tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26270324592731650002024-03-18T17:02:08.287-07:00DREAMS ARE WHAT LE CINEMA IS FOR...DEDICATED TO MOVIES THAT FUEL DREAMS AND FEED IMAGINATIONKen Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04940648971296673233noreply@blogger.comBlogger339125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2627032459273165000.post-68001909292304234402024-02-10T06:04:00.000-08:002024-02-25T15:55:11.988-08:00CASINO 1995<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigfgx4Y4WHmgSvsCqV6tk6bgqwEsvcMpa5xqGehdthRfph1Z8Mqc3XOHBcW7ZwoSUJjwcRN3TKxk_hA0ZLd2F9gBIl14JdTnXIk4bQU7Lm54QHJqWBNRP78rm9U3gIZeUmuu3rCCu-Fx68p08a41CYoR0RpxxDdTZTg4VIEW6iJt18jWlXGl_IUkolIRo/s1920/Casino-Martin-Scorsese-1995.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="816" data-original-width="1920" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigfgx4Y4WHmgSvsCqV6tk6bgqwEsvcMpa5xqGehdthRfph1Z8Mqc3XOHBcW7ZwoSUJjwcRN3TKxk_hA0ZLd2F9gBIl14JdTnXIk4bQU7Lm54QHJqWBNRP78rm9U3gIZeUmuu3rCCu-Fx68p08a41CYoR0RpxxDdTZTg4VIEW6iJt18jWlXGl_IUkolIRo/w400-h170/Casino-Martin-Scorsese-1995.png" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>A Movie Without A Hero</b></div><div><br /></div><div>I've no idea if 19th-century English novelist William Makepeace Thackeray in any way inspired Martin Scorsese's<i> Casino</i> (screenplay by Nicholas Pileggi and Martin Scorsese from Pileggi's non-fiction book <i>Casino: Love and Honor in Las Vegas</i>). But I can't imagine the notoriously cynical author of <i>The Luck of Barry Lyndon </i>(1844) and <i>Vanity Fair </i>(1887) would take issue with my updating the latter's subtitle to headline this essay on Martin Scorsese's mythic epic of misanthropy, <i>Casino; </i>an operatically grandiose fall-from-grace fable lacking in even a single virtuous character. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOrJ11QEkSfe0IOHbRCqWZpHr6nUW2GYlC0vl0sZ9xv7CbbTDvBuVMnGSrVs5hAzZiFwTlBrCww1G7DT2ZncAlK1yiOrfHDRraCkPth4AMk3-yjpe9Yqn3gVChIGxpfNk2KEacx0B6fj5gT_bsZaLvNy7Cp1cSXGJkRAG-q2qWXpMWcquB4PZ-3Dkq9cY/s1920/Robert_De_Niro_CASINO_1995.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="816" data-original-width="1920" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOrJ11QEkSfe0IOHbRCqWZpHr6nUW2GYlC0vl0sZ9xv7CbbTDvBuVMnGSrVs5hAzZiFwTlBrCww1G7DT2ZncAlK1yiOrfHDRraCkPth4AMk3-yjpe9Yqn3gVChIGxpfNk2KEacx0B6fj5gT_bsZaLvNy7Cp1cSXGJkRAG-q2qWXpMWcquB4PZ-3Dkq9cY/w400-h170/Robert_De_Niro_CASINO_1995.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Robert De Niro as Sam "Ace" Rothstein</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2E3B2F9CQM3Sfo44jBAJ7TippFT-wyTVuixkaW5uWvg5jxl7Jpl7qsIVe3DGnfe-JkVZ1I3Anqa0adXvgQutlHQMEZXqpcZ3-eqaohm0-J5MmijZtfqUBZpI7AkICh0dyC1trnoTMky0Gq_FJ-9U04wgzzGxLn5z3receqkK2X16I31qZMzh9BV34ZLo/s1919/Sharon-Stone-CASINO_1995.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="816" data-original-width="1919" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2E3B2F9CQM3Sfo44jBAJ7TippFT-wyTVuixkaW5uWvg5jxl7Jpl7qsIVe3DGnfe-JkVZ1I3Anqa0adXvgQutlHQMEZXqpcZ3-eqaohm0-J5MmijZtfqUBZpI7AkICh0dyC1trnoTMky0Gq_FJ-9U04wgzzGxLn5z3receqkK2X16I31qZMzh9BV34ZLo/w400-h170/Sharon-Stone-CASINO_1995.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sharon Stone as Ginger McKenna</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh21O20NTQd-QmPVWibAawlr3QHOCK_XC6w6_x93kZ0Dxac8mvW7gIZf6_tN1yTGtmcrzEbW9rPaGMgPwC5VLLG0c8qlj2CUM99D_zFy797L6xb0wiLvtndbVLNbFA_a-qjemP0w0w6c7eEUyGuB64E-QzkFn7VwKfCXlT35-rPJlVC7b5_yISD_FOsO1g/s1919/Joe-Pesci-Casino-1995%20(2).JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="816" data-original-width="1919" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh21O20NTQd-QmPVWibAawlr3QHOCK_XC6w6_x93kZ0Dxac8mvW7gIZf6_tN1yTGtmcrzEbW9rPaGMgPwC5VLLG0c8qlj2CUM99D_zFy797L6xb0wiLvtndbVLNbFA_a-qjemP0w0w6c7eEUyGuB64E-QzkFn7VwKfCXlT35-rPJlVC7b5_yISD_FOsO1g/w400-h170/Joe-Pesci-Casino-1995%20(2).JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Joe Pesci as Nicky Santoro</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBThvFa_quu5RQkHCLoCQjS03WalOkK_XCyE3S65lvNbofuPFq6GrwabVgkamvmYqPaAO6y5UVS3vfuUoK69JL3NlAQzktIUhm81m_0IXb00Tf3A0l-rSZf7Mmveew1atRlgH_fiMDBNdTgZslRQXO0xwVrRjJlCFSuKj_VzajodvM-q40VmdaUKqg5bQ/s1920/James-Woods-CASINO-1995%20(2).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="816" data-original-width="1920" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBThvFa_quu5RQkHCLoCQjS03WalOkK_XCyE3S65lvNbofuPFq6GrwabVgkamvmYqPaAO6y5UVS3vfuUoK69JL3NlAQzktIUhm81m_0IXb00Tf3A0l-rSZf7Mmveew1atRlgH_fiMDBNdTgZslRQXO0xwVrRjJlCFSuKj_VzajodvM-q40VmdaUKqg5bQ/w400-h170/James-Woods-CASINO-1995%20(2).jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">James Woods as Lester Diamond</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioHDZpSPLrNdYGejUCapCRRi-mQIgQXs5NnsXsgmWo6SHS-zN6Cmd4YmznkRNHoEYWPjq8AF4zJoJkmcO3Foa9rxhSero1sTe9STvbGgSZb-wjHOfVmLEltMdUvBcn8DooSbmCSIQhDcEKQQYtYkBIZDooESKNmciL84QySVIaIWHBJa422j4jddMj_84/s1920/Alan-King-CASINO-1995.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="816" data-original-width="1920" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioHDZpSPLrNdYGejUCapCRRi-mQIgQXs5NnsXsgmWo6SHS-zN6Cmd4YmznkRNHoEYWPjq8AF4zJoJkmcO3Foa9rxhSero1sTe9STvbGgSZb-wjHOfVmLEltMdUvBcn8DooSbmCSIQhDcEKQQYtYkBIZDooESKNmciL84QySVIaIWHBJa422j4jddMj_84/w400-h170/Alan-King-CASINO-1995.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alan King as Andy Stone</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0G_pfoW0bFoAcFc2zp5N6wDpA_EzFxaTT5n8BEDtse5FNJqvO6PFHoq8r-kslLiZG6NhBK4ZEGblwFQqDOdMgO5iK4BLfYUrTMiE8FDkWX3DSwJClTV1Q8t-UhXHjxjBVBwmE6P5mUO62AbBFqqku4RcnJ_38ylPZunzbqHOY1jkLPTClucjFZiNyzhc/s1920/Don-Rickles-Casino-1995%20(2).png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="816" data-original-width="1920" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0G_pfoW0bFoAcFc2zp5N6wDpA_EzFxaTT5n8BEDtse5FNJqvO6PFHoq8r-kslLiZG6NhBK4ZEGblwFQqDOdMgO5iK4BLfYUrTMiE8FDkWX3DSwJClTV1Q8t-UhXHjxjBVBwmE6P5mUO62AbBFqqku4RcnJ_38ylPZunzbqHOY1jkLPTClucjFZiNyzhc/w400-h170/Don-Rickles-Casino-1995%20(2).png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don Rickles as Billy Sherbert</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><div><div>Based on a true story and shot in a lacquered, color-saturated style befitting the over-the-top, tacky opulence of its '70s-era Las Vegas setting, Martin Scorsese's<i> Casino</i> is mobster neo-noir (neon-noir?) on an operatic scale. </div><div>A sprawling, blood-soaked, true-crime chronicle of the days of Mafia-ruled Las Vegas, <i>Casino</i> dramatizes a period in history when Sin City was still a slightly shady, post-Rat Pack, strictly-adults playground (no kid-friendly thrill rides), and the casinos served as the perfect false fronts of legitimacy for the Syndicate's meticulously planned and carried out money-skimming operations. </div><div>As Mob films go, <i>Casino</i> doesn't cover much new ground (especially if you've seen <i>Goodfellas</i>), but as the saying goes, it's not the tale; it's in the telling. </div><div>And from <i>Casino</i>'s nearly three-hour running time, ten-year narrative span (1973 to 1983), prodigious body count tally (upwards of 24), and cast of over 100 speaking parts, all sporting more eye-popping retro costumes and hairstyles than a Cher retrospective; the telling is a clear case of form meeting function. <i>Casino </i>is the gangster movie recontextualized as a Paradise Lost parable advocating that you can take the wiseguy out of the mean streets, but you can't take the hood out of the hoodlum. </div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy8NfsuXnzmh7a6Z7z0MsFQ-UmsVWMWerGUwe3bnDORgPmhcMlK7tG4M4oeZNJxjXYlf8EqM2c51pCT-qIobXcDROcA2rr0Ns47GJtffWYYm2_7GiAMZMofC3ivjruAhcG7q9YiitIg4nEHB1xrsc7Z9f88yofYVzuGsl7Zv2lQQJTASwgpY6eiPcnKhg/s1920/CASINO-Tangiers-1995-Martin-Scorsese-Las-Vegas.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="816" data-original-width="1920" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy8NfsuXnzmh7a6Z7z0MsFQ-UmsVWMWerGUwe3bnDORgPmhcMlK7tG4M4oeZNJxjXYlf8EqM2c51pCT-qIobXcDROcA2rr0Ns47GJtffWYYm2_7GiAMZMofC3ivjruAhcG7q9YiitIg4nEHB1xrsc7Z9f88yofYVzuGsl7Zv2lQQJTASwgpY6eiPcnKhg/w400-h170/CASINO-Tangiers-1995-Martin-Scorsese-Las-Vegas.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">The paradox of Las Vegas has always been that it's a city built on games of chance</div><div style="text-align: center;"> that stays profitable by making sure absolutely nothing is left to chance.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div><div><i>Casino</i> kicks off with a (literally) explosive pre-credits sequence that hurls the audience and the just-seconds-old movie into "whodunit" territory with an abruptness of violence we'll come to learn is something of a <i>Casino </i>leitmotif. As an exercise in cinema economy, it's a killer of an opening (heh -heh) that instantly creates tension, disrupts the viewer's equilibrium (you're on guard against the unexpected before you've even had time to develop expectations), and establishes the basis for <i>Casino</i>'s told-in-flashback structure and running voiceover narration.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR3T1B4pzqUYoVfau4AJhm0-RuDkZhzEtGNPqpFA98Vh2hcGkE4zRZ6Tpg8EOH8y0stYExjxappYQDNhUe4TTig5LHmgmvAAK8aY-enHwaNl7XM7VXfrFjyqZGSjScNLfuwZCWrScf8d0MLgrQ4Tc_zItySP9RoVBm_D907XSjSzJLDt-ovdIgjg1E1F4/s1920/Joe-Pesci-Robert-De-Niro-CASINO-1995%20(3).png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="816" data-original-width="1920" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR3T1B4pzqUYoVfau4AJhm0-RuDkZhzEtGNPqpFA98Vh2hcGkE4zRZ6Tpg8EOH8y0stYExjxappYQDNhUe4TTig5LHmgmvAAK8aY-enHwaNl7XM7VXfrFjyqZGSjScNLfuwZCWrScf8d0MLgrQ4Tc_zItySP9RoVBm_D907XSjSzJLDt-ovdIgjg1E1F4/w400-h170/Joe-Pesci-Robert-De-Niro-CASINO-1995%20(3).png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Duel in the Sun</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">Said voiceover duties are shared (in often amusingly contradictory and self-serving narrative perspectives) by childhood pals Sam "Ace" Rothstein (sports handicapper) and Nicky Santoro (protection racket). A pair of Midwest Mafia golden boys granted (temporarily, as it turns out) the Keys to the Kingdom, and for Ace, an ill-omened stab at absolution through love (enter, traffic-stopping Vegas hustler Ginger McKenna).</div></div><div><br /></div><div>For all that I love about <i>Casino</i>—and I am indeed crazy about this flick...exhilarating and ambitious, it's precisely the kind of movie that reminds me why I fell in love with movies in the first place—the main reason it ranks #1 as both my favorite and most re-watched of Scorsese films, is the toxic trio of characters at its center. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCv_SBy2egg8zX46rEQfeQZHj9S8aQMHiL83Cswnpa9eIz8FOApjjAutv6YGwlSu5KEE9M5paw19pYvb2WKnHATlPyC2io62sFSESw4FEA_uih37lcfc3sgZfdTMdu1eExdjbaiIZa2aMwAuhUMOY4F6GLpiGvaIoET9U8Bf5f1FxUmpSZj6fC6NCjESc/s1495/CASINO-De-Niro-Stone-Pesci-1995.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="703" data-original-width="1495" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCv_SBy2egg8zX46rEQfeQZHj9S8aQMHiL83Cswnpa9eIz8FOApjjAutv6YGwlSu5KEE9M5paw19pYvb2WKnHATlPyC2io62sFSESw4FEA_uih37lcfc3sgZfdTMdu1eExdjbaiIZa2aMwAuhUMOY4F6GLpiGvaIoET9U8Bf5f1FxUmpSZj6fC6NCjESc/w400-h188/CASINO-De-Niro-Stone-Pesci-1995.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>An Ace, A Queen, and A Joker</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="font-style: italic; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>"It should'a been perfect. I mean, he had me, Nicky Santoro, his best friend, watching his ass. </i></span></b></div><div style="font-style: italic; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>And he had Ginger, the woman he loved, on his arm, But in the end, we fucked it all up."