ATROCITY: THE FILMS OF COLEMAN FRANCIS

by Dr. Abner Mality



They talk about the temperature of -459 F as being "absolute zero". The lowest temperature that can be recorded, the temperature at which almost all molecular movement stops. You can go no lower.

As anybody who regularly reads Philm Phreaks understands, I've spent a lifetime trolling through the sewers of cinema, examining those pieces of celluloid excrement that others would gladly leave in the cesspit of movie history. I've sat through the inept classics of Edward D. Wood, Jr. I've cringed along with the hatefully incompetent output of Andy Milligan. I've nodded off to the motionless films of Jerry Warren. And that's just the tip of the iceberg.

But now I have reached the absolute zero of cinema. I have reached the point where I can go no lower. The point at which my mind almost ceases to function.

I have reached the films of Coleman Francis.

The reputation of Francis has grown immensely over the last ten years. He has totally eclipsed Ed Wood as the ultimate maker of "bad" movies...and rightfully so. Because I can guarantee that even Eddie's angora sweaters would wilt and shed after being exposed to Francis' brain-deadening output. Coleman Francis is an un-movie maker, a person who does not create film but uncreates it. He is a creative black hole that swallows all sound, light, motion and sanity.

His legacy comes from only three movies, each of which was so remarkably lacking in any form of recognizable technique that by itself it could have stood as a monument of mindlessness. Combined, their output hints at a cyclopean lack of talent that must be seen to be appreciated. The three atrocities are "The Beast of Yucca Flats", "The Skydivers" and "Night Train to Mundo Fine" (also known as "Red Zone Cuba").

Before we look in greater detail at the Francis Canon, let's examine the man himself. Coleman Francis was born in Oklahoma in 1919 and little is known of his background before he made his way to Hollywood sometime in the early 40's. The beefy Francis found steady if undistinguished work in a series of microscopic roles in films such as "Blondie's Reward", "She Couldn't Say No", "Twilight of the Gods", and, perhaps most famously, "This Island Earth". Francis was rarely credited for his walk-ons in these films, which some theorize may have led to resentment on his part.

Francis' "creative" side could not be restrained and in 1961, he decided to make his own films. With the help of his friend Anthony Cardoza, who worked as a welder, he was able to get "financing" to film the first of his infamous trio of films, "The Beast of Yucca Flats". Cardoza would have parts in all of Francis' films,most notably in "Night Train to Mundo Fine". The "financing" Francis got for all three of his movies combined probably couldn't buy one second of advertising time on television today.

From "The Beast of Yucca Flats", Francis went on to direct two more self-financed abominations, "The Skydivers" and "Night Train to Mundo Fine". The auteur began to develop serious health problems in the late 60's due to chronic alcoholism and obesity. He continued to play minor bit parts until his final fitting role as "Drunk" in 1970's "Beyond the Valley of the Dolls", itself a monument of trashy film. Francis died in 1973. Anthony Cardoza said he was found in the back of a station wagon parked on Vine Street with a bag over his head. Whether he was a suicide or was murdered is unknown. Causes of death were listed as "natural" and Coleman Francis' demise was as obscure as his life.

That is, until the legacy of his films suddenly began to grow and grow. Word spread amongst the underground of "psychotronic" film fans that here at last was a director whose lack of talent far surpassed Ed Wood. When "Mystery Science Theater 3000" picked all of Francis' films for their special treatment, Coleman's name really started to take off. 30 years after his death, Francis-mania was running wild!

So let us now put on our special "hazardous waste suits" and prepare to wade through the cinematic output of Mr. Coleman Francis. I warn you humanoids now, I take no responsibility for those of you who are permanently scarred and affected by watching these films!

The first of the "Trilogy of Terror" (or "Trilogy of Tedium", perhaps) was the indescribable "Beast of Yucca Flats", starring former wrestler and Ed Wood stock player Tor Johnson. If Tor was wondering if there was a B-movie hell at a level even lower than "Night of the Ghouls" or "Plan Nine From Outer Space", he got his answer here. An emphatic yes.

