As a devoted "MST3K" fan, I first learned of Francis when I picked up a copy of episode #619 Red Zone Cuba. I was in love instantly. For me, Red Zone Cuba (originally titled Night Train to Mundo Fine) could easily be one of my favorite movies if I should ever get a chance to see it uncut (if anyone out there has a copy, please e-mail me, I need your help and I’m willing to pay dearly for it!). Then, my first non-MST3K’d Francis experience came when I was blessed with a screening of his incoherent-yet-entertaining Beast of Yucca Flats. Needless to say, I was in love even more.

That brings us to last night, when I finally got my hands on an uncut copy of Francis’ most digestible film, The Skydivers. Of course, I’d seen it on MST3K many times, but unlike Yucca Flats, this one seemingly didn’t offer as much of the laugh-out-loud hilarity that made it a rich experience without Mike and the bots.

Today, I stand in love with Francis even more, as Skydivers was even better without the riffing of my favorite silhouettes. It wasn’t even a case of knowing the MST3K jokes so well that I could just fill in the blanks either, I think the movie is great.

Our story begins on a sport parachuting farm, where about three people go to skydive. The skydiving – don’t you worry, there’s plenty of it – stands out as a not-so-subtle metaphor for freedom. This being Francis’ vision, he was probably exploring the freedom he was enjoying as an auteur after years of being an extra with a bad reputation in Hollywood. Beth and Harry run the skydiving ranch. Beth is played by Kevin Casey (seriously, she’s a lady); Harry is played by the notorious scene-killer Anthony Cardoza.

There were two things I noticed right away: Number one: I have a crush on Kevin Casey. I wanted to make sure you knew she’s a lady so word doesn’t get back to my wife that I’m in love with a guy named Kevin. I really can’t say why. Maybe it was her jet-black hair helmet, maybe it was the way she looked in a terribly unflattering jump suit. More likely, though, it was her sweet demeanor and strong female presence. If you’ve ever seen a Coleman Francis movie, females are rarely, if ever, shown in a positive light. Maybe Coleman was in love when he wrote the script for this one. But Casey’s silently strong portrayal of Beth carries this movie. Number two: As much as people bash Cardoza’s acting skill, he’s basically just an old-time version of TV’s beloved Ray Romano. They look like each other and they each deadpan their lines with precision. They’re both also vehicles for strong female characters. I say Cardoza, financial backing not considered, is still a boon to this movie.

Back to the plot. In the Francis world (or Francisland for MST3K fans) everybody fucks everybody else over, lying coldly all the way to the grave with guns blazing in defiance of basic human decency. That comes in to play immediately when Suzy, the movie’s lumpy-faced femme fatale, shows up because she’s having an affair with Harry. From there, a spiral of infidelity and just downright evil arrives like a tornado. Suzy’s actually with Frankie, who was fired by Harry and Beth. Harry invites old friend Joe to work for him, who immediately begins pining after Beth. Despite succumbing to a kiss, Beth remains loyal to her husband, who eventually decides he loves her too, though much of these emotional epiphanies are left for the viewer to figure out. Suzy, who still has the hots for Harry, devises a vengeful plot to kill Harry by pouring acid in his parachute on the night of a big jumping party. In the end, Frankie and Suzy are gunned down in cold blood by a posse while Francis buzzes over their heads firing at them from a plane. End of story.

That summary doesn’t even begin to explore what makes this movie a great one. First of all, Francis makes great strides from the sheer incompetence of Yucca Flats just two years earlier. Make no mistake, it’s still filmed in the despair and deceit of Francisland through and through, but it has the things that make movies go, such as characters, dialogue and, well, I suppose acting. This would have been little more than a decent melodrama without Francis’ use of an inane and whacked-out group of extras that are just there, making no attempt to move the story forward. I say that’s all right with me. The goofy Scotsman? Damn right. The apparently retarded photographer? Cool baby. Francis as a cigar-chomping spectator of them “jumpin’ fools?” Very Hitchcockian. Let’s not forget the skinny dancer, the gruff-faced lady with the gargantuan breasts, the weird-ass country bumpkin girl or the chicken-carrying hippy that “flies all the time.” Why are they there? The script says that they’re there to enjoy a skydiving party. Hollywood wisdom says that they’re just filling space. I believe that they were all friends of Francis, who was just sharing the wealth of the experience with his loved ones. Maybe the man behind the camera wasn’t so cold-hearted after all.

