From Hollywood To Heaven: The Lost And S — From Hollywood To Heaven( Blu Ray boxset)
When Powerhouse announced this boxset I was very excited, and also - without sounding patronising - pleased for Powerhouse: whilst they have released any number of great films, of recent they’ve been putting out some real ‘deep cuts’ so to speak, e.g. the incredible and very recommended Michael Murphy boxset, several great Mexican horrors, the Pemini Organisation boxset - and of course the lush new Rollin editions. They’ve now added to this with the Ormond boxset, and we might well ask how they are going to top all these in the future…
I should say that I’m reviewing the discs only, but Powerhouse boxsets are premium and sumptuous and I have zero doubts that the boxset proper is a beautiful thing - and indeed it comes accompanied by art cards and a 100-page book written by the Ormond biographer Jimmy McDonough. For those who are unaware, the Ormonds - Ron, June, and son Tim - travelled a somewhat unlikely cinematic route, described memorably by McDonough in one of the commentaries as ‘exploitation to churchploitation’; having already built a reasonable, and completely independent, career in film-making, producing (among other things) shrill and wild exploitation movies during the 1950s and 1960s, Ron and June’s private plane crashed in 1966, leading to a spiritual conversion. From hereon the Ormonds would only produce films preaching Christian virtues - except that they didn’t change their aesthetics or vision one bit, resulting in a series of frankly unhinged religious films, often aided and abetted by a Mississippi firebrand preacher, Estus Pirkle. Released in partnership with Nicolas Winding Refn, this boxset collects up twelve films, six from before the plane crash, six following, plus several shorter films and documentaries shot by the family. Unfortunately the original negatives for a fair number of the films here were lost after Tim Ormond’s house was damaged by a flood in 2010, but the best available materials have been used and restored, and everything is entirely acceptable quality. Well, let’s dive in…
Given the Ormond’s life narrative, Untamed Mistress (1956) is a perfect start to the boxset. The film tells the story of a woman, Velda, who was brought up by gorillas as a girl, and now, as an adult, returns to the jungle with her boyfriend and two companions. That’s the barebones, no spoilers, synopsis. However, this narrative is really just a vehicle for Ron Ormond to cram as much sex, violence, and exoticism in as possible. Untamed Mistress is essentially a mondo film, formed around lots of footage of African tribal dancing, semi-naked African women, and a sequence where a lioness hunts, kills, and devours a gazelle. This footage is echoed dramatically with gun and spear fights, an exotic dance from Velda where she pulls shrunken heads off spears and flashes her legs a lot, semi-naked black women, and some actors in a multitude of gorilla costumes. If this sounds formally chaotic, the backstory is even stranger: the Ormonds purchased the rights to The Black Panther (curiously released a year after Untamed Mistress) but weren’t allowed to use footage of the main actor, Sabu; so they simply combined footage from the film with new scenes and footage shot by a friend on holiday in Africa. The result is indeed chaotic, but also lowbrow, low-budget, and largely low-interest; at times it’s so bad it’s good - at times it’s just plain bad. The dialogue is mainly painful, the acting isn’t much better, and I doubt the direction won any prizes. A cynical mind might indeed suggest that Jacqueline Fontaine was cast as Velda purely down to her chest measurements, and I’m sure she was: and that’s the point. The film operates, as do most mondo’s, on the charade of offering a reasoned insight into faraway cultures, but very obviously just presents titillation and the basest, racist exoticism, pitting white civilization and morality - whilst all the black women in the film are topless, Velda is always fully clothed, albeit in the flimsiest top which struggles but just about succeeds in its job - against a mysterious, primal ‘dark continent’ full of lustful, violent passions. This isn’t a ‘political correct’ reading, it’s articulated overtly in the film itself, with constant musings from Arthur on evolution, nature versus nurture, and ‘East’ and ‘West’. This is combined with a children’s story feeling to the film (Velda is even referred to as ‘Gorilla Girl’), and unfortunate humour where, for example, Velda and company encounter tribal dancers in the jungle, whereupon the film cuts to shots of dancing in a stadium of sorts. So, in summary, not a milestone in film history but an effectively ‘odd’, garish movie once it gets going - with an unexpectedly bleak ending, a good primer in the Ormonds’ modus operandi, and an interesting source in itself for examining mid-Twentieth Century US racism.