</i></span></b></div><div style="font-style: italic; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Anyone familiar with this blog is aware that I have a fondness for - as I once described it: <i>"Movies about neurotic characters in mutually dependent relationships, each harboring barely-suppressed hostilities and resentments, yet forced by circumstance to interact"</i> (e.g., <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2012/10/carnage-2011.html" target="_blank">Carnage</a></i>, <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/10/whos-afraid-of-virginia-woolf-1966.html" target="_blank">Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?</a></i>, <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/01/closer-2004.html" target="_blank">Closer</a></i>, <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2018/07/a-delicate-balance-1973.html" target="_blank">A Delicate Balance</a></i>). </div><div style="text-align: left;">So it should come as no surprise that I find the positively electric De Niro-Stone-Pesci/Ace-Ginger-Nicky dynamic of dysfunction the most compelling thing about <i>Casino. </i>No matter how big the film gets, the human scale always towers far above it. Scorsese, the master of the intimate epic, keeps the emotional drama center stage, while the actors somehow pull off the miraculous feat of humanizing these reprehensible characters without glorifying them. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrN2q_OVJzO_icvET8upI-EEud27HSbu5T4Do-VkUhxcqN05UR77sx1PDrgGDwfKY47mGwf5SG9FD4GGA9_MK7LTeR-DOFCSd_DvKU7zc9wT0HvfgOPuUs9BRdx-OG9S_rGkilCWOR5FLNUQvL30oDtTppSMOgPcwynAXj11dvRh1QaURSEMJAd75WzsI/s1549/Frank-Vincent-Kevin-Pollak-L-Q-Jones-Dick-Smothers-CASINO-1995.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1160" data-original-width="1549" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrN2q_OVJzO_icvET8upI-EEud27HSbu5T4Do-VkUhxcqN05UR77sx1PDrgGDwfKY47mGwf5SG9FD4GGA9_MK7LTeR-DOFCSd_DvKU7zc9wT0HvfgOPuUs9BRdx-OG9S_rGkilCWOR5FLNUQvL30oDtTppSMOgPcwynAXj11dvRh1QaURSEMJAd75WzsI/w400-h300/Frank-Vincent-Kevin-Pollak-L-Q-Jones-Dick-Smothers-CASINO-1995.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>ROGUES GALLERY</b><br />Clockwise from left: Frank Vincent, Kevin Pollak, Dick Smothers, and L.Q. Jones</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><div><b>WHAT I LOVE ABOUT THIS MOVIE</b></div><div>In addition to being fascinated by films about corrosive relationships, I also have a mania for movies about ostensibly "foolproof" schemes that go calamitously wrong (e.g., <i>The Killing</i> -1956, <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2019/02/a-simple-plan-1998.html" target="_blank">A Simple Plan</a></i> - 1998, and <i>Before the Devil Knows You're Dead</i> - 2007). Perhaps it's because I've always been somewhat allergic to the self-aggrandizing side of the "hero myth" in American movies (one of the main reasons I've never cared for Westerns, war movies, or sports films); or maybe because real-life keeps offering daily confirmation that America's staunchest and most noble institutions are no match for America's simpletons. </div><div>Whatever the reason (and it could be as simple as me relishing the tenets of film noir), I remain captivated by films that dramatize this almost biblical sociopsychological truth: There is no paradise so abundant, answered prayer so fulfilling, utopia so ideal, or technological advancement so life-changing that humans can't ultimately find a way to fuck it up.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSIVNZpw34MvAEg_BKCOGaAtMtYMcDhVj2h3FpovL26KTnp_YutbWx3Mxb0wa5qpl4xPj-L7jis9fTaSlEeFuqAYTwo4NiMOLJEHw6ewQT0I0tIkJ9lwj5VwWuLtwHZgylbIxCThc7VPt40h3zO-b6Pp6eLlnAYggQq4CvuqQOmymHZ71E1NRkFM8HcBE/s1920/Robert-De-Niro-CASINO-1995%20(14).png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="816" data-original-width="1920" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSIVNZpw34MvAEg_BKCOGaAtMtYMcDhVj2h3FpovL26KTnp_YutbWx3Mxb0wa5qpl4xPj-L7jis9fTaSlEeFuqAYTwo4NiMOLJEHw6ewQT0I0tIkJ9lwj5VwWuLtwHZgylbIxCThc7VPt40h3zO-b6Pp6eLlnAYggQq4CvuqQOmymHZ71E1NRkFM8HcBE/w400-h170/Robert-De-Niro-CASINO-1995%20(14).png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Las Vegas as American Metaphor<br />Devoted to upholding the illusion of fairness while knowing absolutely everything is rigged</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Although I liked Scorsese's <i>Goodfellas </i>(1990) a great deal, I'm one of the few (only?) who finds <i>Casino</i> to be the superior film. In melding two of my favorite movie subgenres (dysfunctional relationships/things spiraling out of control), <i>Casino </i>plays less like a gangster film to me and more like a conflict of human nature melodrama. And that's a win.</div><div>What's most dramatically compelling to me is how the characters in <i>Casino </i>are handed a Syndicate Shangri-La, yet they can’t get out of the way of their own egos, jealousies, and weaknesses long enough to make it work. In this, <i>Casino</i> has always felt a bit to me like the coin flip-side to Bob Rafelson's <i>The King of Marvin Gardens</i> (1972)…both films share a very late-‘70s, nihilistic sensibility in their attitude towards dreams, dreamers who fly too close to the sun, and the perils of mere mortals thinking they can play fast and loose with The Fates.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCXA-3EW4uKCKGE6FQfvNHje6mEsHiSZE8vrK_xImavbgc1_x7r90NfawtMchlkG8B_Ir31ZeN8_Mz4mPXz1N5lF64xnUIPtjrFqDTx9Mxg6-1JGOf8ekxKsK6YKBUywyBrAvv3Cpr4nb6E4QAHeBzaS2PR2h164nEODdXeSisGx5bUnXPh4zPB8pQai0/s1920/CASINO-Elaine-Bass-Saul-Bass-Martin-Scorsese-1995.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="816" data-original-width="1920" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCXA-3EW4uKCKGE6FQfvNHje6mEsHiSZE8vrK_xImavbgc1_x7r90NfawtMchlkG8B_Ir31ZeN8_Mz4mPXz1N5lF64xnUIPtjrFqDTx9Mxg6-1JGOf8ekxKsK6YKBUywyBrAvv3Cpr4nb6E4QAHeBzaS2PR2h164nEODdXeSisGx5bUnXPh4zPB8pQai0/w400-h170/CASINO-Elaine-Bass-Saul-Bass-Martin-Scorsese-1995.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">"Beautiful title sequence of our lead character falling slowly into hell."</span><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Editor Thelma Schoonmaker on <i>Casino</i>'s titles designed by Elaine & Saul Bass</span><i> </i></span></div></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Religion almost always serves a function in Scorsese's films. <i>Casino's</i> themes reference Christian mythology. Specifically the notion of sin and absolution. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><b>THE STUFF OF FANTASY</b></div></div><div><div>Scorsese is such a gifted visual storyteller. Early in <i>Casino</i>, we're treated to an aerial nighttime view of Las Vegas—an isolated, neon-lit island in a vast sea of darkness—that succinctly captures the precise appeal this desert metropolis holds for Midwest mobsters: no neighbors.</div><div>Set smack in the middle of nowhere, Las Vegas is presented as a place apart. A world unto itself. An uncharted frontier where laws (and hands) can be broken, and ordinary rules of behavior simply don't come into play. No wonder Ace Rothstein calls it a gangster's <i>"Paradise on earth."</i></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVrhgruc1COixHGOcqKq_UOnTT3k-oo0cLugptuIpbm4FSgvEaMruRkIwr3JWytUFFCj3IFhhgt_USYyc8WeHF7CHp-hhs5JjL-3YrxGcIXVjOjG3aG-VMbMfO4UkM2kbzbqGpPOk0iJo6eUgYXxJJN3j3TomNXLmUHcfoxZKfBt45RR4p7g4TC8N3GGk/s1919/Robert-De-Niro-Smoking-CASINO-1995%20(1).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="816" data-original-width="1919" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVrhgruc1COixHGOcqKq_UOnTT3k-oo0cLugptuIpbm4FSgvEaMruRkIwr3JWytUFFCj3IFhhgt_USYyc8WeHF7CHp-hhs5JjL-3YrxGcIXVjOjG3aG-VMbMfO4UkM2kbzbqGpPOk0iJo6eUgYXxJJN3j3TomNXLmUHcfoxZKfBt45RR4p7g4TC8N3GGk/w400-h170/Robert-De-Niro-Smoking-CASINO-1995%20(1).JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">While voiceover narration informs us that Vegas was wide open for guys like Ace and Nicky, <i>Casino</i>'s visuals tell another story. The world of gambling casinos is a darkness-shrouded time/space limbo devoid of clocks or windows, illuminated exclusively by ceilings of neon suns and electric stars. Scorsese's frequent use of low-angle shots makes these ceilings look oppressive and looming, the casinos, closed-in and claustrophobic. Ace and Nicky like to think of themselves as free agents, but with cameras everywhere and the Mob bosses regularly reported-to, they're just two wealth-cocooned street guys living in garish gilded cages. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2jE3gRrtYd0XvlBdLs46jcG0omEBVouvCNd6Aq77r80B1EKi0mGSYe1dOovzoVn_V_q6Z7rkYdNpENDe_j25-FWFsm0VfmlmTKR3ifj8nWBhoaZBWowCwkZRiMl35Xsna0fR7n8McscskuKIaKcczzbEWXWL7xQ1430i59G2DANdCl6SDmdIg2gwaahM/s1920/Sharon-Stone-Robert-De-Niro-CASINO-1995%20(4).png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="816" data-original-width="1920" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2jE3gRrtYd0XvlBdLs46jcG0omEBVouvCNd6Aq77r80B1EKi0mGSYe1dOovzoVn_V_q6Z7rkYdNpENDe_j25-FWFsm0VfmlmTKR3ifj8nWBhoaZBWowCwkZRiMl35Xsna0fR7n8McscskuKIaKcczzbEWXWL7xQ1430i59G2DANdCl6SDmdIg2gwaahM/w400-h170/Sharon-Stone-Robert-De-Niro-CASINO-1995%20(4).png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>With Plenty of Money and You</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">Scorsese's Las Vegas -an entire city done in exclamation points- is so isolated that it's not just out of touch with the rest of the world; it's out of touch with reality.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Everything from the cinematography (<i>Casino</i> has the sheen and saturated colors of a movie musical), period costuming (the '70s on steroids), and production design (gaudy glitz) to the editing (kid-in-a-candy-store jittery) reinforce a vision of Las Vegas as an oasis of overstatement. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh9wRVUwb0X9vJMpDhObwzLTaqoX5-_YkpY0D1vfaoRCDavATonenP5iuN2SCUH1d2spVhXPMTpRGmgnWL2ElH41cc9fON2NrAH8_-1BqIAzVH8KbhiTZ5x0OJlqgXGOAIDQtpr9_XCmj4D-G5ViuaOuoafnKAasIzyVru13edTquEBiVxX0_84QoONXg/s1414/Robert-De-Niro-CASINO-Costumes-1995.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1050" data-original-width="1414" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh9wRVUwb0X9vJMpDhObwzLTaqoX5-_YkpY0D1vfaoRCDavATonenP5iuN2SCUH1d2spVhXPMTpRGmgnWL2ElH41cc9fON2NrAH8_-1BqIAzVH8KbhiTZ5x0OJlqgXGOAIDQtpr9_XCmj4D-G5ViuaOuoafnKAasIzyVru13edTquEBiVxX0_84QoONXg/w400-h297/Robert-De-Niro-CASINO-Costumes-1995.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Sexy Beast<br /></b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><b>PERFORMANCES </b></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's no surprise that De Niro and Pesci are phenomenal. They exhibit the same natural, improvisational intensity and chemistry they shared in <i>Raging Bull</i> and <i>Goodfellas</i>. (Although I confess that getting used to Pesci's voiceover initially took me a while. Nowadays, I delight in Pesci's profanity-laced commentary, but the first time I saw <i>Casino</i>, it felt as though I were trapped listening to an entire film narrated by Fats, that creepy ventriloquist doll in <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2015/10/magic-1978.html" target="_blank">Magic</a></i> - 1978). </div><div style="text-align: left;">But Sharon Stone is the real revelation in <i>Casino. </i>Giving the film's only Oscar-nominated performance, Stone brings it and is not fucking around. She owns that role and slays in every scene. I'll go to my grave saying she was robbed of the Oscar that year (she lost it to Susan Sarandon in <i>Dead Man Walking</i>). </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOIHSwO6BNR4orIRbCi-tn7EjjcELFxa1szazIu3ItqT7q0AjW8b8w_XFLJipfrIEog4RnMF3JdjdCLYc4eOyWRpWT5hlYPYhhxqDCA7hMH5Iqwv52YBj0O7jxj2RIl49vNjwA14A1yf3YAuR0quqRW4AkV5ZuDS_5Qx057wuMOeiCn9ij-QBjMvh3KyU/s1919/Sharon-Stone-CASINO-1995%20(2).