Bloody-Disgusting calls Plan 9 From Outer Space “arguable one of [Ed Wood's] only ‘good’ films” [sic], but the general consensus is that it’s one of the worst films of all time. But, um, maybe the remake will be better! Motivated by no logical reason other than the fact that they could have it ready in time of a 09/09/09 release date (well, okay––it is the original’s 50th anniversary, and since the film has lapsed into the public domain a remake can be done for cheap, cheap, cheap), Darkwave Entertainment is planning “a serious-minded retelling of the original story, paying homage to the spirit of Wood’s film without resorting to camp or parody.”

As BD points out, you can watch the original Plan 9 on Google Video, but we think the only way to possibly make sense of this is to watch the above scene from Tim Burton’s masterpiece, Ed Wood. Let’s shoot this fucker!

Cory Doctrow at BoingBoing points to this scanned article from a 1933 issue of Modern Mechanix, which goes inside the Hollywood makeup studio of the era. Much of the story concentrates on how Boris Karloff (as you know, my classic horror movie hearthrob) was made up to look like Frankenstein and The Mummy, but my favorite part is the headline screencapped above.

God knows, I should have made a New Year’s Resolution that would have actually bettered my day-to-day quality of life, but instead, I made a New Year’s Resolution to become fully versed in the work of two filmmakers with whom my overall level of familiarity is, really, shameful: Pier Paulo Pasolini, and Rainer Werner Fassbinder. Because Fassbinder’s work is generally much easier to find on DVD, I’ve decided to start with him and move on to Pasolini after I’ve watched everything I can get my hands on. So as I watch his films, I’ll write about them here. I’ve made a conscious decision not to research the films before I watch them in order to offer my spontaneous impressions, so it’s probably best to look at each installment of this project as more of a close reading/viewing diary than a review, per se.

This week, I begin with The Bitter Tears of Petra Von Kant.

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Petra Von Kant (Margit Carstensen) is a “fashion designer” who spends half the day in bed meticulously adjusting her face paint and having long conversations with guests while her live-in assistant Marlene (Irm Hermann) finishes her sketches. Petra is addict-thin and a bit mannish; in the film’s first act of three (all of which take place entirely in Petra’s stifling apartment), she hides her own thin hair under a wig that’s very late-Judy Garland. Marlene has Dietrich hair and a Deitrich air, but with the face of a Marion Davies or a Clara Bow. She’s obviously slumming––she’s obviously inherently too good for housework––and from the first scene, it’s obvious that she’s chosen to be here instead of somewhere better, because there’s something about the power balance between her and Petra that Marlene likes.

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News hit the web late Friday that Maila Nurmi, the actress, model and TV host best known as Vampira, died last week at the age of 86. As always, David Hudson at GreenCine has the most comprehensive round-up of obits; I thought I’d do my part by rounding up a few video clips that demonstrate the original Goth queen’s impact on pop culture. Above, you’ll find a short clip of Vampira’s memorable appearance in Ed Wood’s Plan 9 From Outer Space. Click through the jump for Vampira minutia courtesy of Tim Burton, Glenn Danzig and more.

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This series of side-by-side comparisons of frames from various Disney films (via WIRED’s Underwire blog) is meant to show how Disney recycles frames from one 2D animated flick to another in order to save time, money and labor value.

But more impressively, it’s also solid proof of the animation factory’s tendency to recycle themes across decades. The tableau above tracks the “nubile nymph dances for plump (read: impotent) male onlookers” theme, first seen in 1937’s Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, and then resurrected 36 years later for Robin Hood. And surely there are more examples of such a scene playing out across the Disney ouevre–it’s been at least 17 years since I’ve seen it, but The Little Mermaid immediately comes to mind.

For all the films collecting dust in the Disney vault, there are really only three or four stories being told–young males, abandoned my their families, turn to nature; stubborn young women find themselves through the action of civilizing one man or a group of them; brutish men demonstrate their strength, only to later face humiliation and comeuppance. Did I miss any?

If you’re someone who takes note of advances in technology and reacts to them in some way, you’re most likely in one of two camps: the Nostalgia Camp or the Opportunity Camp. But it’s possible to have a foot in both camps, valuing the past and envisioning the future all at the same time. A somewhat recent revival of silent films with live performances is a good example.

John Brownlee of Wired recently wrote a post about this, “Filmmakers Seek Future in Past.” He says the silent film medium was pretty much killed about 80 years ago, with advances in sound recording. Now, Brownlee writes:

Prolific modern-day directors like Guy Maddin work largely in the medium of silent film to convey postmodern tales. Silent film festivals are held annually around the world: from San Francisco to Kansas, from Italy to Australia. The Chilean subways are plastered with thousands of still images, coming to life as contiguous strips of film as the trains rumble by. And numerous groups throughout the United States have been inspired to compose and perform live original scores to silent film.

Silent film has much to offer, creatively–it doesn’t have to be left in the Museum of How We Used to Make Movies. It’s true that although certain stories and messages are very difficult to communicate in a silent film, other material can be more fully and less-awkwardly communicated without sound, or at least without words. Adding a live score allows even more opportunities to communicate and convey emotion. (Check out the Alloy Orchestra, which some of the Spout team heard accompany Lonesome at Telluride last year.)

In all, I think the revival of silent films is an exciting development, especially for musicians and composers who have a whole slew of classics to pick from and play with. But will filmmakers get excited about potential new opportunities for them? And are the opportunities really new, or are they just exercises in nostalgia? Obviously, it can go in either direction, depending on the intentions and visions of the people behind the project. In terms of moving the medium forward, here’s an interesting prediction from Cherchi Usai, the director of Australia’s National Film and Sound Archive:

Curiously, it is in the ubiquitous digital advertising displays littering modern cities that Cherchi Usai sees the future of silent film, pointing to the Going Underground film festival, a weeklong event in January where silents from local filmmakers were shown in Berlin’s subways.

“Silent cinema is penetrating our lives in new, unpredictable ways,” says Cherchi Usai. “There is a paradigm shift. This is an evolution of the silent film experience into a completely different technology. And it could not have happened before.”