Please Don’t Touch Me (1959) actually ramps things up further - though at the same time perhaps disappoints on the titillation front. The film depicts a young couple whose marriage is threatened by the wife’s aversion (‘headaches’) to intimacy; this is eventually resolved through the power of hypnotism. Again, this narrative really exists as an excuse to very vaguely and politely discuss ‘intimacy’ - and constantly parade Viki Caron’s cleavage; however, those watching for cheap thrills might be a tad disappointed I think. That said, the opening of Please Don’t Touch Me is a barrage; jumping from a rape scene, as Caron’s character is attacked as a teenager, to a potted history of hypnosis, featuring historical costumed vignettes and more footage of people of colour performing feats of mind over matter, presented as sado-masochism, establishing a pseudo-science, ‘educational’ premise for the film. This madcap start is complimented perfectly by the dramatic proceedings; the camp qualities of Untamed Mistress are jammed through the roof here, with some delicious dialogue and scenes that would send John Waters into ecstatic fits - the best example of this unfortunately being a conversation where the attack on Caron’s character is bizarrely mentioned at every available opportunity. Please Don’t Touch Me does feel drawn out, like you’re waiting for an exciting climax - that doesn’t ever appear - but it’s so absurdly camp that for the most part it’s a fun watch. The soundtrack has some quirky electronic elements - but also thoroughly inappropriate music during the opening attack scene. As an extra, alongside some trailers and radio adverts, there’s a commentary on the film by Ormond biographer Jimmy McDonough, where he talks about context for the Ormonds in general, and discusses the respective roles of Ron - directing and filming - and June - logistics, PR, make-up… - and clarifies that the lost film elements were kept in Tim Ormond’s closet. McDonough also mentions that the Ormonds had an Esoteric Foundation, and that L. Ron Hubbard had even spoken there - pointing out that the film uses a device similar to a Scientologist E-meter.
White Lightnin’ Road (1964) is a bit of a reversal, the cheap thrills are noticeably dialled back - beyond high speed car racing and a slim moonshine smuggling subplot - but on a technical level the film is much stronger than the first two. The plot revolves around the rivalry between two small-town car racers, and again really serves as a framework for lots of racing footage; it’s unclear whether this footage is real or staged, but its adherence to racing rule and conventions does give it a documentary feel. Dialogue is much improved, Tim Ormond plays a starring role, and there are some genuinely accomplished racing sequences which burst with energy. However, all these things set White Lightning’ Road as really quite a straight film, with little of the chaos that made Untamed Mistress and Please Don’t Touch Me so skewed. The one nod in this direction is Arlene/Arline Hunter as Ruby, who - whilst clearly employed for their physical attributes (wikipedia informs me she was indeed Playboy's Playmate of the Month for August 1954) - plays the character as a wonderfully confused (pained?) Marilyn Monroe (indeed, Hunter’s claim to fame was that her role in a 1948 stag film called The Apple-Knockers and the Coke was regularly mistaken for Monroe in a ’secret’ blue movie); whether this was calculated or not, Hunter’s performance is madly over the top camp, culminating in a mid-race catfight - she's probably my only reason for a rewatch.