Watching "Beast" can be either a draining experience or a liberating one, depending on your state of mind. Approaching it as a conventional film ensures that you will sit before the screen in rapt, unbelieving horror, feeling as if your very soul and identity is being sucked out by the colorless, formless void Francis has ushered you into. Yet, if you forget such things as narrative and technique, watching the "Beast of Yucca" flats can be very soothing...a meditative journey of Zen-like proportions. Zen is a philosophy where adherents embrace the "no-mind". In the world Coleman Francis creates here, "no-movie" leads to "no-mind".

Francis could not afford travelling microphones for the filming of this movie. So when we see characters actually speaking, we do not hear their voices. Instead, Francis himself, as an omniscient narrator, fills us in on what's going on. Then, when we do hear characters speaking, we see them with their backs to us or in extreme long shots. Their voices have obviously been recorded in a studio and have an echoey, bland, robotic quality to them that is quite creepy. The disembodied dialogue between the two lost boys in the film (played by Francis' own children) in particular seem eerie in their complete disconnection from emotion.

The first inexplicable scene shows a gawky but not unattractive brunette dressing after a shower. All we can hear is a ticking clock, which gets louder and louder. Suddenly a bulky form appears and strangles the girl, who gives one of the most unconvincing death performances ever. We see her body rearranged on the bed, giving hints of unwholesome necrophilia. The credits then start. What does this scene have to do with the rest of the movie? Absolutely nothing, as far as I can tell.

The movie really opens as Joseph Javorski, "noted scientist", touches down in a prop plane on a dusty airfield in the desert Southwest. This is the hulking, bald-domed Tor Johnson. Javorski has defected to the West from behind the Iron Curtain. We are told that he has photos of a successful Russian moon shot. Those photos must be supressed at all costs, so the Kremlin sends two assassins to kill Javorksi and get the photographs.

After a laughable car chase at speeds possibly exceeding 25 miles an hour, the killers finally have wiped out the scientist's protectors and chase him into the barren desert of Yucca Flats, an atomic testing ground. This sounds a lot more exciting than it is. Francis shows extreme close-ups of men firing guns and other men falling to the ground, but never are they in the same shot and the assassins seem to be only a dozen yards away from their quarry. While the chase is going on, Narrator Francis is babbling stream of consciousness stuff like "Flag on the Moon...How did it get there?"

An atomic blast suddenly goes off, killing Javorski's pursuers. But the scientist himself is not killed. For some reason, he is reduced to a crusty-faced caveman who lumbers slowly around the desert murdering passerby. Never is the atomic explosion mentioned or referred to again. Stumbling upon a couple in broken down car, he strangles the man and apparently kills the woman as well, taking her back to his cave so he can eat her hair. Or at least that's what it looks like to me. Meanwhile, Francis tells us that he was once "Joseph Javorkski...dedicated his life to the betterment of mankind."

It's not long before two desert patrolmen are on the lookout for a murdering maniac. According to narrator Francis, both men are "caught in the wheels of progress". The idea of "progress" is addressed constantly throughout the movie and we suspect that Francis views it with great suspicion. Our two lawmen Joe and Jim are as faceless and bland as clockwork robots...utterly devoid of personality or character. Jacked up on hot coffee (coffee is another recurring motief in Francis' work), they patrol the desert like sharks looking for meat to devour. One is tempted to think that Francis is actually putting the policemen on the same level as The Beast...unthinking automatons. But then, EVERYBODY in "Beast of Yucca Flats" can be described this way.

When a family stops in the desert, the two young boys wander off into the trackless desert. They are lost even though there is a clear view in every direction for miles. The Father tries to track them in the desert, but Joe and Jim, flying in a prop plane above the rugged terrain, make him their target. Better not to take chances, I guess. Just shoot the first guy you see walking in the desert and let God sort it out. The hapless father is shot like a duck in a carnival game.

Meanwhile, the two boys continue their wandering, leading to perhaps the greatest line of narrative brilliance in the history of motion pictures: "Two young boys from the city, untouched by the whirlwind of progress, feed soda pop to thirsty pigs." The mind boggles. After giving pop to the porkers, the kids wander back out into the desert...and into the path of the lumbering Beast.

