64 Friday, May 16, 1980

THE DETROIT JEWISH NEWS

Medveds' Golden Turkey Awards Cite Hollywood's Worst Films

"For every successful and
well-made film that re-
ceives consideration by the
Academy of Motion Picture
Arts and Sciences, there are
literally hundreds that
never make the grade.
Among them are some of the
most astonishing achieve-
ments in Hollywood history
— films so unbearably bad
that it seems hard to believe
they were ever made."
So say Michael Medved
and Harry Medved, in a vol-
ume that should, if it hasn't
already, arouse the most ex-
citing interest among film
viewers. Their book is called
"The Golden Turkey
Awards" (G.P. Putnam).
The two brothers, the col-
lectors of the films they be-
rate, suggest in the intro-
ductory comment to their
book that the "selected
gems" should receive their
proper recognition. As a
substitute for the Academy
Awards they state:
To remedy the situa-
tion we have prepared
specific awards for
specific achievements:
the worst performance
by an animal, the worst
performance by an actor
as Jesus Christ, the worst

romantic
of
lines
dialogue in movie his-
tory, and so forth." These
are the proposals for the
Golden Turkey Awards
proposed by the two
Medveds.
"The Golden Turkey
Awards" is exciting, reveal-
ing, challenging. The intro-
duction is so informative,
commencing the suggestive
laughs, unless the reader is
angered instead, that the
major portion of it romanti-
cally emphasizes the subject
of the entire Medved theme.
It reads:
"We know that our
choices will not please
everyone — least of all the
actors, producers, writers
and directors who are hon-
ored in the pages that fol-
low. We further recognize
that the number of bad films
is so enormous, and the
competition for the very
worst is so intense, that all
decisions reached here are
subject to considerable
second-guessing. Neverthe-
less, we have researched the
subject thotoughly — sit-
ting through more than
2,000 wretched films in the
last few years — and we be-
lieve that our nominees and

award winners can stand
the test of time.

"In some ways, this book
is a sequel to our previous
effort, 'The Fifty Worst
Films of All Time,' pub-
lished in 1978. We divided
the responsibilities in pre-
paring that project: Harry
did the research and suf-
fered through all the films

Harry, Michael Medved

consideration;
under
Michael did most of the
writing. Before the book's
release, Michael requested
that his name be removed
from the cover. A volume
about bad movies seemed a
mildly embarrassing proj-

ect for someone with aspira-
tions as a serious writer; be-
sides, it offered an excellent
means of making unneces-
sary enemies in the Hol-
lywood world that had just
begun using him as a
screenwriter of feature
films.
"The public response
to the first book, how-
ever, swept away such
squeamishness. It proved
that bad film fanatics
comprise a flourishing
American subculture,
and that many movie-
industry insiders are
proudly counted., among
its members.

"The obsessions of this lit-
tle known cult are easy to
understand. We have made
a fundamental observation
about numerous social situ-
ations: it's more enjoyable
for people to laugh together
over absurdities and disas-
ters than it is for them to
praise the all-time movie
greats. When fine films are
discussed, most people will
sit quietly, nodding in
agreement or scratching
their heads. When the sub-
ject turns to the immortal
turkeys, however, nearly

everyone has a strong opin-
ion and will come forward to
express it with eloquent
enthusiasm.
"Without question, this
phenomenon reflects a curi-
ous twist in the public's re-
sponse to motion pictures.
We tend to see the people
who make movies as de-
migods — larger-than-life
figures who can do 'no
wrong. Despite the demise
of the star system, the sus-
picion persists that these
Hollywood greats are better
than the rest of us. It is
therefore reassuring, as
well as amusing, to discover
that they can make horrible
mistakes just as we do.