A little curio pops up next: Edge of Tomorrow (1961), a 50-minute documentary detailing Reinhold O Schmidt’s various UFO encounters near Kearney, Nebraska; Schmidt was taken on board a large silver craft by its occupants and later taken to the Artic Circle. Interviewed in the documentary, he explains how the US government tried to cover up the events and discredit his testimony. Schmidt was also, very obviously, a complete (and lifelong) fraudster. This is transparent enough in the film, which is comprised of incredible sub-Plan 9 from Outer Space reenactments, and a bizarrely stilted interview which often concentrates on the technical aspects of the craft and its propulsion. None of it is remotely convincing, but Schmidt and his ‘space friends’ - ‘aliens’ never entering the equation, and indeed the UFO occupants appear identical to humans - apparently got on very well. Schmidt also made an appearance in Please Don’t Touch Me - and, later, the US prison system…
The next two films, Forty Acre Feud and Girl from Tobacco Row, can be dealt with together, as they both amount to very similar ventures. Both set up small rural town dramas as platforms for musical numbers; Forty Acre Feud uses the ‘excitement’ of a local election in Shagbottom to present performances from numerous country music acts, whilst Girl from Tobacco Row sees an escaped convict hiding out in a small town and befriending Tim Ormond’s character, only to be tracked down by city gangsters in search of a stash of money, all peppered with gospel hymns in the local church. There’s a much stronger sense of narrative drama, here, whereas Forty Acre Feud is really just a concert with a plot tacked onto it. Forty Acre Feud is also very much a wholesome family affair, with very broad humour, while Girl from Tobacco Row has some fisticuffs and a prison escape - and indeed an outraged father burning his daughter’s scandalous new underwear - and these elements push the film towards Ormond exploitation territory. This does give it a degree of grit, in tone, but ultimately it's a thoroughly moral story that ends with a hymn. Whilst a lot of the music in both films is not of massive interest, there are great performances by Skeeter Davis, George Jones, and Loretta Lynn, as well as a nice rendition of Will the Circle be Unbroken; the prize, though, goes to the harmonica duo of Jimmy and Mildred Mulcay (who also did the Please Don’t Touch Me theme), with Jimmy wielding a bass harmonica, a huge instrument which you rarely see. Both of the films are technically competent, they’re just not very exciting, but they show the business astuteness of the Ormonds and deserve comparison in that regard with the films that Herschel Gordon Lewis made explicitly for southern audiences: Forty Acre Feud targets a country music audience, whilst Girl from Tobacco Row clearly aims itself at church-going folk - and White Lightnin’ Road obviously has car racing enthusiasts in mind.
Next up is The Exotic Ones (1968), a film with a reputation, and one totally deserved. There’s not a whole lot to be said about this film beyond ‘you should watch it’. It depicts a burlesque joint in New Orleans, where the owner is auditioning new acts and trying to find something special, at the same time the area is being plagued by a series of attacks from a strange creature that dwells in nearby swamps; the golden idea is suggested to capture this ‘swamp thing’ and parade them at the club. In line with the Ormonds’ way of doing things, that’s the narrative platform for a succession of burlesque routines, but the film becomes much more than that, and develops into a truly wild ride. The dances run the gamut from theatrical, to confusing, to ‘approaching sexy’, and June Ormond herself has a starring role as Bunny, an ageing dancer - the matriarch of the performers. So the sex side of exploitation is more than covered here, with any opportunity taken to show the performers in their underwear, or scrapping on the floor in a convincingly frenzied catfight. The violence side of things is catered for by a gangster subplot that features a somewhat tame interrogation scene, but more so by the depraved acts of the ‘swamp thing’, played by the beautifully named Sleepy LaBeef, LaBeef was chosen for his 6’ 5” height, and was a notably longstanding and prolific country/blues performer. LaBeef’s contribution to The Exotic Ones lies a lot in lurking in bushes, or being held in a cage, gurning and grimacing; however, there are two key moments which really jump the film into a new level for the Ormonds’ oeuvre. Firstly, there is a killing where the swamp creature pulls someone's arm off and then beats them to death with it, it’s camp as fuck but the sudden dynamic jolt in the film's tone does knock you out of your seat, an utterly delirious, intense moment of madness. Secondly, there is a scene where the swamp thing performs a geek act, biting the head off a chicken, drinking its blood, and eating its guts. This looks impressively real, to the extent that I was a bit hesitant to rewatch it; in Georgette Dante’s commentary in the extra’s, she confirms that LaBeef had problems with severing the chicken’s head, and that she quickly nipped in and slit the bird’s throat with a razor blade - she also confirms that LaBeef spent most of the scene trying not to throw up… So, yes, it’s a mad ride, and one delivered in gorgeous garish colours. The Exotic Ones does initially feel like another Ormond vehicle strategy - this time for stripping - but as the film develops it creates a world with its own logic, indeed accrues this genuinely otherworldly tone and atmosphere in the non-fantastical scenes; for some reason it made me think of Twin Peaks: it’s reality as we might recognise it, but something is off. It’s hard to articulate but I feel it there.
