Of late, Turner Classic Movies has become quite the film class, screening in rapid succession an estimable collection of documentaries--and, always, with a dozen or more movies tied in to whatever subject's being covered. In early June, when the network aired Martin Scorsese's four-hour My Voyage to Italy, the filmmaker's love letter to the Italian cinema he grew up digesting in New York, it also ran most of the movies mentioned--among them, Vittorio De Sica's The Bicycle Thief and Federico Fellini's 81/2. Behind the Action: Stuntmen in the Movies, airing now, allowed TCM to screen How the West Was Won, Bullitt and Spartacus. And, beginning this month come two dozen more gems connected to Time film critic Richard Schickel's five-part documentary series The Men Who Made the Movies, which commences July 2 (and runs each Thursday in July) with an hour-long look at the movies of callous-but-never-cynical writer-director Samuel Fuller, whose The Big Red One wasn't just referring to that soldier who got his 'nad blown off during World War II.
Actually, these docs are some 29 years old: Schickel wrote, produced and directed films about King Vidor (The Champ), Howard Hawks (The Big Sleep, His Girl Friday), George Cukor (The Philadelphia Story, Adam's Rib) and Raoul Walsh (White Heat, High Sierra) in 1973, but he was never happy with them. Though he had access to these men and their movies, tight deadlines "didn't permit the kind of patient reflection they deserved," he writes in a letter sent out with the Fuller review tape. The Fuller film, made with the director in 1989 (eight years before the crank croaked), was never even released. It languished till now, and its rewards are bountiful: Dressed all in white, waving his ever-present cigar like a baton, Fuller rants on about his movies, about the insolence of humanity, about "the s-t-o-r-y" and "the heat of the story." As a director, he enraged (especially, say, J. Edgar Hoover, who demanded he change a line in 1953's Pickup on South Street); as a subject, he engaged the camera--a one-man act, doused in piss and vinegar.
Fuller, a former crime reporter and soldier (he survived Normandy, among other battles that should have killed him), made movies about people whose outsides were tough and insides were missing. They were war movies and westerns, crime thrillers and journalism chillers--and most were dismissed the first go-round by critics and audiences who didn't get it, who mistook his scorn for heartlessness. Schickel and Fuller set straight the broken record, and in the process make you want to see all of his films; it's the best kind of infomercial, really. Fortunately, TCM devotes much of July 2 to Fuller, screening the documentary and then, in order, Shock Corridor, The Naked Kiss, Run of the Arrow, Park Row and Verboten! Tune in, lose the remote, then lose yourself; one can never get full of Fuller.