Five from the Fire #6 (page 2)

...So the Byron Chudnow Doberman collection is permanently incomplete, but its fourth installment won't have died in vain. I rush back inside, past the security guard - thanks for the hand, buddy! - and retrace my steps to the Romero crates. I find Night of the Living Dead, laugh at the irony of how cheap VHS cassettes of this movie used to cost five bucks a pop, and run it back like I'm Cleveland wide receiver Josh Cribbs (sadly, no relation) returning a kick for a touchdown...or Barbara being chased from the cemetery by the first of Romero's cannibalistic zombies.

On the way out this time I notice that useless guard has disappeared and the Orson Welles crates remain untouched. Great! Now I'm not going to be able to put the responsibility for saving those films on anyone else's shoulders. He couldn't have grabbed one stinking can? He was probably preoccupied with saving his stack of Sweaty Testicles Weekly.

No sooner am I out the door adding the 1968 horror classic to the pile than I'm frozen in my well-worn Adidas. A giant fucking rottweiler, who I'd somehow managed to avoid up till now, is standing directly in front of me poised to attack. "He can strike faster than a zombie," my mind can't help reminding me. Before I can even get out a "nice doggie-" the ugly bastard makes a leap for my throat. Shit - I need that throat! I instinctively pick up a can and fling it off into the distance like a frisbee. The gambit pays off... after chewing on my throat for just a few minutes, the beast relinquishes his hold on me and runs off after the shiny object. After staunching the flow of blood from my carotid artery I sort through the remaining prints to find out which one I had arbitrarily flung away. The only one missing from my quick inventory is The Amazing Dobermans. I glance over at the rottweiler to see he's gotten the can open and is ripping the film to shreds. The fact that a movie about heroic dogs just sacrificed itself to save me from a psychotic one is not lost on me. Those dobermans ARE amazing...

At this point I'm starting to think I should cash in my chips before I jeopardize any more of my acquisitions. So far I've only aided in the destruction of three films and had my throat nearly torn out. I've managed to save six excellent movies from the consuming flames. I should really wait for the professionals to get here and put out this fire. Where the hell are they anyway? This isn't even my job.

I glance over at the dog. Luckily The Amazing Dobermans is the longest of the quadrilogy, totaling 96 minutes where the other three come in under a lean 90. So he'll be eating that print for a while. I hope he realizes he's destroying the classiest one of the series, the one with Fred Astaire and Billy Barty. What a bastard.

Watching the filthy mutt eviscerate a true classic, I realize that no film deserves to be destroyed - not even overrated ones! I'm going back in for those Welles movies.

By now most of the building is engulfed in smoke. The Choice of Arms is definitely lost to time now, I hope I made the right decision there. I stumble towards the basic area of the Welles movies, trying to navigate my way to them from memory. My hands find something round and tin; my eyes strain to read the title on the top of the can. The Magnificent Seven? Shit, are all John Sturges' movies stored here too? I'll need to risk going back in to find The Great Escape, Bad Day at Black Rock, Ice Station Zebra! Then my eyes adjust and I realize it's actually The Magnificent Ambersons. That's good – if there was one I'd like to have found first it was this studio cut-and-pasted version of Welles' family drama. And wouldn't you know, underneath it is his much-loved noir Touch of Evil (the original cut, not the inferior re-release.) Sure Dennis Weaver is ridiculous, Charlton Heston is embarrassing and on the whole the movie doesn't make much sense but what would world cinema be without that famous opening crane shot? If there were only two of his movies to survive, I think, these should be the ones. Sorry Citizen Kane. To be fair, you're leaving behind a pretty strong reputation that guys like me won't be able to argue against now that nobody can ever see the movie again...

I gather the cans up under my arm but Touch of Evil slips out and rolls into the flames, igniting instantly. What the hell?! Ambersons starts to slip but I grip it intensely between my left side and armpit. Why the fuck are these cans so slick? And why do they reek of gasoline? Having lost Touch of Evil (that great Marlene Dietrich line "Your future is all used up" - gone!), I grab another title randomly off the top of the pile. It's even more greased up with gasoline than the other two – I drop it but it falls flat on its end and I'm able to carefully scoop it back into my arms and make a break for it, faintly resembling late period Orson Welles as I waddle to the exit.

I feel the heat on my back and begin to accept that this trip is probably the last I can risk without incident. Coughing a little, I let Ambersons fall to the ground and take a look at the other film I happened to escape with in place of Touch of Evil. The label's covered in soot and I get little bits of information from the label at a time. RKO 1941 and finally the title: The Gay Falcon. Nah just kidding, it's the Big One alright. By complete happenstance beyond my control I've managed to save everybody's favorite fucking movie from the fire. Happy now?