As mentioned above, there is an audio commentary on The Exotic Ones, featuring a conversation between Jimmy McDonough and Georgette Dante, who plays Titania, a dancer. It’s fascinating, colourful chat, detailing Dante’s background as a carnival performer, burlesque dancer, wrestler… the list goes on; she’s an intriguing raconteur, with no qualms about telling all - there’s a great story involving Andre the Giant - and a fascinating individual; McDonough really comes alive here too, as a very charismatic conversationalist, with a genuine love for his subject. This commentary is complimented by radio spots for Forty Acre Feud, Girl from Tobacco Row, and The Exotic Ones.
It’s at this point, somewhat perfectly, that the pre- and post- plane crash films meet; I say somewhat perfectly because the film that follows, If Footmen Tire You What Will Horses Do? (1971), transposes the shrill madness of The Exotic Ones to its Christian themes without missing a beat - if anything, the general tone is ramped up to a new level. The film, as ever, uses a sermon from Estus Pirkle as a vehicle for garish vignettes: Pirkle talks about his concerns of a communist takeover of the US, while the Ormonds film endless scenes of communist soldiers slaughtering Christians. Pickle contends that within two years communists will conquer the United States - apparently this event will take 15 mins… the mind baffles - and enslave the country; he warns that they plan to brutally indoctrinate children - and kill 67 million Christians. Pirkle’s subtext is perhaps that the US has come to deserve this, since so many Christians do not observe their faith diligently, and he rails against Christians who watch television rather than reading the bible, people who dance (I have a soft spot for religious fundamentalists who attack dancing, a ‘front door to adultery’, it’s such laughable stance), and the dangers of mini-skirts and drive-in theatres - full of raw sex and violence, says Pirkle with a straight face in an Ormond film. The violence in If Footmen Tire You What Will Horses Do? is really quite deranged, with piles of dead Christians on every street corner, it would appear; in particular there are two memorable scenes, both involving children. In one, a child has sharpened bamboo stakes rammed into his ears, so that he may no longer hear the word of God, in another, a thoroughly beautiful scene in every way, a child is decapitated for not renouncing Jesus. The latter is so outlandishly camp that I challenge you not to cheer as the child’s head bounces away. In this manner, the entire venture is simultaneously hilarious and horrifying; I’m not a remote fan of soviet communism but Pirkle’s preaching (which isn’t overly charismatic) has such bizarre notions about communism that the whole thing just reads deranged. This gives the film real relevance today; Pirkle’s concerns translate effortlessly to the culture wars pursued by the modern Christian right, and combine with Christian nationalism with Pirkle’s bizarre fear that God will abandon the US and choose another country to be heaven bound - the film is also notably very white. So it’s a strange watch, which might make you want to bang your head against the wall in angry disbelief, or perhaps become a communist, but also a scary testament to the paranoid style and influence in US politics, and the wider right.
