Category: Sam Fuller

Contributors, Directors, Editor, Essays, Sam Fuller

Samuel Fuller: “Film is like a battleground”

Written by Editor May 1, 2012

“What is cinema?” asks New Wave icon Jean-Pierre Belmondo of Sam Fuller in Jean-Luc Godard’s “Pierrot le Fou.” He answers: “Film is like a battleground: love, hate, action, death… In one word, EMOTION.” It doesn’t matter whether Godard or Fuller wrote the line (regardless, Fuller’s gruff, cigar chomping delivery makes it his). It stands as a marvelous summation of a career of uncompromising films. A former journalist, pulp writer and soldier, he made tough guy films with mad passion and driving energy that examined the identity of America. His patriotic passion comes through every jagged, explosive frame. The small screen simply can’t hold that much energy.
—Sean Axmaker

Hey, Mom, Where’s My Suicide Note Collection? by Richard Thompson
Creature Contact by Richard T. Jameson
Sam Fuller: An Introduction by Sean Axmaker
The Samuel Fuller Film Collection by Richard T. Jameson
“When it’s night time …”: Myth and the Geography of the Unconscious in ‘I Shot Jesse James’ by Rick Hermann
The Steel Helmet: “I’ve got a hunch we’re all going around in circles” by Kathleen Murphy
‘Run of the Arrow’: Birth Pangs of the United States by Rick Hermann
The Big Red One by Robert Horton
At last … the really ‘Big Red One’ by Richard T. Jameson
Sam Peckinpah by Sam Fuller

by Sean Axmaker, Contributors, Directors, Essays, Sam Fuller

Sam Fuller: An Introduction

Written by Sean Axmaker May 1, 2012

[originally published in the program for the Grand Illusion Sam Fuller series in 1999]

Samuel Fuller straddled two generations: he was the last of that breed of old Hollywood tough guy directors and, along with Orson Welles, one of the first independent mavericks Like Howard Hawks and Raoul Walsh and William Wellman he came from a career outside of the cinema and the arts, spending his formative years working his way up the journalism ladder from hawking papers on the street to running copy to become one of the youngest crime reporters in the US (according to him). During the depression he tramped the country and then turned back to writing, eventually publishing a handful of pulp novels and landing work writing scripts inHollywood. Soon after the bombing ofPearl Harborhe enlisted in the army, earning the Bronze Star inItaly, the Silver Star inNormandy, and the Purple Heart as member of the First Infantry Division, better known as the Big Red One (immortalized in his autobiographical 1975 film).

Fuller had lived a rough, active life before he directed his first film, I Shot Jesse James in 1949, and he brought that life into his films. Fuller’s heroes are everything from social outcasts to psychopaths, but almost all outsiders to the American dream, marginalized figures on the fringes of society. Soldiers, cops, pickpockets, prostitutes, two-bit hoods, gunmen and con men, his heroes are more ruthless than his villains because that’s what it takes two survive in this violent world. While other directors who came out of WWII made films that intently explored the grim face of battle, Fuller’s war movies were about madness and meaninglessness.

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by Richard T. Jameson, Contributors, Directors, Essays, Sam Fuller

Creature Contact

Written by Richard T. Jameson May 1, 2012

[Originally published in Movietone News 50, June 1976]

Sam Fuller visited the Seattle Film Society the weekend of May 8 and, among many other things that happened within 46-and-a-half exhilarating, excruciating, mind-boggling, adrenalin-jagging hours, he told a story about Lazslo Kovacs and The Last Movie, in which Fuller played a movie director for director-of-the-movie Dennis Hopper:

“We were shooting The Last Movie and Lazsi Kovacs was shooting the film. It was a scene where I was directing a camera in the movie, but Kovacs had the real camera, and he was shooting me and my crew shooting … you know, the kind of movie-within-a-movie thing you’ve seen hundreds of times. I’m directing my camera and we’re tracking this way and I’ve got these people and horses running down this thing—I’d said to Hopper, ‘What am I gonna direct?’ and he said, ‘Anything! You’re the director!’, so I really had these people running, it was a big scene—and all the time Kovacs is shooting us. But I’m getting this shot and I swing my camera crew around this way, and there’s Kovacs and I wave and say ‘Get your equipment out of the way!’ and he says, ‘What?’ and I say ‘Get outta there!’ So he starts moving his camera out of my way—but he’s shooting the real film, see, and when he moves his camera away he’s shooting blanks! Nothing! Somebody says, ‘What the hell are you doing? You’re supposed to be shooting this scene and you’re moving out there shooting nothing!’ And he says, ‘Well, I got excited….”