I stand there emptying ash from my lungs and contemplating this movie in my hands. I guess I like it well enough. Greg Tolland's cinematography is gorgeous and Bernard Herrmann's score is absolutely haunting. I remember how Borges called it a "metaphysical detective story," how "the detested Charles Foster Kane is a simulacrum, a chaos of appearances." I love that. But then I remember how no less than Ingmar Bergman said it was boring and called Welles "infinitely overrated." From one infinitely overrated director to another, that's pretty cold commentary.

Honestly, this is a movie marred by its seemingly incontestable reputation. If more people in the world acknowledged that it was a great movie, an intelligent and technically impressive debut for such a young writer-actor-director making his first film, as opposed to THE GREATEST MOVIE ANYBODY EVER MADE OR EVER WILL MAKE, I probably would not have a problem with this film. I'm glad I saved it.

I only have a few seconds to feel good about myself when I'm halted in my tracks. Somebody's standing over an open can labeled The Doberman Gang with a Zippo lighter, pouring lighter fluid all over it. Before I can react, he's set the print on fire. It takes about five seconds for it to become black powder. I'm so shocked that I can't even react. Another canine caper classic, cremated. "Woof." Is that the rottweiler barking? "Woof, woof." Where's that coming from? It takes me a minute to realize it's coming from me: I've become Ingemar in My Life as a Dog.

The arsonist kicks the decimated remains of the first Doberman movie to the side and turns to face me. I gesture accusingly.

"You!"

The security guard flicks the Zippo opened and closed.

The reels in my hands have become an intangible object, a non-reality. I hold it up to show him that. "This? What do you want with this?"

"Who do you think started the fire, chief? It wasn't Billy Joel, friend – that I can assure you of."

So this was all him. Motherfucker. He's lucky this wasn't the Luis Buñuel archive across town. But this? Still not cool.

"That's right," he grins. "My job is to make sure these movies stay in the warehouse. Technically, you're trying to take it out of the warehouse. Put it back."

"Some plan, genius. Why the hell didn't you just stop me from taking movies out when I first ran into the warehouse?"

"I thought for sure you'd spend your time cleaning out that Frenchie Alain Corneau's movies. What kind of elitist film geek are you anyhow? Now give me the dang movie."

"Fuck you dude, I'm turning this over to the FBI or the AFI. Not to you, in any case."

"Fine," the security guard shrugs. I start to ask what he's up to when I see he's got another open can on the ground next to him. I don't have to ask what it is: all the Doberman films were grouped together. By process of elimination I know that he's standing over the final print of The Daring Dobermans, the second and best of the entire series, with the lighter.

I look from him to the only copy of The Daring Dobermans - the only copy of ANY of the Doberman movies - left in existence. This feels like one of those Choose Your Own Adventure books. Do I turn to page 42 and save Citizen Kane? Or to page 71 to save The Daring Dobermans?** The latter film may not be THE GREATEST FILM OF ALL TIME, but it's THE GREATEST DOBERMAN CRIME MOVIE OF ALL TIME. It's the one where they rob a campaign fund, so like Kane it's got politics and everything. It's fucking great!

Don't panic, I think. Maybe I can still talk this hombre down. I adapt a Sidney Poitier-esque "important" voice.

"Look man. I know how you feel. I've gone through all sorts of emotions over this movie being burned out of existence. But braving the gripping hell inside that warehouse I came to appreciate something. The people who love this movie and blow up its historical standing out of all reasonable proportion do it out of love. I'm sure there are still people out there who saw the movie and fell in love with it on their own without foreknowledge of its cultural reverence. Thinking about it, I better understand the original critics' appreciation for the film's use of subjective camera, deep focus and overlapping dialogue. And you can see ceilings – I know people like the ceilings. Those folks who initially saw this film, a critical and commercial flop in its time, and found things about it to revisit and talk about seventy years after its release I think that stuff's important for some reason."

I can see him loosen his grip on the Zippo a little. He seems confused. "But the screenplay's just a rip-off of Preston Sturges' The Power and the Glory!"

"That's another valid point. But even D.W. Griffith liked Welles' performance." (This is the South, right? They like D.W. Griffith down here.)

"The table scene, showing the couple's estrangement from each other it's really just kind of stupid isn't it?"

