stephanie Sigman.
All of this is pretty much business as usual in moviemaking—hardly even a story, really. But we always write about Bond here, so this item seemed worth sharing. The last aspect of the e-mails that interested us was a demand that the film include aerial shots of Mexico City’s skyline, with an emphasis on the modern buildings. Tens of millions of travelers from every part of the globe visit Mexico each year because of its native ruins, beautiful Spanish colonial architecture, indigenous food, historically authentic festivals, thousands of miles of beaches, and warmwaters, yet Mexican officials wanted its few glass skyscrapers to appear onscreen to emphasize to shallow businessmen that, yes, we too can offer the type of cookie-cutter modernity you love. It’s fascinating to us. The world won’t know how much of the Mexican government’s wish list was granted until Spectre’s November 2015 release, but if we had to guess we’d say all of it.
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