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="816" data-original-width="1919" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOIHSwO6BNR4orIRbCi-tn7EjjcELFxa1szazIu3ItqT7q0AjW8b8w_XFLJipfrIEog4RnMF3JdjdCLYc4eOyWRpWT5hlYPYhhxqDCA7hMH5Iqwv52YBj0O7jxj2RIl49vNjwA14A1yf3YAuR0quqRW4AkV5ZuDS_5Qx057wuMOeiCn9ij-QBjMvh3KyU/w400-h170/Sharon-Stone-CASINO-1995%20(2).JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK07a8xJZ1z1qCh338isMFFNiEcj2x1ql1LKD3Vrho1Cs2ZoucQbi9GjtIDOlnunijMOmbRdr19ermoCxWZl9vGXBqVGstBWOeRuO-A_d11_bIq7ll-vE1vA-H4dQE0xKS4HB5qeli_Ebx8NNr-Nve7_AacxqbR_myahhDplOlNaW3UhpNk4BWu-4UMPo/s1920/Sharon-Stone-Casino-1995%20(5).png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="816" data-original-width="1920" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK07a8xJZ1z1qCh338isMFFNiEcj2x1ql1LKD3Vrho1Cs2ZoucQbi9GjtIDOlnunijMOmbRdr19ermoCxWZl9vGXBqVGstBWOeRuO-A_d11_bIq7ll-vE1vA-H4dQE0xKS4HB5qeli_Ebx8NNr-Nve7_AacxqbR_myahhDplOlNaW3UhpNk4BWu-4UMPo/w400-h170/Sharon-Stone-Casino-1995%20(5).png" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Stone gives a career-best performance and damn-near steals the entire movie, inhabiting her character with both a granite toughness and raw vulnerability...her skill in conveying the latter is the very thing that makes the Ace/Ginger scenes work: if we didn't get a glimpse of the "other" Ginger that Ace falls in love with, he would simply come across as a fool. Sharon Stone has so many great moments, but one of my favorites is a scene in a hotel room with Pesci, where he's warning her to be careful around Ace. Her delivery of the line: <i>"I know. You don't have to tell me that. What do you think, I'm stupid?"</i> and the look she gives him as he leaves (She's SO not stupid) just lays me out. Stone is hands-down 75% of why <i>Casino </i>ranks so high on my favorites chart. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9m7dOppYvFEeR7Ny7qF8pYUXmQ8YOtBfksQN0QaOylSQK9tcdOGOEeqWEQboehJLAEZ11HoAEi8WiYzFhBSqGjtRFNZHS4e67rzLZDACr4Din6XXAZ23aytOyaHb1_xHYaKG1DrIC1AaxZ8e4wis36P6DhuW2vbmpgzLYLVdigNdWD8JDFSD1XBvt_uQ/s2397/Robert-De-Niro-Sharon-Stone-CASINO-1995-Martin-Scorsese.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1161" data-original-width="2397" height="194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9m7dOppYvFEeR7Ny7qF8pYUXmQ8YOtBfksQN0QaOylSQK9tcdOGOEeqWEQboehJLAEZ11HoAEi8WiYzFhBSqGjtRFNZHS4e67rzLZDACr4Din6XXAZ23aytOyaHb1_xHYaKG1DrIC1AaxZ8e4wis36P6DhuW2vbmpgzLYLVdigNdWD8JDFSD1XBvt_uQ/w400-h194/Robert-De-Niro-Sharon-Stone-CASINO-1995-Martin-Scorsese.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The Happy Couple</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">When I said that <i>Casino</i> is a story lacking in a single virtuous character, that went double for the city of Las Vegas. The film treats Las Vegas as another character in this drama. A character as bereft of a moral core as any of its flesh-and-blood castmates. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM_f5UibsMat1QBxdUm1iv1ZAu_k224oN8RxAJ3DIlOMBNWzCSBA6wqc46fnLwfma1_lbqha0mWEYsE5uzSVMwFYzUUYmuY6VjhVhPHtMQcHbZemblK5jVUtoHB0NSVCx8WQyXZZRlzSMope2m-syhEm7NcW6zn0LjbYhTRCn-WFS44r_bp1bRllPyVZs/s1920/CASINO-Robert-De-Niro-Joe-Pesci-1905.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="816" data-original-width="1920" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM_f5UibsMat1QBxdUm1iv1ZAu_k224oN8RxAJ3DIlOMBNWzCSBA6wqc46fnLwfma1_lbqha0mWEYsE5uzSVMwFYzUUYmuY6VjhVhPHtMQcHbZemblK5jVUtoHB0NSVCx8WQyXZZRlzSMope2m-syhEm7NcW6zn0LjbYhTRCn-WFS44r_bp1bRllPyVZs/w400-h170/CASINO-Robert-De-Niro-Joe-Pesci-1905.png" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><b>THE STUFF OF DREAMS</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div>My favorite directors aren't favorites because I like all of their movies. I've seen nearly every film made by Martin Scorsese; some are dreadful (<i>New York Stories</i> – 1989), some are admirably flawed (<i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/05/new-york-new-york-1977.html" target="_blank">New York, New York</a></i> – 1977), some are unforgettable (<i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2013/11/alice-doesnt-live-here-anymore-1974.html" target="_blank">Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore</a></i> – 1974), and some are even masterpieces (<i>Taxi Driver</i> – 1976). </div><div>What tends to make a filmmaker a favorite is that their love of cinema is so passionate that even their failures are fascinating. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPK5hcp3dnqGveaSmrZqjVt9qTCOzNQcie8xGzEsjZAWb-gtKPAUzHyv8-s7eEiomhCa1HEB3XIBBFIFZv6leRthlIPhg07IbjxKtYvUHSBcqKbkJmevpsjxBxYnQWPiLVs6p-_eD_8pBGfLRQ4ZZB8GRhsAMQBVi6z5Rb0GX9Rbi3r_prXMvcSzCRXSc/s1919/Robert-De-Niro-Sharon-Stone-CASINO-1995.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="819" data-original-width="1919" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPK5hcp3dnqGveaSmrZqjVt9qTCOzNQcie8xGzEsjZAWb-gtKPAUzHyv8-s7eEiomhCa1HEB3XIBBFIFZv6leRthlIPhg07IbjxKtYvUHSBcqKbkJmevpsjxBxYnQWPiLVs6p-_eD_8pBGfLRQ4ZZB8GRhsAMQBVi6z5Rb0GX9Rbi3r_prXMvcSzCRXSc/w400-h171/Robert-De-Niro-Sharon-Stone-CASINO-1995.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">With Scorsese, I always get the feeling that he respects the power of film and enjoys manipulating the tools of the medium (music, editing, camera angles, production design, costuming, casting, dialogue, story) to create authentic cinema experiences. </div><div>Which means he leaves me to discover what I feel about what I see. He trusts me to do the work to interpret the unorthodox and risky. He understands that movies are about that magical exchange between the emotion of the story, the impact of the screen images, and the relationship forged with the viewer. Scorsese is a storyteller, and the obvious delight he takes in crafting a tale and bringing me into his world is as infectious as it is intoxicating. </div><div><br /></div><div>So, on that score, Martin Scorsese is not one of those directors I can always count on to deliver a movie that I'm sure to love, but he's a director I definitely trust to deliver a movie that's about something human and real.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmRgm6UfsIi31Pq7lwmq8M4r3Bf5Wkm3_s7OwLJGAUIrhVFKmhz50YxweGEMTwbA7W_KRw1t3l_82OC-1tMLkZku2J5CHNof9ylvWYsHHlHKrVJ5Bweq1jo6IUdCeF1Gx2TJvFEK6WK503cHFi9p732GYd3n7Hf_2-LQxhyphenhyphenoHJv-rOpbtwocaf2oWCc70/s1326/Robert-De-Niro-CASINO-1995-Scorsese.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="696" data-original-width="1326" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmRgm6UfsIi31Pq7lwmq8M4r3Bf5Wkm3_s7OwLJGAUIrhVFKmhz50YxweGEMTwbA7W_KRw1t3l_82OC-1tMLkZku2J5CHNof9ylvWYsHHlHKrVJ5Bweq1jo6IUdCeF1Gx2TJvFEK6WK503cHFi9p732GYd3n7Hf_2-LQxhyphenhyphenoHJv-rOpbtwocaf2oWCc70/w400-h210/Robert-De-Niro-CASINO-1995-Scorsese.png" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Though not very well-received when released, <i>Casino</i>, nevertheless, more than any other film he's made, embodies what I most love about movies and represents what I've come to most respect and admire in Martin Scorsese as an artist and a filmmaker. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/OAy3PCq1ngE" width="320" youtube-src-id="OAy3PCq1ngE"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYEq7IlKxoIue9fzYEZg64OBI22wyiho_25K9zHeDI9UI8DT8bY6u2BaJpqZKft2DMOiiyAgBq6MP57uqMt9wIm8YsXd14eA-x7Sv_8XW6IM8lw4S_bhudJEGhRH0W6dnn_1C6C0wamUBrjfy4DiKfH-m53e_3HtKK73e_ox0b2yXu1FnoTeEZFY53Azg/s1335/CASINO%20The_Los_Angeles_Times_Wed__Nov_22__1995_.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1335" data-original-width="922" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYEq7IlKxoIue9fzYEZg64OBI22wyiho_25K9zHeDI9UI8DT8bY6u2BaJpqZKft2DMOiiyAgBq6MP57uqMt9wIm8YsXd14eA-x7Sv_8XW6IM8lw4S_bhudJEGhRH0W6dnn_1C6C0wamUBrjfy4DiKfH-m53e_3HtKK73e_ox0b2yXu1FnoTeEZFY53Azg/w276-h400/CASINO%20The_Los_Angeles_Times_Wed__Nov_22__1995_.jpg" width="276" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>CASINO opened in Los Angeles on Wednesday, November 22, 1995<br />I saw it that following Saturday at Mann's Plaza Theater in Westwood </b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div>Copyright © Ken Anderson 2009 - 2023Ken Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04940648971296673233noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2627032459273165000.post-54273647613956152902023-11-03T02:49:00.006-07:002023-12-13T15:52:33.851-08:00BACK TO THE BEACH 1987<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ3pBZAI_L6VtYoFXLYi2JQVrVw_qYXtk21m_LIPMr45nDK8M08vK_CpZ0zfFRAwimtOVeg_Gk5_ec49Gwwbh3DTdM2QK56-IpEjtfQOwOk_PB_sXz3cZNqCmveV4G7LKqNM4xXaTS-El7fP3GIpALtGgnLyt9LzYwHNMgdozubNSYR8NBE-ZAKFPeBfE/s2400/Back-To-The_Beach-Lyndall-Hobbs-1987.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1295" data-original-width="2400" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ3pBZAI_L6VtYoFXLYi2JQVrVw_qYXtk21m_LIPMr45nDK8M08vK_CpZ0zfFRAwimtOVeg_Gk5_ec49Gwwbh3DTdM2QK56-IpEjtfQOwOk_PB_sXz3cZNqCmveV4G7LKqNM4xXaTS-El7fP3GIpALtGgnLyt9LzYwHNMgdozubNSYR8NBE-ZAKFPeBfE/w400-h216/Back-To-The_Beach-Lyndall-Hobbs-1987.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><div>I've always been a huge fan of those Annette Funicello / Frankie Avalon Beach Party movies. As a staple of Saturday afternoon TV growing up, I looked forward to them for their terrific music, minimal clothing, rhythm-challenged dancers, and engagingly silly plotlines. Essentially live-action cartoons, these lowbrow, low-budget musical comedies were a great deal of mindless fun enlivened by a knowing, slapstick playfulness and an utter lack of pretension. </div><div><br /></div><div>Funnier and far more clever than they tend to get credit for, those Annette & Frankie films appealed to me because they always seemed to be in on the joke. Loaded with satirical pop culture references and characters who broke the 4th wall to address the audience, the scripts for these movies knew that they were just soggy, song-filled teen nonsense and seldom passed up an opportunity to poke fun at themselves.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiNBuaKI1DSPP960K-OyFfo7hRjUqJKeBnjVDYD2uDwy4-X27Uzzo96Y5zkRpfrw592SbjUF9-LFLFxCZthMfryyABa-_47UOC-D6KPbpVSt-x9c5YrGQY3lEnEe9EpW4f--JEDLYJFFSY_VoC3_MDWRGATeMlbVWbU1AZexU5RAJGZFWKafIts8Hpsce0" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1324" data-original-width="1952" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiNBuaKI1DSPP960K-OyFfo7hRjUqJKeBnjVDYD2uDwy4-X27Uzzo96Y5zkRpfrw592SbjUF9-LFLFxCZthMfryyABa-_47UOC-D6KPbpVSt-x9c5YrGQY3lEnEe9EpW4f--JEDLYJFFSY_VoC3_MDWRGATeMlbVWbU1AZexU5RAJGZFWKafIts8Hpsce0=w400-h271" width="400" /></a></div></div><div>Plus, for a budding cinephile like me, the bonus was having folks like Yvonne De Carlo, Buster Keaton, Elsa Lanchester, Dorothy Malone, Mickey Rooney, and Timothy Carey turn up in minor roles. </div><div><div>Even as a kid (which wouldn't have been more than a few years after these films were made), I knew that the stiff-haired, clean-cut, parent-free, all-white world of sun, sand, and surfboards these movies took place in was wholly untethered to anything resembling a recognizable reality. (Indeed, the entire Beach Party series borders on absurdist.) But as far as I was concerned, the patent artificiality of it all was just another part of what made these charmingly corny movies so endearing. </div></div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikkFMssuCcf6UIVUYscLBL7rXnBu9tZA6p1PJMSjy-Op4zXa3vbxk47XxAeyFlaPg4zw7u9zT-fIR0QFP06IdbiiV-4rsbpDZ7PHzdYtEwGGaYofzo-zc15_CfaL3HfVwJAlSIRoEe4ALkjDZZ20MP3CFUf_ZADlD2Ug0tof1f498U39LqT7QaWIGmkBk/s1919/Beach-Blanket-Bingo-Frankie-Avalon-Annette-Funicello-1965.