If it’s hard not to get excited with a Sam Fuller movie in front of you, it’s impossible not to get excited around Sam Fuller. Excited and engaged. Nobody is out of the scene. I showed up to meet Fuller at his hotel prepared to arrange to take him to dinner several hours later, or to comply if perchance he should say, “OK, I’ll be there to talk to the audience whenever you say, and what I do in between is my business.” Nothing remotely like that ever got said. Fuller spotted a NO CIGARS PLEASE sign on the lobby desk and carefully buried it under a stack of tourist guides. Then he and five of us piled into an elevator, an anecdote got started, and it was all over for anything else that afternoon. Within 45 minutes of meeting him I had been cast as Fritz Lang (in a comparing-pot-bellies contest—Lang and I lost), a machine gun (I fired the first shot of World War II), and a pregnant woman’s leg (that is a very complicated story…).

Guédiguian’s French Resistance, Fuller’s America and Early Corman – DVDs of the Week

Written by Sean Axmaker January 18, 2011

Army of Crime (Kino Lorber)

Don’t let the title throw you. The heroes of Robert Guédiguian’s based-on-a-true-story French war drama are not The Dirty Dozen unleashed on the Nazis but a remarkably effective resistance cell formed of French Jews, communists and immigrants—the very “undesirables” targeted by the Nazis for the camps. Guédiguian’s previous films—at least ones I’ve had the good fortune to see—have been small dramas about communities of immigrants, underemployed and outcasts that pull together and to maintain their identities. Army of Crime offers a much bigger canvas—and a setting with profound resonance—for that theme to play out, and Guédiguian invites members of his stock company to fill out major roles.

Simon Abkarian is the Armenian poet, Communist and pacifist who leaves a concentration camp with a lie and takes up arms to lead a team of members not known for following orders, Virginie Ledoyen his devoted wife and partner and Robinson Stévenin and Grégoire Leprince-Ringuet the reckless but passionate daredevil partisans under his command. Their stories play out slowly, the better to let the oppressive culture of occupied Paris (and of the widespread collaboration of police who support the racial policies, if not the authoritarian structure, of the Nazis occupation) sink in while sowing the tensions between the Communist leaders of the resistance and the non-Communist soldiers who fight for their own reasons: vengeance, defiance, love of country and the simple act of self-preservation under a regime dedicated to eradicating their existence. By the time the unit forms, you are ready for them to take the offensive, even as we know how it ends: the film opens with a spoken memorial to their sacrifice.

Directors, Film Reviews, Sam Fuller, Sam Peckinpah

Sam Peckinpah by Sam Fuller

Written by guest May 2, 2010June 15, 2020

[Originally published in Movietone News 60-61, February 1979]

When he was in Koln, Germany scouting locations for his 1972 film Dead Pigeon on Beethovenstrasse, lifelong newsman Samuel Fuller was invited by a local journal to review any recent picture that had caught his fancy. We are delighted to reprint the result of that invitation here, with the auteur’s permission.

“Water is where you find it, and you won’t find it there! “

With that simple springboard, Sam Peckinpah’s superb film of man versus men (in this case the contradictory strands of weakness and determination within Cable Hogue) is a must-see movie from WB now playing at the EI Dorado, a new moviehouse in Koln named after Howard Hawks’ sagebrush success. Unlike the lusty Hawks film or any other Western, Peckinpah’s Ballad of Cable Hogue is a sensitive, emotional, surgical job on an American desert hermit without familiar sagebrush stuffing. At times Cable Hogue’s story gnaws at one’s memory from Von Stroheim’s Greed to Huston’s Treasure of Sierra Madre—but the gnawing is short-lived because of Peckinpah’s reconstruction of the West with fiendish authenticity.

Cable Hogue is a classic because in his passion for the counter-make-believe West, its humans and inhumans, Peckinpah never varies from his obsessive desire to show you how it really was and yet never lose that cinematic touch that makes a movie a really entertaining movie. The animal behavior of Cable Hogue, brought to primate heights by Jason Robards, is quiet claw and unbared teeth—a difficult role sensitively conquered by one of the finest actors around these days.

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