"It is deeply satisfying to
watch, say, a Victor Mature
embarrass himself on sc-
reen; a clown is always fun-
niest if his pratfalls are un-
intentional. Watching one
of the unbelievable baddies
knowing that almost
anyone could have made a
better film, asking himself
how a piece of work so
wretched could possibly
have come about, the aver-
age citizen will resemble
that 'Dutch sailor' described
by Scott Fitzgerald at the

end of Gatsby, 'compelled
into an aesthetic contem-
plation he neither under-
stood nor desired, face to
face for the last time in his-
tory with something corn-
mensurate to his capacity
for wonder.' "
The readers will want
proof of the accusations,
and the Medveds provide
them in the list of hun-
dreds of films. "The
Worst Films Compen-
dium" is a basic contribu-
tion to caution as
where one chooses to
for entertainment.
Harry Medved, 19, is a
student at UCLA. He is the
proud owner of one of the
nation's leading collections
of Mamie. Van Doren
memorabilia. In November
1979, he served as honorary
grand marshall and master
of ceremonies for "The
World's Worst Films Festi-
val" in Ottawa, Ontario.
Michael Medved, 31, is a
graduate of Yale and an
author and screenwriter.
His books include "The
Shadow Presidents" and the
national bestseller "What
Really Happened to the
Class of '65?"

A Visitor . . . And a Guest . . . Meet Afghan Jews

By M. ARCHER

"Where is the
synagogue?" he asked the
desk clerk at the Kabul
Hotel in Afghanistan. I
could see that he was an
American Jew and in need
of help. But the hotel clerk
was completely confused
and had no idea of what he
was talking about. So, with
my big mouth, I decided to
interfere.
"I'm afraid he doesn't
know what a synagogue is,"
said I. "It so happens that I
am going to a synagogue to-
night, after which I am in-
vited to dinner by one of my
customers. I can't invite you
to dinner, but you are wel-
come to join us for worship."
There were only 50
Jewish families left in
Kabul at that time, in 1970.
The closest Western influ-
ence in Afghanistan was in
1946 after World War II,
when the Russian Jews
came down from across the
border in Bokhara. Then,
after 1950, when emigra-
tion was allowed, 4,000 left
— some for Israel, some for
Germany and some for the
United States, because
there was no other way for
their children to meet
enough other Jews to
marry.
In 1972, when I went
back to Kabul, there were
only 38 Jewish families
left. There may have been
some in Kandahar,

though I didn't meet any
there, and doubt very
much that there were.
They would have shown
up in the business I was
in — import and export of
clothing. They found it
hard to live in a Moslem
country under a despotic
ruler.
Now, there are probably
only 15 families left. With
this new regime and the re-
bellion, who knows what
will happen.
The synagogue was one
small room, with benches
around the walls, where the
older men sat cross-legged,
their heads wrapped in tur-
bans like Afghanis. The
others stood facing the ark,
intoning prayers by mem-
ory, very rapidly, not need-
ing the worn and tattered
Siddurim to remind them.
The children, boys only,
ran in and out of the room.
There were no women pre-
sent. The stranger was
given the honor of chanting
the prayers in Ashkenazi,
which was different from
their Sephardi pronuncia-
tion. The service was short
and soon over.
Our host, glad to see
another Jew, invited this
stranger to dinner also,
as well as a few more of
his friends. The stranger
was from New York, here
on business, he ex-
plained, and was saying
Kadish for his father who

had recently died in Is-
rael.
Seated around the table
for this Friday night Sab-
bath meal were about 20
people. The eldest son
helped to serve us, while the
women were busy in the
kitchen and did not sit with
us.
I was given the honor of
making the Kidush, while
the host made the "Ha Mot-
zie" with the flat bread, like.
the Arabic pitta. Then we
all began to eat, except one.
Suddenly, our host turned
to the guest from New York
and said, "You are not eat-
ing, my friend. Is there
something wrong with the
food?" There was complete
silence as everyone waited
for a reply.
"I am strictly kosher,"
said the New Yorker.
"Arid I'm afraid your
food has not been pre-
pared properly."
The host's face fell, and he
turned pale, as he said, "We
follow the laws as best we
can, as taught us by Israeli
rabbis."
"Do you kill the chicken:
with one cut from left to
right?" queried the New
Yorker.
I told him in Yiddish,
which Sephardi Jews do not
understand, "Farmakh dine
pisk," which means, "shut
up."
"I don't know, but my
son will go bring the