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="824" data-original-width="1919" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikkFMssuCcf6UIVUYscLBL7rXnBu9tZA6p1PJMSjy-Op4zXa3vbxk47XxAeyFlaPg4zw7u9zT-fIR0QFP06IdbiiV-4rsbpDZ7PHzdYtEwGGaYofzo-zc15_CfaL3HfVwJAlSIRoEe4ALkjDZZ20MP3CFUf_ZADlD2Ug0tof1f498U39LqT7QaWIGmkBk/w400-h171/Beach-Blanket-Bingo-Frankie-Avalon-Annette-Funicello-1965.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span><i>"Are we the corniest couple you've ever seen, or what?|"</i></span></b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><div>In their solo movie appearances, preternaturally boyish Frankie Avalon and eternal girl-next-door Annette Funicello were charismatic as all get-out, but neither had me reaching for my dark glasses to shield me from their megawatt star quality. Annette, whom I've been in love with since her Mickey Mouse Club days, always seemed to level off at "favorite middle-school teacher in a pageant" appealing competency, while Frankie, as a solo screen presence, tended to give facetious, all-surface performances that oozed a vaguely smarmy vibe. </div><div>But together, they were beach blanket magic.</div><div><br /></div><div>There's an oft-repeated quote attributed to Katharine Hepburn relating to the onscreen chemistry of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers: <i>"He gave her class, and she gave him sex appeal."</i></div><div>I wish I could come up with something equally terse and succinct about Annette and Frankie's unique chemistry, for they were truly the heart of those Beach Party movies. They grounded the slapstick antics in something human. You liked them, you cared about them, and you were always rooting for them to end up walking off into the sunset together. </div><div>Why did Annette and Frankie click? I dunno. The best I can manage is that Frankie took some of the starch out of Annette, and Annette made Frankie come across less (to borrow a line from <i>Back to the Beach</i>): <i>"Like an Italian loan shark."</i></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDYb7I4MpCiIT-1DbyWp8KEziwxntnO9Z6QYA6hZGZsHJTLTdS4N5l7skbxIE6wJEenllZsIujOD38Xephb7OGCezEFGZskCgmnX75RRQXkeAuRwwSSo_h9bu7z9HMZdu3rBQxNHGg5fMmPJIiTOSPVwlG7jFkWMQCnjaE2Zn_2BSRWlrtFwyP43kD3ps/s1920/Back-to-the-Beach-Frankie-Avalon-Annette-Funicello-1987.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDYb7I4MpCiIT-1DbyWp8KEziwxntnO9Z6QYA6hZGZsHJTLTdS4N5l7skbxIE6wJEenllZsIujOD38Xephb7OGCezEFGZskCgmnX75RRQXkeAuRwwSSo_h9bu7z9HMZdu3rBQxNHGg5fMmPJIiTOSPVwlG7jFkWMQCnjaE2Zn_2BSRWlrtFwyP43kD3ps/w400-h225/Back-to-the-Beach-Frankie-Avalon-Annette-Funicello-1987.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Hip To Be Square</b></td></tr></tbody></table>Annette & Frankie made six Beach Party movies together, their final pairing in 1965. For many, this signaled the end of an era. But who would have guessed our suntanned sweethearts were saving the best for last? </div><div style="text-align: left;">More than two decades after they wrote their last love letters in the sand, Funicello & Avalon reteamed in what both stars have called their favorite and best Beach Party movie: <i>Back to the Beach</i>. </div><div style="text-align: left;">The debut feature film of Australian telejournalist, photographer, and short film/music video director Lyndall Hobbs, <i>Back to the Beach</i> is a candy-colored, polka-dotted slice of waggish-on-wry that good-naturedly spoofs '60s pop culture and the entire Beach Party genre. Serving up ample doses of surf, sand, songs, and silliness, <i>Back to the Beach</i> is also an affectionate tribute to its stars, who gamely and hilariously send up their own squeaky-clean images.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Bt64aFvzHRwOtnGquJ58KC5Vou0mNUe7XWYvQWDkhX--oVYMd8ZGO6tZNvduyhZxbBg2nqqdVJ_EMl9CHG-oHdcQZB9f4hDQzXF9hl2f1ypKSya1-SLVjtBcRci8h3Jywecf82OVkq1eQYRoX5xgJcsHuisKvkyRk6RelfjAW2q0AEC0niocWFQUtfk/s1920/Annette-Funicello-Back-to-the-Beach-1987.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1036" data-original-width="1920" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Bt64aFvzHRwOtnGquJ58KC5Vou0mNUe7XWYvQWDkhX--oVYMd8ZGO6tZNvduyhZxbBg2nqqdVJ_EMl9CHG-oHdcQZB9f4hDQzXF9hl2f1ypKSya1-SLVjtBcRci8h3Jywecf82OVkq1eQYRoX5xgJcsHuisKvkyRk6RelfjAW2q0AEC0niocWFQUtfk/w400-h216/Annette-Funicello-Back-to-the-Beach-1987.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Annette Funicello as Annette</b></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM8VotAofIukTzAoKTZMfLS0DQzrac8297JkvNGRyjW9YwxHvs8kbRcvcTpuByVgoMylzjrvulvxdNMFX4FrKoGh9LnCYRxuCNX4YjXS3WLyoLL5jD9FGtU6jFmZBkK6QAWs3IGGF1SDTnJTbbt9XLOGJktm2C5LgFE6qNEMGMoFGSIX_tt5oCcc99EYo/s1920/Frankie-Avalon-Back-to-the-Beach-1987.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1036" data-original-width="1920" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM8VotAofIukTzAoKTZMfLS0DQzrac8297JkvNGRyjW9YwxHvs8kbRcvcTpuByVgoMylzjrvulvxdNMFX4FrKoGh9LnCYRxuCNX4YjXS3WLyoLL5jD9FGtU6jFmZBkK6QAWs3IGGF1SDTnJTbbt9XLOGJktm2C5LgFE6qNEMGMoFGSIX_tt5oCcc99EYo/w400-h216/Frankie-Avalon-Back-to-the-Beach-1987.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Frankie Avalon as The Big Kahuna</b></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsryJj_kTTwOf3K6b9RNER89iOV371hOC35hOTACU878MTDsy3H5GknakuskXXJoaLPbL7NNZx03N67DLpP9LdKHKJNUCdvB5OkEoPJK65cs_j3YSXCNz-b67fBmF6GYWXgDa3yKLUFke8gUBQLEet62xZzHfpHhcHLvVIiKd4RV1JtAEAEpODbjcdQ3c/s1920/Connie-Stevens_Back-to-the-Beach-1987.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1036" data-original-width="1920" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsryJj_kTTwOf3K6b9RNER89iOV371hOC35hOTACU878MTDsy3H5GknakuskXXJoaLPbL7NNZx03N67DLpP9LdKHKJNUCdvB5OkEoPJK65cs_j3YSXCNz-b67fBmF6GYWXgDa3yKLUFke8gUBQLEet62xZzHfpHhcHLvVIiKd4RV1JtAEAEpODbjcdQ3c/w400-h216/Connie-Stevens_Back-to-the-Beach-1987.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Connie Stevens as Connie</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Costing more than all six Beach Party movies combined, <i>Back to the Beach</i> has Annette and Frankie recreating their singin' & surfin' screen alter egos twenty-two years after their final beach blanket kiss fade-out in 1965's <i>How to Stuff a Wild Bikini</i>. Unable to secure the rights to the characters they created in the original films (most often named Frankie & Dolores, aka " Dee Dee"), for <i>Back to the Beach</i>, Funicello goes by Annette, and Avalon's character isn't given a name at all. Billed in the credits as "Annette's Husband," Avalon is only referred to by his surfer glory days nickname, The Big Kahuna. A running gag has no one being able to get it right, calling him everything from The Big Chihuahua to The Big Caboose.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNsnmMuwp4Kewvh2-_9djyLKCwHxy7lC-y_pxdYA13vi0QXoSunVvwcXW50iMl5YCoitaGkxR00A4b7B-kqZ-Fak4pMVEo9km_fPdKNTtTI283BFlCR3y7xiidtNZmgw-lU83sSVGo8SuniDhTZRrLiRNy_GxbZCtu_aX2q4pk_XQhxVLpDxb4FvFLtuQ/s1920/Demian-Slade=Back-to-the-Beach-1987%20.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1036" data-original-width="1920" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNsnmMuwp4Kewvh2-_9djyLKCwHxy7lC-y_pxdYA13vi0QXoSunVvwcXW50iMl5YCoitaGkxR00A4b7B-kqZ-Fak4pMVEo9km_fPdKNTtTI283BFlCR3y7xiidtNZmgw-lU83sSVGo8SuniDhTZRrLiRNy_GxbZCtu_aX2q4pk_XQhxVLpDxb4FvFLtuQ/w400-h216/Demian-Slade=Back-to-the-Beach-1987%20.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Demian Slade as Bobby</b><br />Serving double duty as narrator and audience surrogate, his sarcastic asides<br /> give us permission to laugh at Frankie & Annette's outmoded, absurdly wholesome image </td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv_LZgQMUz0SetLltbM4VLDGa69thQg2Bb9gxlSL3RbpiaVKxp_GMEES47ZkN2jFlJ-4vKzkt46gPL8TQOYVbWPtEDmn-83wRuOwrzzfZNa4w8piq4r2bSYVD7WzwpDywicokCGMacssaT-UBZhbCLnsa4xzxxFFy7PkT6r_I7M9bteJ1zfqy2Yv7Q-Po/s1920/Lori-Loughlin-Tommy-Hinkley-Back-to-the-Beach-1987%20(2).JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1036" data-original-width="1920" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv_LZgQMUz0SetLltbM4VLDGa69thQg2Bb9gxlSL3RbpiaVKxp_GMEES47ZkN2jFlJ-4vKzkt46gPL8TQOYVbWPtEDmn-83wRuOwrzzfZNa4w8piq4r2bSYVD7WzwpDywicokCGMacssaT-UBZhbCLnsa4xzxxFFy7PkT6r_I7M9bteJ1zfqy2Yv7Q-Po/w400-h216/Lori-Loughlin-Tommy-Hinkley-Back-to-the-Beach-1987%20(2).JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Lori Loughlin and Tommy Hinkley as Sandi and Michael</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">Now middle-aged and married with two kids, our one-time sun-loving, fun-loving couple have moved far from the beaches of California to suburban Ohio, where they live a life of pink-hued, mid-century modern splendor. But their lives have slipped into a rut. Frankie is a stressed-out used car salesman, Annette self-medicates her middle-class ennui with obsessive shopping (mainly for Skippy Peanut Butter), and their 14-year-old son Bobby (Demian Slade) is going through a rebellious stage (punk, I think) where he dresses like Alan Arkin in <a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2013/03/wait-until-dark-1967.html" style="font-style: italic;" target="_blank">Wait Until Dark</a>.</div><div>The solution for everybody is a much-needed Hawaiian vacation, but first, a quick detour to California to visit their college-age daughter Sandi (Lori Loughlin, decades before her association with the word “college” got all icky and felonious).</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidkLout1Ry5KhzcJi4L-KcovxO0d1p6EBMMroi689Nj9E2qM5xVbQ4sLkIzbPvbCzXQutwgO6RbYK4yYmaB5aSZOfXX5X8_TimsvZyw4pchvf8WCVBcwZ65uDMeAR1456QZPVVaW9su5ZyZCb-8ev525aPjCiSspIfQ9YukZxKEf1NPagLF6tctduLfyY/s1920/Annette-Funicello-Frankie-Avalon-Back-to-the-Beach-1987.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1036" data-original-width="1920" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidkLout1Ry5KhzcJi4L-KcovxO0d1p6EBMMroi689Nj9E2qM5xVbQ4sLkIzbPvbCzXQutwgO6RbYK4yYmaB5aSZOfXX5X8_TimsvZyw4pchvf8WCVBcwZ65uDMeAR1456QZPVVaW9su5ZyZCb-8ev525aPjCiSspIfQ9YukZxKEf1NPagLF6tctduLfyY/w400-h216/Annette-Funicello-Frankie-Avalon-Back-to-the-Beach-1987.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The Friendly Skies</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div>And so, on the sunny shores of Malibu where it all began, our sand dune sweethearts of the Sixties revisit the past (old flame Connie Stevens); confront the present (their daughter did what Annette and Frankie never dared, shacked up with her fiancé); and conquer old demons (surf-phobic Frankie squares off against the Humunga Cowabunga from Down Under). </div><div>And along the way, to the rhythm of surf tunes, pajama parties, and celebrity cameos, love is rekindled, and a happy ending moral emerges: It's never too late to start creating your new "good old days," and when all is said and done, there's absolutely nothing wrong with being corny.