It's the imagination of originality that ("the day the world gets [more] round?" - God Bless George Harrison!) that gets the loudest ovation and the most hands clapping with an applause. The unaimlessly-multitudinous psyche'-befoggings that sketches the cipher, the imaginationist (God fobid being a little loopdeloopy, eh?!), but ekeh, the 60's produced some of the most critically-acclaim'd cheeseball flicks in history (the "horror genre" dancing to the tunes, shakin' and twistin' and shoutin' to this omnipresent upheavel), though "cheeseball" is slightly over-used like the "Let's get outta here!" quote in films (an ungorgeous nourishing?), yet I Remark, in this corpulence, the 60's-tenure to the bestest celluloid evah, evah, evah. One of those wonderful films from that said underrated Generation (or underrated "film"), is 1962's Carnival of Souls. I imagine the Looking-glass had an entirely regulated mockery, in that the "scare-factor" was at the highest peak during this Era. In this lucious-60's classic, there are quips of surrealistic-boombasticness, and the often over-looked starkness of black and white cinematography (which is quite exquisite, I'd say). No Sven Nykvist here, but even so, it's certainly noteworthy.
1966's Mister Buddwing (how many petitions must it take to release this wonderful masterpiece of a film?! [There's not even a poster available anywhere and hardly any imagery, either!]) - The begging-audience can certainly be conquered with a happy-hand of obligement from the "Production Gods" if the manifestations erupt properly. Someone release the lightning! Be Zeus for a moment, will yeh?) is another one that comes to mind (though the 'cheese-factor' in this film doesn't exist. How about sufficient entree's of tasty-desire, perhaps?). James Garner plays "a man who finds himself on a bench in Central Park with no idea of who he is. He proceeds to wander around Manhattan meeting women as he desperately tries to figure out his own identity. Based on the 1964 novel Buddwing by Evan Hunter, the evocatively shot black-and-white drama with a lively jazz musical score was written by Hunter and Dale Wasserman, and directed by Delbert Mann." (Thanks kindly, Wiki). This film is a delightful trip. From the very opening scene, you will know that you are in for quite a peculiarly-enjoyable ride! A Must-see.
I watched this film years ago (in which I was intrigued by the idea of Frank Zappa being intertwined with his short-lived cameo-magic) and the super-glue of its uncontrained existence is relentless in taking a chunk of my brain with it. Overburnedstrain of excessive-transsubmergencies! The horrible films of today will never, ever, ever, ever come close to the magic of older gems of set-aside past-years. The old paralyzing, "everything's been done" statement, somehow vibrates through the quelling lands, it would seem. I cringed (and still cringe) when I see previews for films like The Heartbreak Kid that come onto my television-screen, or if a group of people are speaking of its "greatness." Please. Someone pass me a hammer and a nail. If I could echo The Silver Apples for a brief spell: "Where do we go, I don't know," about sums up such a bubbling Yucca!
Don't confuse "cloud tracks" with actual clouds. Aren't most things deceiving? Just ask Charles Thomson Rees Wilson and his Wilson Chamber about it. However, I must now go crawl upon the cloud tracks in the sky.
Lock me in and throw away the key!