It's real hard to describe how lifeless this all looks. Coleman's vision of the desert is one of crystal clear black and white desolation, where movement is minimal and the vista swallows everything up. The two boys, played by his own sons, wander like zombies in the desert. I suspect the younger one may be blind but it is never explicitly stated. Their voices, obviously recorded in a studio, recite minimal dialogue with none of the inflection or energy a child would ordinarily use. Everybody and everything seems beaten down and ready to die. Even the Beast, once he stumbles upon the kids, seems tired, waddling slowly after his prey and shaking a big stick.

The conclusion itself seems weary and worn. Joe and Jim finally encounter the Beast. Tor gets to show his wrestling moves as he grapples with Joe on the ground. Jim shoots the Beast, though we see no blood. Apparently tired of living the life of a murdering desert monstrosity, the Beast simply gives up and waits to die. "Joseph Javorski, noted scientist," laments Francis. "Dedicated his life to the betterment of mankind."

The last scene is the most poignant and strangest of all. A young desert jack rabbit, in an apparently unscripted bit of sympathy, wanders up to the prone Beast and nuzzles the atomic mutant. The dying Beast reaches up and cuddles the furry critter before expiring. The End. A wild blare of music signals we have reached the end of this cinematic triumph.

"The Beast of Yucca Flats" MUST be seen to be fully understood. No words of mine can do it justice. The surreal, Zen-like quality of this film surpasses anything else I've seen, even the incredibly boring movies of Jerry Warren. Francis seemed determined to film the most minimalist picture possible, one that contains no characterization and barely any plot. He succeeded. Combined with his odd haiku-like narration, the movie is a triumph of entropy.

From here there was nowhere to go but up, and curiously enough, there was noticeable upward mobility with Francis' next film, "The Skydivers". Though still an incredibly awful film by almost any standard, it was definitely a step up from "The Beast of Yucca Flats" in that it featured actual characters who spoke meaningful dialogue, instead of the robot-like automatons of "Beast". Unfortunately, none of the characters in "The Skydivers" is likable in the least. They are a whining, back-stabbing bunch of hateful human beings who are drawn together by their interest in skydiving. Francis focuses with laser-like intensity on the foibles and follies of these people and, in so doing, seems to be constructing another argument for the essential worthlessness of mankind...a trait that all his movies share to some degree.

"The Skydivers" remains the most obscure and hard to find of Francis' films, even though MSTK3000 saw fit to lampoon it. I have yet to actually see the movie, but it has many characteristics of the Coleman Francis oevure...a strange obsession with coffee (characters are constantly drinking and commenting on strong java), a scene where a character on the ground is hunted from the sky, and the portrayal of women as either vacuous sex objects or evil schemers. Many of Francis' own kinks are thus revealed, in a similar way to Ed Wood's movies mentioning cross dressing and spiritualism.

During the skydiving scenes, it is obvious that the characters in freefall are different from those we see on the ground. Another detachment from reality. As in "Beast", many of the voices have a hollow, in-studio quality that further emphasizes the unreality of the scene. Although, in "The Skydivers", when people move their lips, dialogue actually emerges...a major step forward from "Beast". And, to give the devil his due, the skydiving scenes are not really badly shot at all. If Francis had a talent for shooting anything, it was scenes in the air or vast natural vistas.

One might be forgiven for thinking Francis was on the right path with "The Skydivers". True, it's a piece of shit, but the stench of this excrement was noticeably less pungent than that accompanying "The Beast of Yucca Flats". But not to worry, Coleman would backslide in a huge way with the incomprehensible "Night Train To Mundo Fine", also known as "Red Zone Cuba". For many, this movie remains the single worst film ever committed to celluloid and released to the general public. I wouldn't disagree with them strenuously, but I still think "Beast" may be Francis' worst. It's like trying to figure out if you'd rather have leprosy or AIDS.