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsOpPURpuhKFqWfvCVfF7MS3H8Q5RnkeLF63GCH0hB7EeFx8b5_4VQHz0Q1P18yvx5V9Avk4CI4WWPO-rO_21djwGNsiQHStBGgSn10Tv-byNf1jlp261XOQ8xWPstw60iKetROX_r8QGDPPB3DZyOvjm8yByqUkKTGNUHvKcb1esWLDsE1sndS6pKt4w/s1920/Annette-Funicello-Demian-slade-Frankie-Avalon-Back-to-the-Beach-1987.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1036" data-original-width="1920" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsOpPURpuhKFqWfvCVfF7MS3H8Q5RnkeLF63GCH0hB7EeFx8b5_4VQHz0Q1P18yvx5V9Avk4CI4WWPO-rO_21djwGNsiQHStBGgSn10Tv-byNf1jlp261XOQ8xWPstw60iKetROX_r8QGDPPB3DZyOvjm8yByqUkKTGNUHvKcb1esWLDsE1sndS6pKt4w/w400-h216/Annette-Funicello-Demian-slade-Frankie-Avalon-Back-to-the-Beach-1987.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>WHAT I LOVE ABOUT THIS MOVIE</b></div><div style="text-align: left;">As an unofficial Mouseketeer overenamored of '60s music, pop culture, Beach movies, and Annette Funicello, in particular, I would appear to have been the ideal demographic for <i>Back to the Beach</i>. But in truth, upon its release, I was among those who mistakenly thought they knew what to expect (i.e., something along the lines of those absolutely dreadful "nostalgia trot-out" TV-movie reunions for shows like <i>Leave It To Beaver</i> and <i>Father Knows Best</i>), so I avoided <i>Back to the Beach </i>like an oil spill. (My looss. I would have loved seeing this on the big screen.)</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq1FatvX0TiI7u4OhP9iIuz8FEs3xEa9fsdsosNwN0Kk9mYeFXCPs-MTEKQ91IRXI2idommerDqG2es7SZPRyuupAMqzx1XZ5KSkx-UfRr_rM943w1xLpZtF0WR761bZIHWLJ3NRX06Lrw2LCaQqKhI7IeKKCrNVaME9mNX2vLUj7kKFPdHGmfnF_1fJE/s1920/Joe_Holland-Back-to-the-Beach_1987.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1029" data-original-width="1920" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq1FatvX0TiI7u4OhP9iIuz8FEs3xEa9fsdsosNwN0Kk9mYeFXCPs-MTEKQ91IRXI2idommerDqG2es7SZPRyuupAMqzx1XZ5KSkx-UfRr_rM943w1xLpZtF0WR761bZIHWLJ3NRX06Lrw2LCaQqKhI7IeKKCrNVaME9mNX2vLUj7kKFPdHGmfnF_1fJE/w400-h215/Joe_Holland-Back-to-the-Beach_1987.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Joe Holland as Zed</b><br />A contemporary beach baddie to replace Eric Von Zipper<br />(the late, great Harvey Lembeck)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;">When I finally got around to seeing <i>Back to the Beach </i>on cable TV, I was overjoyed (and more than a little surprised) to discover how deftly this irresistible little gem of a movie subverted all of my expectations. Against all odds and statistical probabilities, <i>Back to the Beach </i>turned out to be this knowing, shrewdly clever, laugh-out-loud funny, musical parody of the entire Beach Party genre. A zany delight from start to finish, <i>Back to the Beach </i>somehow—without being cynical or superior—struck a tone that balanced affectionate nostalgia and mockingly self-referential humor in a manner that created a kind of comic bridge allowing folks who like Beach Party movies sincerely and those who like them ironically to both have a good time.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdkO5Hsg03uNtlBAo-g02ZRg4xCSl1h4DGJzpzAInigiETZvGbGSDutOqtQjPklXXV-M1dCCyRD5zu823gclyq8a961Bevmhshyj-BHjTcc0G6oNymHjn3Z4g3B3d69-kj8G1OJoKTgRsu7GXRL0RCGa7J5Cv6vizcaVHe_XifAAI7hmdW_7fm743BpVE/s1920/John-Calvin-Annette-Funicello-Back-to-the-Beach-1987.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1036" data-original-width="1920" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdkO5Hsg03uNtlBAo-g02ZRg4xCSl1h4DGJzpzAInigiETZvGbGSDutOqtQjPklXXV-M1dCCyRD5zu823gclyq8a961Bevmhshyj-BHjTcc0G6oNymHjn3Z4g3B3d69-kj8G1OJoKTgRsu7GXRL0RCGa7J5Cv6vizcaVHe_XifAAI7hmdW_7fm743BpVE/w400-h216/John-Calvin-Annette-Funicello-Back-to-the-Beach-1987.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>John Calvin as Troy<br />In what could be called the "Aron Kincaid" role, Calvin plays a beach lothario <br />who (in a welcome change from the traditional Beach Party fetishization <br />of the wriggling female backside) offers some equal opportunity eye candy <br />in his itsy bitsy, teenie weenie, yellow tiger-striped bikini.<br /></b></td></tr></tbody></table><br />It couldn't have been easy spoofing a genre that spent so much of its time spoofing itself (as <i>Back to the Beach'</i>s small army of 17 credited screenwriters most certainly attests), but the payoff is that the jokes--all playfully poking fun at the fashions, mores, music, and relentless cheerfulness of the Beach Party movies--are so varied in approach that they lend the film a loony exuberance. A movie ahead of its time, there's culture clash comedy that predates <i>The Brady Bunch Movie</i> (1995) and snarky riff humor of the sort that would make TVs <i>Mystery Science Theater 3000 </i>into such a hit the following year.<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFgaJZjjIAUidVYr6ynQENDd2XJeiIs2I8_hEZ3-yagNuumi6NBQndQXR1-T_J6nPs-BAX5bwIadEjxPAKq-Hhe7XPV8hlrqF1MZagVzfczTtAciXGqabqW0MM590o4mQtMsQZcpC6KBzCrURGm2eAmsgakWQeUXye2VfipSlx0rwNDzHnIFF3CnvL6Ms/s1920/Dick-Dale-Stevie-Ray-Vaughan-Back-to-the-Beach-1987.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1036" data-original-width="1920" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFgaJZjjIAUidVYr6ynQENDd2XJeiIs2I8_hEZ3-yagNuumi6NBQndQXR1-T_J6nPs-BAX5bwIadEjxPAKq-Hhe7XPV8hlrqF1MZagVzfczTtAciXGqabqW0MM590o4mQtMsQZcpC6KBzCrURGm2eAmsgakWQeUXye2VfipSlx0rwNDzHnIFF3CnvL6Ms/w400-h216/Dick-Dale-Stevie-Ray-Vaughan-Back-to-the-Beach-1987.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Guitar Legends </b><br /><b>Dick Dale ("King of the Surf Guitar") and Stevie Ray Vaughn</b><br />Dick Dale & His Del-Tones appeared in <i>Beach Party </i>and <i>Muscle Beach Party</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><b>PERFORMANCES </b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div>It has always been something of a fool's errand trying to figure out where the real Frankie and Annette began and where their images ended. While both stars made token bids at counterculture relevance in 1968 (Funicello in the psychedelic Monkees movie <i>Head</i>, Avalon in Otto Preminger's paean to LSD, <i>Skidoo</i>), by and large, the two always seemed comfortable (or resigned) to forever being linked to their screen personas.</div><div>This comfort is evident in the fun they two appear to be having skewering their own images in <i>Back to the Beach</i>. The script declares open season on everything from Frankie's helmet hair to Annette's legendarily ample figure (never in a way mean-spirited or at the cost of making them look ridiculous ), and the pair get into the spirit of the things in a way that reveals them to be good sports and possessors of a hipper sense of humor than they've been given credit for. </div><div><div>It has the cumulative effect of humanizing them, and both stars come off the best they ever have on screen. </div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVHwAdigV1a68RBJXNPxHAgnX2IKHlH3bfaYWOEwvji38cy1c94F3hbhQeH7oE0AEG4ts0McnAzxp2yM3gMe-9tvvG8rEYeRkLoYkZv40M_Kg0oPlKU-xpMKwTEU7y6f0dCESK0KdMGSjSj_1TGHjbCOVUJx-SwiJDr_opZ81qC4zTfVli_PvdCOam3BY/s1920/Back-to-the-Beach-Annette-Funicello-O.J.-Simpson-1987.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1036" data-original-width="1920" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVHwAdigV1a68RBJXNPxHAgnX2IKHlH3bfaYWOEwvji38cy1c94F3hbhQeH7oE0AEG4ts0McnAzxp2yM3gMe-9tvvG8rEYeRkLoYkZv40M_Kg0oPlKU-xpMKwTEU7y6f0dCESK0KdMGSjSj_1TGHjbCOVUJx-SwiJDr_opZ81qC4zTfVli_PvdCOam3BY/w400-h216/Back-to-the-Beach-Annette-Funicello-O.J.-Simpson-1987.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>O.J. Simpson's cameo ups <i>Back to the Beach</i>'s felon count </b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>THE STUFF OF FANTASY </b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMlnGVuj3voEERf61KkNXODVlm85EVdwkVuHzxicRG3vWEA2wYQGfiHzVOz2OjKR1LfXrMTEeRZxRg6MbiSu7WJdNzQov_0AwajLw4U1sJzdXbzaZzi7DGk9LQR_hOOOb7hmzPQ4YiLIdr3EK6RIVL8ZmXGATqsBXyMRnlcuTIzVaxsjMQ3CSj14deSXs/s1920/Dick-Dale-and-the-Deltones-Back-to-the-Beach-1987.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1036" data-original-width="1920" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMlnGVuj3voEERf61KkNXODVlm85EVdwkVuHzxicRG3vWEA2wYQGfiHzVOz2OjKR1LfXrMTEeRZxRg6MbiSu7WJdNzQov_0AwajLw4U1sJzdXbzaZzi7DGk9LQR_hOOOb7hmzPQ4YiLIdr3EK6RIVL8ZmXGATqsBXyMRnlcuTIzVaxsjMQ3CSj14deSXs/w400-h216/Dick-Dale-and-the-Deltones-Back-to-the-Beach-1987.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><b>Whatever type it is or whatever it's called, the comic sensibility </b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><b>of <i>Back to the Beach</i> is right up my alley. I love my nostalgia on wry. </b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><b>(The terrific Demian Slade has most of the best lines.)</b></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl6EozJnmSh7bXQveCwmo2Bhrc4aKg7a9uMeUxtw7lEN2U3FjKL_vY8CWrtqjNBmJpqwgTOi9DAJB28-DnVn668gIFjvOW80dWA4xLsbeqB_ALGP7cwZP1o_UsoQzaxRNOIWxZeVD_4ra6uz-6_Xq4oO-i1aHjktfg7XvkXxXQui1x6ZxuTdV8NoefUMg/s1549/Back-to-the-Beach-Bob-Denver-Alan-Hale-Don-Adams-Edd-Byrnes-Tony-Dow-Barbara-Billingsly-Jerry-Mathers-1987.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1176" data-original-width="1549" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl6EozJnmSh7bXQveCwmo2Bhrc4aKg7a9uMeUxtw7lEN2U3FjKL_vY8CWrtqjNBmJpqwgTOi9DAJB28-DnVn668gIFjvOW80dWA4xLsbeqB_ALGP7cwZP1o_UsoQzaxRNOIWxZeVD_4ra6uz-6_Xq4oO-i1aHjktfg7XvkXxXQui1x6ZxuTdV8NoefUMg/w400-h304/Back-to-the-Beach-Bob-Denver-Alan-Hale-Don-Adams-Edd-Byrnes-Tony-Dow-Barbara-Billingsly-Jerry-Mathers-1987.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Speaking of nostalgia, <i>Back to the Beach</i> is a boomer bonanza of '60s cameos. (Clockwise from top l.) Bob Denver & Alan Hale of <i>Gilligan's Island;</i> Don Adams of <i>Get Smart;</i> Tony Dow, Barbara Billingsley, & Jerry Mathers of <i>Leave it to Beaver</i>; and Edd Byrnes of <i>77 Sunset Strip.</i></b></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>THE STUFF OF DREAMS</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">What would a Beach Party movie be without music? In <i>Back to the Beach</i>, I like how the movie is a straight comedy until wound-tighter-than-mainspring Frankie drinks a Stunned Mullet at Daddy-O's and then launches into a rousing rendition of The Rivieras' "California Sun" with Connie Stevens. From then on, fun, colorful musical numbers pop up sporadically (but not nearly enough for my taste) throughout the rest of the film.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiWkSIrFPmbUtocbobb2kI2CXTDyygCL9twgWIgWTNsaX6OO0BSv2J5zMJs3qutTF6Okkk4I0v6lUKB67jhN391pq-1m6a-hiQGEeUdxx2BD6bCaM5TJZfKnuAHixrIBk3rc03eKqmDBRRK29Rgi9X03IvqNv-BTHP6Wj0ZVPvwhFwpTZFeZjcutoDXZE/s1920/Frankie-Avalon-Connie-Stevens-Back-to-the-Beach_1987.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1036" data-original-width="1920" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiWkSIrFPmbUtocbobb2kI2CXTDyygCL9twgWIgWTNsaX6OO0BSv2J5zMJs3qutTF6Okkk4I0v6lUKB67jhN391pq-1m6a-hiQGEeUdxx2BD6bCaM5TJZfKnuAHixrIBk3rc03eKqmDBRRK29Rgi9X03IvqNv-BTHP6Wj0ZVPvwhFwpTZFeZjcutoDXZE/w400-h216/Frankie-Avalon-Connie-Stevens-Back-to-the-Beach_1987.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Frankie, Connie, and Annette all had Top Ten record <br />hits during the late '50s and early '60s.</b></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhISx_lILzZP8oV7_uQghE7NAjX5dl10Qs_kaolgP2txhksNVr6fCCAHB9_DBpxkyHMPzBmas-oQYRdWXeTl-3sGYHaEKeXb22mgSISlbiOoWOZrqxV7ZQwbVZk15lgH4-bnAbC6tmMANMBeukEBQWE6Kfc_-QP5zSfJX2H9vgzs_JtoEhP-CpNMXTBxCo/s1920/Annette-Funicell-Fishbone_Back-to-the-Beach-1987.