The Burning Hell (1974) is an hour-long rumination on hell, again led by Pirkle. The basic theme is that hell is a real place, railing against ‘modernistic’ Christian notions of hell as a metaphor, or that all are children of God: only a few will be saved, by following the straight and narrow path. Pirkle’s exposition is scripture heavy, even delving into the etymological origins of words, and also, like If Footmen Tire You What Will Horses Do?, makes odd use of statistics to ground their argument. Again, we see sermons mixed in with dramatic passages; these vignettes are initially biblical reenactments, before turning to representations of hell. The biblical sections are akin to mad nativity pieces, like a low-budget Life of Brian, though apparently filmed in the Holy Land; the hell, and hell-bound, sections feature lots of red paint gore, lava, and fire-blackened sinners screaming, trapped in flames. Pirkle states that whilst there’s no television in hell, there’s lots of ‘tormenting worms’. The whole affair is suitably wonky and persistent, but doesn’t have the charge of If Footmen Tire You What Will Horses Do? - though like that film it also ends with a sinner coming to Pirkle’s altar to be saved, here a painfully maudlin Tim Ormond as a hip young thing. The Burning Hell comes across as a heavy-handed scare tactic, something it recognises and admits to, but it’s also heavy going; it just keeps hammering the same point, much like If Footmen Tire You What Will Horses Do?, but its hysteria is less electrifying. Regardless, it’s still a mad piece of work.
The Grim Reaper (1976) walks a similar path, both in content and effect, mixing sermons and vignettes. The story this time concerns a family with two sons, one a preacher, one who wants to be a stock car racer; the wife attends church, the father does not, and after the latter son dies in a race, the film documents the father’s struggle to join the righteous path. The tone is again of a vengeful God, as the film attacks spiritualism (a fantastic seance scene which features attempts at subliminal images of a red faced Satan), occultism, and any-religion-except-
The next film in the set, The Believer’s Heaven (1977), concerns itself entirely with heaven, as a companion piece to The Burning Hell, with Estus Pirkle returning to politely rant at the viewers as to the joys of living upstairs in the afterlife. Again there are a multitude of preachers, and our thoughts and prayers go out to Dr Hyles, who appears to have been plagued by endless people coming up to him and telling him that they briefly died and came back to life, and then recounting the same description of heaven. Poor chap. Heaven is thus the glass city of the Bible - all these films take the Bible as the literal word of God - with a population of people who all apparently like each other and wander about in long white robes. The film features some recreations of heaven, but we only get to see a rear view of God on their throne - they’ve got an echoey voice, though. This is one serious weakness of The Believer’s Heaven: the usual crazed vignettes are not present, beyond another shrill visit to hell by the Ormonds, and that lack makes the film a long drag. There are a few moments, Elijah ascending to heaven in a flaming chariot, for example, but on the whole it’s a pretty uninspiring affair - until the very end of the film. The final section of The Believer’s Heaven provides a couple of ‘interesting’ scenes, and it’s very unclear how to read them: from nowhere in the film, Pirkle suddenly invites ‘little Evelyn Taubert’ up to sing, which she does - Taubert being 54 years old, 32 inches high, and confined to a wheelchair all her life; this is followed by a brief song from a trio of children who all appear to have had their hands burnt off (my medical knowledge here is not good, so it could be a condition from birth). These singers might all be very committed Christians, proud to represent their beliefs in the film - or they might point to the Ormonds’ exploitation roots, it’s hard to know how to take their roles… Beyond these moments, The Believer’s Heaven is a long haul; it occurs to me that as this boxset has progressed Tim Ormond’s acting has possibly got worse, and also how many times can Pirkle say things like ‘How exciting it must be!’ and ‘Won’t that be amazing!’ without a shred of convincing energy or inspiration… Naturally, the film ends with more conversions, but just before this a boy in the front pew yawns and sums up our predicament.