The plot to "Night Train to Mundo Fine" is absurd but sounds like it could yield some real excitement. A motley crew of criminals and ne'er do wells is assembled by mysterious forces to participate in a clandestine attempt to overthrow and kill Cuban dictator Fidel Castro! There is potential in such a scenario. But the black hole known as Coleman Francis once again sucks all life, energy and common sense from the set-up. What we have once again is a movie with no energy and no rationality. It resembles shreds and scraps of film blowing listlessly down a dry Oklahoma gulch. Coincidentally, Oklahoma stands in for Cuba in this movie...your first clue that something is wrong.

The second clue would be John Carradine, that venerated master of cinematic hackwork, showing up and actually singing the theme song. Utilizing a croak several leagues south of Andy Devine, Carradine limply sings the folksy theme song. The elder thespian also appears as the teller of our tale. When a nosy reporter asks him about some unsavory criminals who hopped off his train several years earlier, engineer Carradine winds up unravelling the tale of the "Night Train to Mundo Fine"...

We first meet our "hero", a beefy, dull-witted ex-con named Griffin, played with sordid emptiness by none other than Coleman Francis himself. The words "hero" or "protagonist" cannot be honestly used in connection with Griffin, as he is a man with no redeeming features...even an interesting personality. Griffin does not even have enough character to be called "anti-hero"...he merely exists as Francis' own projection of moral nihilism.

Griffin hooks up with two other low-lifes and ex-convicts named Landis and Cook. Landis is played by Francis' "producer", Anthony Cardoza. These three men, having no desire or indeed ability to pursue an honest or meaningful life, set their sites on joining a mercenary band being assembled by a mysterious character named Chastain. Chastain's goal is the the invasion of Cuba and the overthrow of Fidel Castro himself.

After some bumbling around on minimalist sets, Chastain's group is broken up and our three thugs are tossed into a prison so pathetic it resembles a large outhouse. Griffin hatches a jailbreak, which explodes with all the excitement of a fitting at a shoe store, and the three are once again on the loose. All this sounds a lot more interesting than it is. In true Coleman Francis fashion, actual action and tension is kept to the barest minimum. Dialogue is combines the vacuous boredom of "Beast of Yucca Flats" with a negativity and hatefulness even more potent than "The Skydivers". The result is, you feel like your brain is being squashed into pulp by what unfolds on the screen. Brilliance or banality...you make the call.

Griffin, Landis and Cook invade a diner, kill the owner and steal his car. For no reason that is apparent, they then hop a train. This is the "Night Train to Mundo Fine" of the title. Despite being mentioned in the title, the train trip itself takes all of one minute of screen time. Nor do we see engineer John Carradine. Francis has pulled the wool over our eyes again.

It all ends with another desert chase, as the convicts are hunted from the sky by police, much as the hapless father was in "Beast of Yucca Flats". Each of the convicts dies an anticlimactic, meaningless death. They died as they lived...non-entities possessed of neither skill nor morality or charm. The end.

"Night Train to Mundo Fine" is just as much a film vacuum as "Beast of Yucca Flats", but in a different fashion. "Beast" dispensed with character and energy all together. In "Night Train", the character is there but it is all negative. The plot would seem to speak of action and excitement, but there is none to be had. I honestly think this is a deliberate move on Francis' part. "Night Train to Mundo Fine" is as dark and nihilistic as any film ever made. It is the grade-Z equivalent to Alain Resnais' arty-farty horror "Last Year at Marienbad". My associate Mort Poisson tells me there is a Greek film named "The Suspended Steps of a Stork" that might approach "Night Train" and "Beast" in ennui. I'd have to see it to believe it. I have never seen ANYTHING so minimalist or devoid of film-making acumen as these three movies of Coleman Francis.

"Night Train to Mundo Fine" was the last of Francis' films. Incredibly cheap though they were, they stll did not make enough to justify further work on Francis' part. He sank further into booze and food, winding up in more tiny parts in exploitation films before meeting his strange and untimely end. Yet the ultimate legacy of Coleman Francis is very strong indeed. Somehow, this grade-Z film-maker created movies of such moral and intellectual squalor that the greatest directors in history could not hope to emulate or surpass him.

Surely, that's got to be worth something in itself. So raise that steaming cup of Joe in honor of Coleman Francis, master of cinematic atrocity!