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1036" data-original-width="1920" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhISx_lILzZP8oV7_uQghE7NAjX5dl10Qs_kaolgP2txhksNVr6fCCAHB9_DBpxkyHMPzBmas-oQYRdWXeTl-3sGYHaEKeXb22mgSISlbiOoWOZrqxV7ZQwbVZk15lgH4-bnAbC6tmMANMBeukEBQWE6Kfc_-QP5zSfJX2H9vgzs_JtoEhP-CpNMXTBxCo/w400-h216/Annette-Funicell-Fishbone_Back-to-the-Beach-1987.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Annette updates her 1964 song "Jamaica Ska" with a <br />little help from alt-rock band Fishbone </b></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9FqXplvxDugJajeXXBFwICTGUxdDCAo6VYReR1YaHcX4jQf23LQjK4Q1Yf22-FtAI1sx7hczSoWrLRmnIe8Ba19ky_XX1EFk-MZh0krnvKwSPzI4uL0Vk_8ahwpfy6kj1VjhXj7S2bnjN_FZQRMp6RlwozGwvCSv9wXlWd_i63P1e-vxDOqSCSeZT6Bw/s1920/Back-to-the-Beach-Pee-Wee-Herman-1987.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1036" data-original-width="1920" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9FqXplvxDugJajeXXBFwICTGUxdDCAo6VYReR1YaHcX4jQf23LQjK4Q1Yf22-FtAI1sx7hczSoWrLRmnIe8Ba19ky_XX1EFk-MZh0krnvKwSPzI4uL0Vk_8ahwpfy6kj1VjhXj7S2bnjN_FZQRMp6RlwozGwvCSv9wXlWd_i63P1e-vxDOqSCSeZT6Bw/w400-h216/Back-to-the-Beach-Pee-Wee-Herman-1987.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Paul Reubens as Pee Wee Herman is joined by the cast to sing<br /> "Surfin' Bird." <i>Pee Wee's Playhouse </i>had only premiered the year before. <br />In 1988, Annette & Frankie were guests on the iconic <i>Pee Wee's Playhouse Christmas Special</i></b></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_bZhXVXx1J6IKdWETldsQSqmIuQy2wA22R9tR-eEEcM7syRukRoQpvl9gNzxK-V2InFMygNnS8UZ8J-9sPcyYMa-UecRinrBpSoqmEpu6J6FxOfskbxHzvsEZrQOZxGXbc4tWYcCMbBFt_ZUguvG-vuzvNnAt_jNk7rzOdlBp_-fYEQAQWhrvgDI8N1c/s1920/Tommy-Hinkley-Lori-Loughlin-Frankie-Avalon-Annette-Funicello-Connie-Stevens-Demian-Slade-Back-to-the-Beach-1987.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1036" data-original-width="1920" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_bZhXVXx1J6IKdWETldsQSqmIuQy2wA22R9tR-eEEcM7syRukRoQpvl9gNzxK-V2InFMygNnS8UZ8J-9sPcyYMa-UecRinrBpSoqmEpu6J6FxOfskbxHzvsEZrQOZxGXbc4tWYcCMbBFt_ZUguvG-vuzvNnAt_jNk7rzOdlBp_-fYEQAQWhrvgDI8N1c/w400-h216/Tommy-Hinkley-Lori-Loughlin-Frankie-Avalon-Annette-Funicello-Connie-Stevens-Demian-Slade-Back-to-the-Beach-1987.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The cast sings "Some Things Live Forever," which failed to <br />make it to the film's soundtrack LP, but became a staple of <br />Frankie & Annette's live concert "Back to the Beach Tour" 1989-1991</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I blame it on our Culture of Closure, but there is an undeniable fantasy curiosity (among Boomers, especially) about the imagined futures of fictional characters from our pop culture past. Perhaps because these characters represented such wildly idealized visions of American life, gender roles, and traditional (conservative) values, pursuing the "Whatever became of?" is all about being reassured. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">If those eternal sweethearts Annette and Frankie finally got married and did indeed live happily ever after, then most certainly, those optimistic fantasies they promoted couldn't have been false. Could they?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A FEW OF MY FAVORITE JOKES</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/fN-dbFU0qBc" width="320" youtube-src-id="fN-dbFU0qBc"></iframe></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></div><div><div><div><b>BONUS MATERIAL</b></div><div><div>Although I didn't see <i>Back to the Beach</i> until it began playing on cable TV, I recall at the time that it was heavily promoted with a soundtrack LP, TV commercials (with voiceover by Wolfman Jack), and ticket giveaways. Plus, as above-the-title stars and co-executive producers, Funicello and Avalon made themselves available for countless interviews and talk show appearances. But as director Lyndall Hobbs relates in the film's Blu-ray featurette, the eventual release of <i>Back to the Beach </i>was a virtual wipeout due to Paramount Studios' dwindling enthusiasm for their product. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinvi66v4rKxPDzMqll0H-riZx5S_8XtinZ6XV4lKj8txmaYIldEj6h-gQO9MoN4BXAdR4f5Yq2xJEFFWywQB75lJPvSl-VdJbbdbQyhWTj17ywmEPSqCaWAjqtfWt_92UKr46P8G0VyEQ8wdrFBayD-sEJdHMiuOEKYO94grsDyxJsIIAuIVMXY5KYSpQ/s1920/Annette-Funicellp-Lori-Loughlin-Laura-Erstein-Back-to-the-Beach-1987.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1036" data-original-width="1920" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinvi66v4rKxPDzMqll0H-riZx5S_8XtinZ6XV4lKj8txmaYIldEj6h-gQO9MoN4BXAdR4f5Yq2xJEFFWywQB75lJPvSl-VdJbbdbQyhWTj17ywmEPSqCaWAjqtfWt_92UKr46P8G0VyEQ8wdrFBayD-sEJdHMiuOEKYO94grsDyxJsIIAuIVMXY5KYSpQ/w400-h216/Annette-Funicellp-Lori-Loughlin-Laura-Erstein-Back-to-the-Beach-1987.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Polka Dot Paradise<br />You have to be a certain age (mine, apparently) to get that Sandi's friend Robin (far right -Laura Lanoil/Laura Urstein) is a throwback to Gidget's best friend Larue, who loved the beach but always wore a ton of clothes to protect her skin from the sun</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Paramount (rightfully so, perhaps) saw <i>Back to the Beach</i> as a movie for the public, not the critics. The studio's eventual release strategy—declaring a media blackout and denying the press advance access to the film—may have succeeded in forestalling any anticipated bad reviews and granted their film an opening weekend driven by fan interest and word-of-mouth, but it also gave the impression that Paramount had given up on, or worse, was somehow embarrassed by, <i>Back to the Beach</i>.</div><div><br /></div></div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN27BhAR6rV2-LYYctySnuHJAC3t3JlJ5Llkhdmj1J_UuPhBzG9J7zJ6d6Yr-fzR0fdDv3cGh6T61QiMBCxGTVsucWBWI_nov2hIzRT-xJbWu8PSNXosviaotYZFYyQfn5qM4I8ArOsOZbZmuuMonosqRylDiwEpiVyJrwQwus1QuQcbDgTSxLo3f9HE0/s1920/Back-to-the-beach-Soundtrack-Album-Annette-Funicell-Frankie-Avalon-1987-Publicity-Promotion-Marketing.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN27BhAR6rV2-LYYctySnuHJAC3t3JlJ5Llkhdmj1J_UuPhBzG9J7zJ6d6Yr-fzR0fdDv3cGh6T61QiMBCxGTVsucWBWI_nov2hIzRT-xJbWu8PSNXosviaotYZFYyQfn5qM4I8ArOsOZbZmuuMonosqRylDiwEpiVyJrwQwus1QuQcbDgTSxLo3f9HE0/w446-h251/Back-to-the-beach-Soundtrack-Album-Annette-Funicell-Frankie-Avalon-1987-Publicity-Promotion-Marketing.jpg" width="446" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Soundtrack LPs became essential movie marketing tools after <i>Saturday Night Fever</i>. The cover of the Back to the Beach album employs a tres-'80s Memphis Design whimsy to suggest the music's Old-School meets New Wave tone. My favorite track: David Kahne's "Sun, Sun, Sun, Sun, Sun," performed over the closing credits by Marti Jones. </b></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><div>Further evidence of last-minute cold feet on Paramount's part is the fact that in Los Angeles, <i>Back to the Beach</i> was initially set to open on Friday, August 7, 1987, at the high-profile Mann’s Chinese Theater (as per the TWO full-page ads in the Sunday Times)in Hollywood. But opening day saw Mann's Chinese reluctant to relinquish its hold on the Ritchie Valens biopic <i>La Bamba </i>(then in its third week and the unanticipated sleeper hit of the summer) and bumping <i>Back to the Beach </i>to its less-prestigious sister theater, The Hollywood, just up the street. </div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEAx3SKgVIYGxhF4Wn7pvhTxKBr6ItbIvmlz5IyTFIudVKLopv_Di7LCesdcQZg58nTFjxOVlOHzhgk1Tt_Yex_OEEG0msHza2tHMSBpNc1lxaXKDQduSY4wP1t70Ij2Hl6Q0L1KbY0EEA5eoo6cO6Ce1tWiYCp4o49OuYnKZ9t0Y828Vx0RPZTHOHDnY/s1920/Lyndall-Hobbs-Lola-Rose-Thompson-Back-to-the-Beach-1987-Behind-the-scenes.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1036" data-original-width="1920" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEAx3SKgVIYGxhF4Wn7pvhTxKBr6ItbIvmlz5IyTFIudVKLopv_Di7LCesdcQZg58nTFjxOVlOHzhgk1Tt_Yex_OEEG0msHza2tHMSBpNc1lxaXKDQduSY4wP1t70Ij2Hl6Q0L1KbY0EEA5eoo6cO6Ce1tWiYCp4o49OuYnKZ9t0Y828Vx0RPZTHOHDnY/w400-h216/Lyndall-Hobbs-Lola-Rose-Thompson-Back-to-the-Beach-1987-Behind-the-scenes.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Director Lyndall Hobbs</b></td></tr></tbody></table>It always surprised me that so little of <i>Back to the Beach</i>'s advance publicity referenced its director. One would think that a woman making her feature film directorial debut (carrying her 4-month-old daughter on her hip, no less) with a $12 million musical comedy would be a made-to-order publicity angle. That is until I remembered how the $18 million 1978 Bee Gees musical <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2019/01/sgt-peppers-lonely-hearts-club-band-1978.html" target="_blank">Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band</a> </i>made its African-American director (Black Filmmakers Hall of Fame recipient Michael Schultz) its best-kept secret. (For his sake, in hindsight, perhaps that was a blessing.)</div><div>Lyndall Hobbs’ contributions to<i> </i>making <i>Back to the Beach</i> such a delight are incalculable (it was her idea to turn the script [co-authored by ex-husband Chris Thompson] into a musical), yet despite the film's emerging status as a cult hit, it has remained Hobbs’ sole feature film directing credit. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMvD3CKi99cSHaSrNy8waNQEdL6SrNo6IcYaBehLqWHuDmNnc88ZQEpEEhhT_w8RKlUNlePIrHk9CIWRruym2uf7mCGSBGxzaSAgDfYJFNXQHAFeo7rMtz2YdJXJlDOGGAAXXWiFMGNyW6ioo98o1nkra1YHn9EJlxPL8uObCdnALSIDgsEU08_g0bLBs/s1848/Annette-and-Frankie-The-Second-Time-Around-1978-Annette-Funicello-Frankie-Avalon-Dick-Clark.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1075" data-original-width="1848" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMvD3CKi99cSHaSrNy8waNQEdL6SrNo6IcYaBehLqWHuDmNnc88ZQEpEEhhT_w8RKlUNlePIrHk9CIWRruym2uf7mCGSBGxzaSAgDfYJFNXQHAFeo7rMtz2YdJXJlDOGGAAXXWiFMGNyW6ioo98o1nkra1YHn9EJlxPL8uObCdnALSIDgsEU08_g0bLBs/w400-h233/Annette-and-Frankie-The-Second-Time-Around-1978-Annette-Funicello-Frankie-Avalon-Dick-Clark.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div>For proof of what a miraculous feat and balancing act of nostalgia, music, and humor <i>Back to the Beach </i>truly is, one need look no further than the 1978 unsold TV pilot <i>Frankie & Annette: The Second Time Around</i>. Produced by Dick Clark, this labored, excruciatingly sincere 60-minute episode cast Annette as a Vietnam war widow working as a housemother at a girl's college dorm who reunites with her old flame, Frankie, now a failed pop singer. A bid to cash in on the nostalgic goodwill ignited by Avalon's recent stint as Teen Angel in the hit movie <i>Grease </i>(1978), the program is 100% of what those Beach Party movies never were: boring. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgzYSmK4EPrSIzl2zkInrz6psawbwZ0rFZdC1Cv3Mm4W2Pyaeair3E7S163iJ5skHNyatFhEr9iTuozEm33MlfxP7_ITiyW2FrAANj7NkdNbLPvUbt71ko6zbGkJTX9DUzY-iFphQJ2rdo4WXGSQj7BvMsbndm5zkLKOexGovumI-7eLZ9bJW_mQb_7rQ/s2560/Annette-Funicello-Frankie-Avalon-Troop-Beverly-Hills-1989.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1383" data-original-width="2560" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgzYSmK4EPrSIzl2zkInrz6psawbwZ0rFZdC1Cv3Mm4W2Pyaeair3E7S163iJ5skHNyatFhEr9iTuozEm33MlfxP7_ITiyW2FrAANj7NkdNbLPvUbt71ko6zbGkJTX9DUzY-iFphQJ2rdo4WXGSQj7BvMsbndm5zkLKOexGovumI-7eLZ9bJW_mQb_7rQ/w400-h216/Annette-Funicello-Frankie-Avalon-Troop-Beverly-Hills-1989.