Rounding up the third disc, there’s some extras. First off, an intriguing audio commentary for If Footmen Tire You What Will Horses Do? with Greg Pirkle, son of Estus, and documentarian Brian Rosenquist, where the younger Pirkle reveals that his father had never seen any of the Ormonds’ previous films - though he was aware of them. He also describes growing up with his father, who would turn televisions to walls so he wouldn’t be tempted to watch them. The film and its production was completely bound up with the Pirkles’ lives, using their car and locations from their daily lives. Most importantly, Greg Pirkle is revealed as the child who is decapitated in the film, and indeed his decapitator, the most industrious communist Christian-killer in the film, is Cecil Scaife, a notable figure in the early operations of Sun Records. There’s also an audio commentary with Tim Ormond, Jimmy McDonough, and film restorationist Peter Conheim on The Burning Hell, which features great insights from Ormond, including the enthusiasm that local churchgoers expressed when they were asked to play sinners trapped in hell, and the fact that Estus Pirkle wore glasses without lenses to avoid reflecting the camera. One of the pleasures of the conversation are moments where Ormond learns from McDonough’s extensive research, such as discovering that his hippie friend in the film was Chuck Howard, a notable performer and songwriter. The disc is topped off by radio spots for the The Grim Reaper, and a previously unreleased audio recording of a 1970 sermon from Estus Pirkle where we do finally hear him as an animated, charismatic preacher.
The fourth and final disc starts off with 39 Stripes, which recounts the true story of Ed Martin, a convict who converted to Christianity in prison, and later formed the HopeAglow Prison Ministries. It’s the last film that Ron Ormond made, and stars Tim Ormond in the starring role; it’s also easily the worst thing in the boxset unfortunately. Completely devoid of any of the excesses of previous Ormond films, it’s reduced to a sentimental, worthy prison drama, though the end section, where Martin preaches to his fellow prisoners, is curiously affecting. There’s really not a lot to be said about it. It’s About The Second Coming (1982) is up next, a June and Tim Ormond work, and like The Believer’s Heaven it’s a bit of a drag, fusing sermons with largely uninspiring biblical reenactments. What marks it as slightly different is its focus on the rapture, and especially the numerous futuristic scenes which predict a global government, who will insist that all are marked with the numbers 666 if they wish to buy or sell anything - standard fundamentalist Christian ideas from Revelations which have crossed over into conspiracy nonsense. Moreover, Christians will be hunted down and lasered to death by ‘global police’ - it’s all wonky but doesn’t quite have the pizzazz of Ron Ormond’s work, though there is an incredible scene as a grave practically explodes and emits a white robed figure into resurrection. The final battle for the earth is depicted as a long collage of war footage, a tired sequence apparently emblematic of the Ormond family’s artistic fortunes at this point.
The Sacred Symbol (1984) is an odd one: the opening monologue suggests it is a call for people to undertake missionary work, but it turns out to be a vehicle to basically show lots of footage taken from Africa and Asia - some of which appears to have been shot by Ron Ormond. So we get African tribal dancing (reused from Untamed Mistress), more reused footage from Please Don’t Touch Me, and footage from Siam (Thailand), China, Hong Kong, Angkor Wat, and footage from a ‘cobra-kissing sect’. This footage is interesting in its own right, but put together like this makes little sense, other than a whistle stop tour of beliefs and practices round the world. The final section - in ways that I can’t fathom - apparently proves that Christianity is the one true religion, and in that regard perhaps makes sense of the missionary premise at the beginning, but barely. As with many of the Christian propaganda films in the boxset, the film has moments of internal contradiction, and really felt a bit nonsensical to me. However, it does begin with more nativity-level reenactments - to the soundtrack of ‘Mars, the Bringer of War’ by Holst, no less - and a magic act. It should also be pointed out that this is the first film in the set so far where non-white faces are seen - though they are exoticized.