I'm glad I don't have to put on an act for this guy to save The Daring Dobermans. "I've always thought so myself. But come on, how about the way he claps at the opera? I still clap like that when I see a play or a concert or something. And what about the 'Simpsons' episode with Mr. Burns and Bobo? That great episode wouldn't exist if this movie hadn't been around to inspire it!" Jesus, I'm like Clarence the angel in It's a Wonderful Life all the sudden. Will this guy help me get some wings? Some chicken wings? The Pizza Hut is right across the str –

"... that you're an idiot." He flicks the lighter again to produce a miniature version of what I just stepped out of and picks the Doberman can up with his other hand, holding it menacingly close to the flame. "Turn around and toss that movie back into the warehouse where it belongs."

The pizza hut guy executes one of those flying tackles from behind straight into the security guard's lower spine, causing him to pitch forward while his head snaps back. I can literally hear his vertebrae separating from the rest of his body, a sickening sound. But even more sickeningly, the Doberman can falls out of his grip and rolls straight back towards the entrance of the building. Horrified, I chase after it. "Stop!" the Pizza Hut employee shouts at my back - I'm in such a rush that I'm still holding Citizen Kane.

I make it about six feet into the building when the floor collapses underneath me. I grab what ground is left with my free hand and hold on for dear life. Looking over my shoulder I can see The Daring Dobermans has settled just on the edge of the gap. All I need to do is drop the movie I'd holding, grab Daring Dobermans, and pull myself up. I can't do it with Citizen Kane in my hand.

The Pizza Hut clerk tries to run in and help but the security guard has pulled out a gun and shot him in the back. At least now I can make my decision without his stupid threats factoring in. If I decide to save Citizen Kane it's going to be on my own, the choice won't be influenced by any weird Welles cult.

I think about dropping the can. It would be appropriate, right? They burn his sled at the end of the movie, it's the last shot of the film. The difference is, in the movie nobody realizes what's been lost. Everybody would know what's been taken away from the world if I let Kane go up in flames. Sure I've already gained the hatred of Philadelphia Story fans everywhere, but...

Nope - I can't do it. It's too much responsibility. And I would literally be the only person in the world to bemoan the fate of a little film called The Daring Dobermans, which has been referred to amongst other things as "pointless," "unintentionally funny" and "just plain stupid" by various critics. I don't feel that way at all, but nobody would understand. There are no options here: it would be seen as the equivolent of leaving Barak Obama to be burned alive so I could save Frank Calliendo.

I hoist myself up and turn around just in time to see the foundation surrounding the The Daring Dobermans cave in and the angry fire eat everything. I need to get out of here. It's so hot my tears evaporate before they can escape my eyes.

The warehouse comes down behind me as I step over the corpses of the pro-Kane Pizza Hut clerk and anti-Kane security guard. Was it worth this all this madness? There are so many books written about Citizen Kane you almost don't need to see the movie. I'd be willing to bet that lots of people praise it without even seeing it. And in the meantime, the entire Doberman series is gone. Guess I'll just have to accept it. The only way to stay out of trouble is to grow old, so I guess I'll concentrate on that. Maybe I'll live so long I'll forget the Doberman movies. Maybe I'll die trying.

Ah well... might as well take a look at this masterpiece I'm responsible for saving.

I pop open the can and look at the filing paper. 1973... hm. I'm no film historian, but isn't that a little late for Kane? Rating: G? Was there even a rating system when that film was released? What's going on here? Director Byron Chudnow??? It's not until I come to the beautiful title, The Daring Dobermans, that I realize the outstanding coincidence that has occurred.

What do you know? Some careless factory worker must have switched cans. I'm not surprised, considering this is the kind of warehouse to hire a pyromaniacal security guard who hates overrated classics. I guess he was successful in his bid to destroy the world's Greatest Movie, and I didn't do enough to save it.

Epilogue: What is it with Pizza Huts anyway? Why are they always storing entire filmographies next to them? Cuz at a Pizza Hut across town (you know, another town in Texas), there's another fire raging: one that endangers the ENTIRE FILMOGRAPHIES of...

Alfred Hitchcock, Bernardo Bertolucci, Billy Wilder, Charles Laughton and Rodman Flender.

Lucky another handsome, bearded bastard is enjoying his lunch there.

** What I learned from reading those books as a kid is, the higher number the page, the better chance that you'll reach a happy ending. The writers almost always saved the most ideal ending for the actual ending of the book.

Figures it'd be something like this. Can't I just enjoy my lunch in peace for once? Coming soon, in our next installment of Five from the Fire, I make my decisions and approach the most obvious and pressing dilemma: do I save Under Capricon or Leprechaun 2? Additionally, I'll address the question of whether it is more important to preserve the copious nudity of Maria Schneider, Liv Tyler or Eva Green and Michael Pitt. And will Billy Wilder or Alfred Hitchcock fans be more enraged by choices? The answers will shock and disappoint you...