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Annette and Frankie's final feature film appearance together was in the comedy <i>Troop Beverly Hills</i> (1989). It's a visual gag cameo that has the couple jogging outside The Beverly Hills Hotel, Annette breezily running along (in a hot pink tracksuit calling to mind Lisa Kudrow's "Aunt Sassy" in <i>The Comeback</i>) singing her 1959 Top Ten hit "Tall Paul," while a winded and trailing Frankie calls out, <i>"Annette, wait up!" </i> </div><div>The highlighting of Annette's effortless athleticism adds a note of bittersweet charm to this amusing coda to the duo's 26-year onscreen association, for in just three years, Funicello would go public with her MS (multiple sclerosis) diagnosis. The first symptoms of which she began to experience while making <i>Back to the Beach</i>. Annette Funicello passed away in 2013 at the age of 70. </div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOk0mPJXJtRcD_N1aPMx3n3L_cn6sMtXLHZ0n8hnlxRpcq_fsSX_XskwIBKVVUiEQwZUdkc_fbwMZPu9xOttGv4rk4nVmyyuA1aFdvGHk3S96gNEcgloF2DZ0zxyFMAR9m-eMQS5BJDWcC0z8IHu45paxLgMEqmtF0ndwmUXGaWGaXzvD02doiEcKgQXk/s1212/Peanuts-Charles-Schulz-Annette-Funicello-Wedding-Saturday-January-9-1965.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="371" data-original-width="1212" height="131" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOk0mPJXJtRcD_N1aPMx3n3L_cn6sMtXLHZ0n8hnlxRpcq_fsSX_XskwIBKVVUiEQwZUdkc_fbwMZPu9xOttGv4rk4nVmyyuA1aFdvGHk3S96gNEcgloF2DZ0zxyFMAR9m-eMQS5BJDWcC0z8IHu45paxLgMEqmtF0ndwmUXGaWGaXzvD02doiEcKgQXk/w465-h131/Peanuts-Charles-Schulz-Annette-Funicello-Wedding-Saturday-January-9-1965.JPG" width="465" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Annette Funicello was the eternal girl-next-door. She first married at age 22 on<br />Saturday, Jan. 9, 1965. On that day, this comic appeared in newspapers nationwide</b>.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtAON9JYljKoGuW9zOVYDnT8E6JU46Lx_Z4u4ufISAun5swWiFRYH11Xls6xpmGdxjCE2Uy6MP6WUIEcGlIq6P2Csb4vd89t0XGgYoloxLnbRXn9FUihPrSCegD1Q-65JVxEP5c4iR75dHjB50JWnRTMnq0y0MbMknzn2jlvwyRO2QNpsoCp17pXZfDLc/s2560/Annette_Funicello-Frankie-Avalon-Back-to-the-Beach-1987%20(2).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1371" data-original-width="2560" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtAON9JYljKoGuW9zOVYDnT8E6JU46Lx_Z4u4ufISAun5swWiFRYH11Xls6xpmGdxjCE2Uy6MP6WUIEcGlIq6P2Csb4vd89t0XGgYoloxLnbRXn9FUihPrSCegD1Q-65JVxEP5c4iR75dHjB50JWnRTMnq0y0MbMknzn2jlvwyRO2QNpsoCp17pXZfDLc/w400-h214/Annette_Funicello-Frankie-Avalon-Back-to-the-Beach-1987%20(2).JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div><b>Sure, maybe Annette & Frankie may have been the corniest couple I'd ever seen. </b></div><div><b>But they were also one of the most endearing. </b> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Copyright © Ken Anderson 2009 - 2023</div></div></div>Ken Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04940648971296673233noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2627032459273165000.post-26887837508062057862023-09-02T18:47:00.017-07:002023-10-17T10:10:05.303-07:00KÖTÜ TOHUM (THE BAD SEED) 1963<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXOoo3e_o6uLsKbFivxV1Wg34a6LBNPdzxEHXrU6oT2pnklqpZX4p5wFf8Kj3FG3k2FXV7NYtsyHOPV1Az2r9X6H4DP9cUQsP3P-62jZqBtocPgsxzJLMwlIKKi5wXa8VxJk3o1oIlYagCZs6qCN5fkC_Sdx0MGaHPf9H93lRk_UVjT4Ibl4Yj3E2m1qg/s1536/K%C3%96TU-TOHUM-1963-The-Bad-Seed.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1140" data-original-width="1536" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXOoo3e_o6uLsKbFivxV1Wg34a6LBNPdzxEHXrU6oT2pnklqpZX4p5wFf8Kj3FG3k2FXV7NYtsyHOPV1Az2r9X6H4DP9cUQsP3P-62jZqBtocPgsxzJLMwlIKKi5wXa8VxJk3o1oIlYagCZs6qCN5fkC_Sdx0MGaHPf9H93lRk_UVjT4Ibl4Yj3E2m1qg/w400-h297/K%C3%96TU-TOHUM-1963-The-Bad-Seed.png" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">* Spoiler Alert! This critical essay presumes the reader's familiarity with the 1956 film <i>The Bad Seed </i>and features major spoilers.</span><span style="color: red;"> P</span><span style="color: red;">lot points and details related to both films are divulged for critical discussion and analysis.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div>Show of hands; how many of you folks out there were aware of a 1963 Turkish remake of that beloved camp classic about pigtails, penmanship, and passed-on psychopathology, <i>The Bad Seed </i>(1956)? That many, huh? I don't believe you.</div><div>Please appreciate, dear reader, any aspersions cast on your doubtless incontrovertible honesty is simply me projecting my absolute gobsmacked astonishment at how—after being near-obsessed with <i>The Bad Seed </i>for nigh on six decades—I've only just NOW discovered this movie! And it commemorating its 60th anniversary, no less.</div><div><br /></div><div>From what little I've been able to glean, <i>Kötü Tohum </i>(Bad Seed) was a very popular release in its country of origin but was never given a foreign market release in the U.S. .… perhaps for copyright-related reasons (its score is comprised of music culled from disparate sources, e.g., Leonard Bernstein's "Maria" cha-cha from <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2021/12/west-side-story-1961.html" target="_blank">West Side Story</a> </i>and Alex North's "Unchained Melody.”) All of which would explain why I never saw it, but does absolutely nothing toward clearing up how, in all these years, I never managed to hear or read a single word about the existence of this extraordinary remake of a lifelong favorite. Indeed, had it not been for a blurry, TV-to-VHS transfer of <i>Kötü Tohum </i>popping up in my YouTube suggestions menu a few years back (which seems to be the only copy in circulation), I might never have seen it at all.</div></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2012/04/the-bad-seed-1956.html" target="_blank">Click here to read my essay on the original <i>The Bad Seed </i>(1956) </a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUKS5Qi-U0jzcGeVL9RC_vXPj36l0ixvM21EUmsoFjqIOHGXPGQtFJ_N5I-yRbw6TCb51jo8y097c4ldylbQm_mpMSufcDtS6tiA7DYS9Nm6xhlvw8Wnc3xuiGpqT7RftDse_FiEcePqBRp91ShR7c87f7KlbuFpULC-EPRGfSpOnasomzl0fGiWjeYvA/s1920/The-Bad-Seed-Nancy-Kelly-Patty-McCormack-1956.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUKS5Qi-U0jzcGeVL9RC_vXPj36l0ixvM21EUmsoFjqIOHGXPGQtFJ_N5I-yRbw6TCb51jo8y097c4ldylbQm_mpMSufcDtS6tiA7DYS9Nm6xhlvw8Wnc3xuiGpqT7RftDse_FiEcePqBRp91ShR7c87f7KlbuFpULC-EPRGfSpOnasomzl0fGiWjeYvA/w400-h225/The-Bad-Seed-Nancy-Kelly-Patty-McCormack-1956.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Nancy Kelly as Christine Penmark and Patty McCormack as Rhoda Penmark</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><div>By way of a bit of backstory: <i>The Bad Seed </i>is a 1954 bestselling suspense novel by William March whose plot is built on the somewhat wobbly premise of an angel-faced 8-year-old inheriting the homicidal genes of her serial-killer grandmother. The then-explosive theme of a child committing cold-blooded murders appealed to Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright Maxwell Anderson (<i>Key Largo</i>, <i>Anne of the Thousand Days</i>), who turned March's book into a Tony Award-winning Broadway play later that year.</div><div><br /></div><div>The sweet smell of Broadway success wafted all the way to Hollywood, and in 1956, movie director Mervyn LeRoy (<i>Little Caesar</i>, <a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2015/12/gypsy-1962.html" target="_blank"><i>Gypsy</i>)</a> retained the services of most of the Broadway cast for the somewhat sensationalized screen adaptation. The Hays Office, Hollywood's self-regulating censorship board, mandated <i>The Bad Seed</i> alter its original twist ending (which saw Rhoda getting away with her crimes) to one in which Rhoda involuntarily keeps an appointment with "Heaven's Electric Chair." With a reassuring "cast curtain call," coda tacked on for good measure. The movie version of <i>The Bad Seed</i> was a boxoffice hit with 4 Academy Award nominations.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5vFA2ovKS7STQA9d5hWOJVE_LikHuBidSn_xJoKDp9Z-Jha3pwV14agwL6Ij1F4JBotULYYS3ix3XyVICAtbM178_FP6OIrUkc1NK9IWsTwc6KB1y4bBX8oUZokG27HacKYFkcDhLOovUL3LVtjpQZVm1SJh-ZnPGhGszeXgHyx8bipMhdTUnqCi0QpI/s2000/Bad-Seed-movie-poster-1956-K%C3%B6t%C3%BC-Tohum-movie-poster-1963.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1414" data-original-width="2000" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5vFA2ovKS7STQA9d5hWOJVE_LikHuBidSn_xJoKDp9Z-Jha3pwV14agwL6Ij1F4JBotULYYS3ix3XyVICAtbM178_FP6OIrUkc1NK9IWsTwc6KB1y4bBX8oUZokG27HacKYFkcDhLOovUL3LVtjpQZVm1SJh-ZnPGhGszeXgHyx8bipMhdTUnqCi0QpI/w429-h304/Bad-Seed-movie-poster-1956-K%C3%B6t%C3%BC-Tohum-movie-poster-1963.jpg" width="429" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>1956 1963</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div><div><i>The Bad Seed </i>premiered on broadcast TV in 1962, quickly becoming a late-night movie programming staple. I saw it for the first time in 1966 when I was eight. My initial impressions: a) It was really scary, b) "Au Clair de la Lune" would forever creep me out, and c) Rhoda Penmark was my first movie monster that wasn't a vampire, werewolf, or creature from outer space.</div><div>But just as quickly—thanks to the dated artifice of its plot, its stagey over-rehearsed performances, and Patty McCormack's James-Cagney-in-a-pinafore take on Rhoda—chills were soon replaced by chuckles, and <i>The Bad Seed </i>morphed irretrievably into a movie I loved for its camp appeal and unintentional laughs. </div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLfvyWesJ4FS-g4uaCKZbc8hZcLIsyJ3TsWNXI8zfO90ehsMtgrrYQ6O_eitArCRoBlrFTN6pc-ZBZgkhq3x7jYH-HywX7nI1BmPkb5rWe8vaOyANN0ECLkebOV9QqNoA4BkbDP0TDmMFu1zqhyUB3z8LdS-SnJlheWI7_YY_f7ys6jYe8qnEV5BPFn_g/s1549/The-Bad-Seed-Remakes-1985-2018-2022.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="786" data-original-width="1549" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLfvyWesJ4FS-g4uaCKZbc8hZcLIsyJ3TsWNXI8zfO90ehsMtgrrYQ6O_eitArCRoBlrFTN6pc-ZBZgkhq3x7jYH-HywX7nI1BmPkb5rWe8vaOyANN0ECLkebOV9QqNoA4BkbDP0TDmMFu1zqhyUB3z8LdS-SnJlheWI7_YY_f7ys6jYe8qnEV5BPFn_g/w449-h228/The-Bad-Seed-Remakes-1985-2018-2022.jpg" width="449" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Stateside, <i>The Bad Seed</i> has only spawned TV movie remakes. <br />The first, starring David Carradine & Blair Brown, aired on ABC in 1985. The latter two (2018 & 2022) were rare non-Christmas-themed Lifetime Network movies in which Patty McCormack appeared as an unusually inept child psychologist. Rob Lowe gender-flipped the Nancy Kelly role in the 2018 movie, which I think abandoned the whole hereditary thing (I can't be sure because I fell asleep watching it). </b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>Subsequent TV movie remakes (at least three, by my count) sought to rectify this, but those not hampered by their utter lack of distinction in the casting department (not just any kid with a SAG card can step into Patty McCormack's metal-cleated Mary Janes) betrayed their fundamental lack of understanding of the material by wrongheadedly trying to turn <i>The Bad Seed </i>into some kind of "invincible killer" franchise like <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2014/09/the-omen-1976.html" target="_blank">The Omen </a></i>or<i> Godzilla</i>. Instead of finding something new in the material or, at the very least, having a clue as to what made <i>The Bad Seed </i>work in the first place, each new iteration only confirmed and solidified <i>The Bad See</i>d's already high-ranking status in the canons of camp. </div><div><br /></div><div>I expected more of the same when I settled in to watch <i>Kötü Tohum</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div>The very LAST thing I expected was to be moved to tears (!) by a sensitive, thoughtfully reimagined adaptation that remains doggedly faithful to the original (it keeps the Hollywood-mandated finale) yet strikes out on its own with an insolent daring that borders on brilliance. </div><div>In prioritizing action over exposition, human emotion over melodrama, and narrative conflict over genre-driven shock mechanisms, <i>Kötü Tohum</i> is an act of (little)monster regeneration rivaling anything attempted by Dr. Frankenstein.