The disc is finished with a commentary and a selection of quirky extras. The audio commentary pairs Tim Ormond with McDonough and they discuss It’s About The Second Coming, and despite me not being overly excited by the film, the commentary conversation - driven by an energetic McDonough who simply adores his subject - is a fascinating look into the making of Ormond films in general, not least the fact that so many people who appear across the boxset had interesting stories of their own (for example, one key member of the cast of It’s About The Second Coming was Jac Zacha, who wrote and directed the exploitation classic Walk the Walk (1970)). It also really brings out the supreme ability of the Ormonds to rustle up and manage resources, be it actors, locations, effects, or costumes. After this, there’s A Tribute to Houdini (1987), a feature directed by Tim Ormond, starring John Calvert (who played a leading role in The Sacred Symbol) performing various magic tricks in tribute to Harry Houdini. It is what it is, and frankly isn’t of immense interest, though apparently Calvert was a world famous magician and I’d never heard of him, so I’m possibly not the right audience. Anyway, the music is supremely eighties, and it does again show how many of the Ormond actors were interlinked, with Calvert revealing on stage that one of his set-pieces was directed inspired by a Lash LaRue film. Next up, conveniently, is Lash LaRue: A Man and His Memories (1992), a documentary on the actor who had appeared in numerous early Ormond films, such as The Black Lash (1952), The Frontier Phantom (1952), and Please Don’t Touch Me. It’s entertaining enough, certainly for those who take a deeper interest in the history of Westerns. Another documentary (of sorts) follows: June Carr: The Virtual Vaudevillian (1997), Tim Ormond’s portrait of his mother June Carr Ormond. It’s manic, and in that regard perfectly pitched, with the senior Ormond taking us through her life story - and what a story, crossing paths with The Three Stooges, counting Bela Lugosi as a good friend, and performing with Bob Hope at the start of her career. It’s delirious and infectious, and my initial worries that it might be a long half hour were quite wrong: Ormond is absolutely wonderful, singing, performing vaudeville routines, and telling stories with the best of them. It’s an unexpected highlight of the boxset. Forgotten Memories (1997) is a short film, directed by Tim Ormond and starring June Ormond, depicting two women having a somewhat strange conversation - I can’t say much more than that without ruining it. I don’t know if it’s because I watched it directly after being so enraptured by June Carr Ormond in the previous documentary, but - despite intrusive video effects - I’m not ashamed to say that it produced some tears here. It actually finally fulfils the potential of the sentimental side of the Ormonds’ work. The disc, and boxset, is finished by a radio spot for 39 Stripes and some production footage from Forgotten Memories, where we at long last see the Ormonds in action, with Tim directing his mother. A fitting conclusion to From Hollywood To Heaven.
As you can see, From Hollywood To Heaven: The Lost And Saved Films Of The Ormond Family is uneven, but ultimately, as McDonough regularly insists in his commentaries, an important and essential story of a film-making family. A family with an amazing story, who interconnect with numerous other interesting people from all walks of the US entertainment industry. It’s a testament to independent values and methods in film making, with obvious resonances for ‘underground’ musicians and artists - even if the Ormonds’ output might often aim at very mainstream audiences. These films, like White Lightnin’ Road, Forty Acre Feud, and 39 Stripes, probably won’t revisit my screen much - I won’t lie - but the highlights of the boxset make it a recommended watch for me. Untamed Mistress and Please Don’t Touch Me are both wonky enough to provide a great evening’s entertainment, and the June Carr Ormond vehicles, June Carr: The Virtual Vaudevillian and Forgotten Memories are both surprisingly good too; however, the key films here, The Exotic Ones, If Footmen Tire You What Will Horses Do?, The Burning Hell, The Believer’s Heaven, and The Grim Reaper are all unmissable - and the last four unfortunately resonate with the contemporary threat of a malign Christian Right. The Exotic Ones genuinely does need to be seen to be believed - a staggeringly mad assault on the eyes and ears. Whilst I struggled through a couple of those four religious films, I feel they form a little set on their own, though of these The Burning Hell, and If Footmen Tire You What Will Horses Do? are the most successful - with the latter being one of the maddest things I’ve ever seen. Certainly The Exotic Ones and If Footmen Tire You What Will Horses Do? justify the entire boxset on their own. On top of this, the audio commentaries are genuinely intriguing and entertaining, with McDonough a brilliant guide - if I were a richer person I’d grab his rather expensive biography of the Ormonds. However, I will getting the boxset proper, which includes a less expansive book from McDonough, which gives you an idea of how much I recommend From Hollywood To Heaven: The Lost And Saved Films Of The Ormond Family.