rabbi who is also our
shokhet. He will explain
it to you. We are only 50
Jewish families, who are
sacrificing a great deal to
keep up our Judaism in
this anti-Jewish country,
and you are telling us
that we are not keeping
up the Jewish tradi-
tions."
By now it had begun to
rain quite hard. We all sat
quietly, wordless at the
great problem before us.
Since it was the Sabbath,
the boy had to walk quite a
distance in the pouring
rain, all the way to the rab-
bi's house, dressed in his
best Sabbath clothes. Both
were drenched when they
arrived about 30 minutes
later, which seemed to us
like five hours, while the
food got cold, and the
women paced around in the
kitchen, wondering what
had happened.
"Rabbi, we have a prob-
lem," said the host. Our
guest wants to know
whether you cut the chicken
with one cut from left to
right."
"I cut it as I was taught,"
replied the rabbi-shokhet,
as he demonstrated the
movement.
"That is not right," re-
torted the New Yorker.
"My friend, the small
Jewish community here
collected enough money
to send me to Israel to
study Jewish laws, in
order to hold our group
together here. It is very
hard. I studied for a year
and learned all I could to
preserve our little group
under very trying cir-
cumstances. We are
doing all we know,"
apologized the rabbi.
At that, we all continued
our meal, including the

rabbi, who joined us. But
the New Yorker was imper-
vious to the explanation and
did not touch the food, not
even making a pretense at
eating -it.
He knew he had made a
faux pas. He felt uneasy and
tried to defend himself, as
he said, "I carry my own
canned food across the
world not to have to eat
treif."
I felt like telling him to
go back to the hotel and eat
his canned food, but I con-
trolled myself. It put a -
damper on the entire Sab-
bath, and the mitzva of in-
viting a stranger to feast on
the Sabbath had turned into
a disaster. In the teeming
market-place where he was
my interpreter, our host had
befriended me as a coun-
tryman. Now I felt respon-
sible for this debacle to his
good intentions.
We walked back to the
Kabul Hotel together in
what had now become a
steady drizzle, in silence.
I was still seething with
anger. At the entrance to
the hotel I turned to him
and said, "You are an in-
sensitive boor, and. your
manners are despicable.
I never want to see you
again," and with that I

turned and walked away
from him into the hotel.
Then I had regrets that I
had spoken to him so
harshly. Was it because his
conception of kashrut is so
different from mine?
In his estimation I am
very sacrilegious. But this
small community, where
every member is so impor-
tant because the young
leave for places where there
is a -chance to advance and
to meet other young Jews of
marriageable age, they try
so hard to retain every ves-
tige of Judaism. Then an-
other Jew comes along and
makes them feel guilty by
his criticism of their efforts,
as if they had committed
some fearful sin. And that
hurt.
My main objection was
that he had accepted the
dinner invitation. He
should have refused it and
not spoiled the joy of the
Sabbath for everyone else.
But I felt I had reprimanded
him too severely.
My heart goes out to the
few Jews remaining. Wh-- #
will happen to them no
is hard to be a Jew in Ar-
ghanistan, and even harder
now with the new govern-
ment and the Russians.

Hebrew University Scientists
Extract Energy from Rocks

JERUSALEM — A. new,
multi-purpose system for
producing energy from
bitdminous rock (oil shale)
found in large quantities in
Israel is in an advanced
stage .of development at the
Hebrew University of
Jerusalem.
The concept can also be
adapted for processing coal
for the petrochemical indus-
try. This is especially useful

in the case of Israel's largest
oil shale deposit, the Zefa-
Efe Basin, which is geo-
graphically close to large
petrochemical plants.
The process has proved to
be both technically practi-
cal and economically feasi-
ble. It is now being tested on
a larger scale, in the pilot
plant of the university's
Graduate School of Applied
Science and Technology.