And what Coleman Francis movie would be complete without someone shooting at someone else from an airplane? One wonders what motive is actually behind Francis’ penchant for vigilante justice. Was he just a right-wing fanatic who wanted all criminals shot down in cold blood? Was he exercising personal demons? Or, did he just think it sounded like a thrilling way to end movie after movie after movie? Sadly, I’ll probably never know. Whatever the motive, Francis’ M.O. of gunning down characters that are logically only presumed guilty is a fitting end in his world where everybody is cold, ravenous and unfeeling. Of course, this movie does have problems. The first is just that the number of skydiving scenes is a little too much. Sure, after spending much of my life watching crappy movies in which the monster on the box was much cooler than the actual one and guarantees of terror on the box go unfulfilled, it’s nice to see a movie that delivers on what it promises. But come on, eight skydiving scenes? Cinematically, skydiving isn’t unlike scuba diving in that it’s more or less excruciating to watch. The characters don’t talk and, aside from floating around or passing a baton, nothing really happens. Aside from the first one, the last one in which Harry dies and one in the middle where a meaningless character is killed without any real point (the skydiving ranch get shut down temporarily, and though some light is made of the fact that Beth and Harry could lose the place because of it, nothing happens), the skydiving scenes bog down the movie and take away from Beth’s sympathetic plight.

This next problem isn’t really a problem for me; let’s call it an issue. Skydivers is edited incoherently and incompetently. All the classics are there: scenes in which the characters talking to each other may be in different counties, scenes in which it’s alternately day and night. There are even a few new wrinkles thrown in for good measure, such as one classic scene in which Harry saves Beth when a plane she’s taking up is shaking on the ground. The plane is moving forward for takeoff when Harry gives chase. Then, suddenly, Harry is in front of the plane, ducks under the wing and saves Beth! The fact that the scene has no meaning is just cream cheese frosting on my carrot cake. Like I said, I find the editing problems of this movie charming and at times hilarious. You may not feel the same, but I guess I’m a hedonist. If it makes you feel good, go ahead and enjoy it. IMDB lists Bob Lusby as the film’s editor, but seeing as how there’s no record of him or anything else he’s done, I suspect that Francis was actually the mad scientist at the editing machine.

The best thing about this movie, as well as Francis’ magnum opus Mundo Fine, is the passion that is apparent in every frame to me. Say what you want about Francis’ execution, but this man believed in what he was doing and gave every shred of himself to see it come to fruition. I don’t believe that Francis was in it for a paycheck – otherwise, why not just keep earning a paycheck as a Hollywood extra? I believe that Francis had a vision and he wanted the world to see it. Did it turn out the way he wanted? It’s impossible to say. However, if you take Francis’ body of work in one hand – ripe with passion, vigor and drive – and that of Hollywood fuckrag Jerry Bruckheimer – soulless, dumbass wastes of millions of dollars – Francis should win every time, and if you’re a mindless Hollywood cum-guzzler who values explosions and beautiful actors over passion, you don’t deserve Francis’ body of work. Fuck off.

Sometimes, I wish that Francis was still alive and was given the budget of a piece of Hollywood shit such as Pearl Harbor. Then, I take it back. Francis will always shine in my book, and seeing his visions in anything but the grainiest black and white just doesn’t seem right. Writing this reminds me of my favorite, although saddest, Francis story. Legend has it, Ray Dennis Steckler had just finished one of his movies when he saw his friend living without a home, unkempt and near death. As I heard it, Steckler, out of the goodness of his heart, gave Francis a tiny role in his finished movie and fronted him his salary. Steckler cast him as a bum, basically because he looked the part already and he could show up and just be there. The next day, Steckler was shocked to see that Francis had taken some of his pity salary and cleaned up, got a haircut and turned in a fine performance. That, Bruckheimers and Bays of the world, is passion for film. Take notes.

By the way, if you feel the way I do about the man, the myth Coleman Francis, you owe it to yourself to read The “Yucca” Films of Coleman Francis. Greg Woods, if you should ever read this, you are to be commended on one of my favorite articles of all time. (By the way, do you have a copy of Night Train to Mundo Fine you could borrow me?)