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitDL7QjUD4yzKgPfJ-EI2JiYLZW94W3BX_oSUCwh0jW18U2dTFo0om19brlyakIlorTUUEEzt0uYVmvwIt86z6clx-pl6YJ7LGLEBoRPtGGcsmMvQo5FkLFFqGd2q0IxVGeJJKQnKtmSTVI02wyzj0uFMRVpp_IRyv8MJcRCMprWgj9oPNa-XsO3vNBAA/s1489/Bad-Seed-Alev-Oralo%C4%9Flu-K%C3%B6t%C3%BC-Tohum-1963.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1110" data-original-width="1489" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitDL7QjUD4yzKgPfJ-EI2JiYLZW94W3BX_oSUCwh0jW18U2dTFo0om19brlyakIlorTUUEEzt0uYVmvwIt86z6clx-pl6YJ7LGLEBoRPtGGcsmMvQo5FkLFFqGd2q0IxVGeJJKQnKtmSTVI02wyzj0uFMRVpp_IRyv8MJcRCMprWgj9oPNa-XsO3vNBAA/w400-h299/Bad-Seed-Alev-Oralo%C4%9Flu-K%C3%B6t%C3%BC-Tohum-1963.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Alev Oraloglu as Alev Caliktas - (Rhoda Penmark)</b></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9kijd9nPNjFJOjbfhI9Nu3uM-J0jLTRCjaeVYgZyHMAB75Oc_JrCEqePc7O65XQqHlSva_VhcnQ5TQ5MCzfreDysh0vNaRdRLrRfF8jE9grnqTmLDVnG476J6Rd96y6WTGoRs5CmPqByvH1D3pJZlKHoiSSyKUWEDi7nFu9L2NdK_qHQyMDgXMe3CZB8/s1515/Bad-Seed-Lale-Oralo%C4%9Flu-Kotu-Tohum-1963.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1126" data-original-width="1515" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9kijd9nPNjFJOjbfhI9Nu3uM-J0jLTRCjaeVYgZyHMAB75Oc_JrCEqePc7O65XQqHlSva_VhcnQ5TQ5MCzfreDysh0vNaRdRLrRfF8jE9grnqTmLDVnG476J6Rd96y6WTGoRs5CmPqByvH1D3pJZlKHoiSSyKUWEDi7nFu9L2NdK_qHQyMDgXMe3CZB8/w400-h297/Bad-Seed-Lale-Oralo%C4%9Flu-Kotu-Tohum-1963.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Lale Oraloglu as Lale Celiktas - (Christine Penmark)</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg127vnS_kHXVDrHzEwZwi0j-Rv_Hu2imBPEcUNFVoOfCVQDm2H1J0G5t0y4IMx93nbgWNwypUGW1WBrVFhNYaG56a6L1Jx8Kbx6OKIFTkQDbY5BQmOv6L7YKbW29GhBOS9c-BFmqsYAex-tLplcXhGfKbB0EBkBf1KlayG5uVI6nFVCxs82LkohLSYKDc/s1508/Bad-Seed-%C3%96zt%C3%BCrk%20Serengil-Kotu-Tohum-1963%20(2).JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1127" data-original-width="1508" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg127vnS_kHXVDrHzEwZwi0j-Rv_Hu2imBPEcUNFVoOfCVQDm2H1J0G5t0y4IMx93nbgWNwypUGW1WBrVFhNYaG56a6L1Jx8Kbx6OKIFTkQDbY5BQmOv6L7YKbW29GhBOS9c-BFmqsYAex-tLplcXhGfKbB0EBkBf1KlayG5uVI6nFVCxs82LkohLSYKDc/w400-h299/Bad-Seed-%C3%96zt%C3%BCrk%20Serengil-Kotu-Tohum-1963%20(2).JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Ozturk Serengil as Memo - (Leroy) </b></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWVizlb-L6JUoTgiT7yjGp_tU_2o4CIMx5kpHGpBOq_V59RjkqZRaT7MmVSs7g-18JBZOib2Kxmrpxn688NhcDNHvj8MqW4ociyMx0siZb-puUKYFbkDcCMR6nGlEUMISrrcNAStP8e6X_GD7-AIklhhHaNFaQsKYWTV0lhk681GQZg3aWCyL268GsJ8Q/s1378/Bad-Seed-Nedret%20G%C3%BCven%C3%A7-K%C3%B6t%C3%BC-Tohum-1963.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1015" data-original-width="1378" height="295" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWVizlb-L6JUoTgiT7yjGp_tU_2o4CIMx5kpHGpBOq_V59RjkqZRaT7MmVSs7g-18JBZOib2Kxmrpxn688NhcDNHvj8MqW4ociyMx0siZb-puUKYFbkDcCMR6nGlEUMISrrcNAStP8e6X_GD7-AIklhhHaNFaQsKYWTV0lhk681GQZg3aWCyL268GsJ8Q/w400-h295/Bad-Seed-Nedret%20G%C3%BCven%C3%A7-K%C3%B6t%C3%BC-Tohum-1963.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Nedret Guvenc as Nuran Seren - (Mrs. Hortense Daigle)</b></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5qaE3OiGboIuorzPudkVzVG1JgsoBiDKhHrJ84P03C6QPPZ9-V0xBDOK5RaSRoN2z7qh6aCkJl_e3jg4gqBxgkRJRfDC-jj-7dDq1YZakBLY11ZAm5aM-rwBdNnyO_5A6nIT6BPRTeE6lZRjUdYkWEx_ykclNLBQNClL6_QHQnIKHIOzVyyOONOgQyyw/s1504/Bad-Seed-Levent-Haskan-Kotu-Tohum_1963.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1110" data-original-width="1504" height="295" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5qaE3OiGboIuorzPudkVzVG1JgsoBiDKhHrJ84P03C6QPPZ9-V0xBDOK5RaSRoN2z7qh6aCkJl_e3jg4gqBxgkRJRfDC-jj-7dDq1YZakBLY11ZAm5aM-rwBdNnyO_5A6nIT6BPRTeE6lZRjUdYkWEx_ykclNLBQNClL6_QHQnIKHIOzVyyOONOgQyyw/w400-h295/Bad-Seed-Levent-Haskan-Kotu-Tohum_1963.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Levent Haskan as Cemel Seren - (Claude Daigle)</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>Real-life mother and daughter Lale and Alev Oraloğlu star as the Christine and Rhoda Penmark of <i>Kötü Tohum</i>; their performances' relaxed, easy chemistry setting this adaptation's naturalistic tone. Both actresses reprise the roles they originated in a successful 1961 theatrical run of <i>The Bad Seed</i> performed at Istanbul's Oraloğlu Theater (founded in 1960 by Lale Oraloğl—an esteemed actress, director, writer, & producer…with her husband, journalist Ali Oraloğlu). </div><div><br /></div><div><i>[<b>NOTE*</b> I'm claiming the "Old Dogs, New Tricks" rule here: The 1956 movie has been in my pop culture Rolodex for too long. For the sake of clarity (chiefly my own), I will be referring to all the characters in the remake by their names in the original movie.]</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbE67Czs_66uDRrfVmk8OrBNFJUQrCQZhrMnuG1a4wP_IIm3GE2TstFJx45UiI69ksjfOzykxmjst3wqkeWEzYy-tR6ifLMmdQxZ1nsyZ7JLOSicPpr5oMtggxJ9N_JZCd_zG0a2oANDu9R305V_AluKSPc8KjrE1k9f1_uytA61TpW5p3rYuCvLUwRNU/s1402/Bad-Seed-Hale%20Akinli-Kotu-Tohum-1963.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1047" data-original-width="1402" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbE67Czs_66uDRrfVmk8OrBNFJUQrCQZhrMnuG1a4wP_IIm3GE2TstFJx45UiI69ksjfOzykxmjst3wqkeWEzYy-tR6ifLMmdQxZ1nsyZ7JLOSicPpr5oMtggxJ9N_JZCd_zG0a2oANDu9R305V_AluKSPc8KjrE1k9f1_uytA61TpW5p3rYuCvLUwRNU/w400-h299/Bad-Seed-Hale%20Akinli-Kotu-Tohum-1963.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Hale Akinli as Mrs. Nevin - (Miss Fern)</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><div><div>As remakes go, <i>Kötü Tohum</i> is a perfect example of the adage: It's not the tale; it's in the telling. </div><div>Part of the shock value of the original <i>The Bad Seed</i> (released when idealized images of ‘50s middle-class life flourished via TV shows like <i>Leave It To Beaver</i>, <i>Father Knows Best</i>, and <i>The Donna Reed Show</i>) was rooted in the distasteful notion that a child (innocence itself) from a good home and raised with all the advantages of wealth and a good neighborhood, could ever turn out to be a coldblooded killer. </div><div><br /></div><div>The 1956 <i>Bad Seed</i> portends to be a “Nature vs. Nurture” debate, but there’s never really any doubt that the whitebread suburban ideal of Rhoda’s upbringing will prove blameless for what Rhoda has become. A verdict of “Nature” (she inherited her evil, end of story) restores conformist order and absolves the surviving characters from having to ask themselves what part their blinkered ignorance, pampered over-indulgence, and perfectionist values of achievement (<i>“Oh, you like little girls to curtsy?”</i>) played in fostering Rhoda’s psychopathy.</div></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKTuiigr6l5U4k-Qgu9KKRmaZDu5eye0pYzz9n9C4sTzZZiFrpK6KbdLW1h7gK4XRCI0SREEKjb1WGMtLacApQlcJX8ZxK42SSEVgsqLfl39ESbnGNyZeSr52tg45gTG5__6qscBmw_5__0eEkHvsn7AF7yUBhg1OYOYwFFgBGvvZ1srEbU_P_p_EpE_c/s1518/Bad-Seed-Lale-Oralo%C4%9Flu-Suna-Pekuysal-Bedia-Muvahhit-Kotu-Tohum-1963.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1124" data-original-width="1518" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKTuiigr6l5U4k-Qgu9KKRmaZDu5eye0pYzz9n9C4sTzZZiFrpK6KbdLW1h7gK4XRCI0SREEKjb1WGMtLacApQlcJX8ZxK42SSEVgsqLfl39ESbnGNyZeSr52tg45gTG5__6qscBmw_5__0eEkHvsn7AF7yUBhg1OYOYwFFgBGvvZ1srEbU_P_p_EpE_c/w400-h296/Bad-Seed-Lale-Oralo%C4%9Flu-Suna-Pekuysal-Bedia-Muvahhit-Kotu-Tohum-1963.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Christine's landlords are no longer Monica Breedlove and her "larvated homosexual" brother Emory. In the remake, they are (r.) Mrs. Malek (Bedia Muvahhit) and her daughter (center) Gonul (Suna Pekuysal). Both are depicted as horribly elitist snobs. </b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><i>Kötü Tohum</i>—directed and adapted screenplay by Nevzat Pesen—retains all the pertinent aspects of <i>The Bad Seed's </i>plot, but in the retelling, it looks at the insulated, elitist world of the privileged classes and sees it as <i>EXACTLY</i> the sort of environment where narcissism is cultivated, a lack of compassion is normalized, and rabid self-interest and the casual disregard for the humanity of others could easily go unnoticed. In such surroundings, a pint-sized sociopath would call no attention to herself. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAt2_Zjeixh9HfU_hUd2hMfdFh3tYxqoPC7t_o71joELJ-M3URLjYrn_ocrkwnly6jJFso6sr71zuKRrDbIAnpyEmGfuH8pz-mGf7xwO9ydrw-mu5MJQQ0jOVGDZAtRDq1lZ4qcsJ1iZ6d8qSP7EMkfaXuThZNzY-6zGmC2y7gEl4DIf4yMoS4OXZ78BE/s1521/Bad-Seed-Nedret%20G%C3%BCven%C3%A7-Levent-Haskan-Muzaffer-Yenen-K%C3%B6t%C3%BC-Tohum-1963.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1135" data-original-width="1521" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAt2_Zjeixh9HfU_hUd2hMfdFh3tYxqoPC7t_o71joELJ-M3URLjYrn_ocrkwnly6jJFso6sr71zuKRrDbIAnpyEmGfuH8pz-mGf7xwO9ydrw-mu5MJQQ0jOVGDZAtRDq1lZ4qcsJ1iZ6d8qSP7EMkfaXuThZNzY-6zGmC2y7gEl4DIf4yMoS4OXZ78BE/w400-h299/Bad-Seed-Nedret%20G%C3%BCven%C3%A7-Levent-Haskan-Muzaffer-Yenen-K%C3%B6t%C3%BC-Tohum-1963.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The Seren Family: Nuran, Cemel, & Yilmaz (Muzaffer Yenen) / Claude Daigle & parents </b></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background: white; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">The most startling and noteworthy of <i>Kötü Tohum</i>'s narrative inventions is the decision to make the traditionally unseen character of Claude Daigle a major protagonist. Written (to heartbreaking effect...they even give him an impending birthday) to be the sweetest, most compassionate character in the movie, Claude's prominence in the story has a seismic impact on every aspect of the film. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div><i>Kötü Tohum</i> has been very effectively opened up and spends a great deal of time showing us Rhoda's relationship with Claude—they're classroom seatmates, Claude harboring a bit of a puppy love crush on Rhoda that somewhat blinds him to her polite indifference. The film trims away a great deal of narrative fat (bye-bye to the Freudian mumbo-jumbo, windy true-crime debates, and endless mansplaining) and makes the bold choice to dramatize events that occur offscreen or are merely talked about in the original (we're shown the Penmanship Contest [Yay!] and we actually see the murders [Yikes!]).</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4uYgPH4i2noghw8PWaVlgWVtmn__cb1oq8BDr2lIzNnRz-ohY6BWyrjn-ol4M63sfLCrpLYf6UypPeYKsCj0wiBD5hQjSyxVnvgojjpSy8CZYT5LkMLBtWGrjbujNMf4JLdQz1UmO7hPZVg6_ouli2-J_kDere8p4Bf-0t9YGHMiMyHRhWYJy95KR0U0/s1528/Bad-Seed-%C3%96zt%C3%BCrk-Serengil-Alev-Oralo%C4%9Flu-Kotu-Tohum-1963%20(2).JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1141" data-original-width="1528" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4uYgPH4i2noghw8PWaVlgWVtmn__cb1oq8BDr2lIzNnRz-ohY6BWyrjn-ol4M63sfLCrpLYf6UypPeYKsCj0wiBD5hQjSyxVnvgojjpSy8CZYT5LkMLBtWGrjbujNMf4JLdQz1UmO7hPZVg6_ouli2-J_kDere8p4Bf-0t9YGHMiMyHRhWYJy95KR0U0/w400-h299/Bad-Seed-%C3%96zt%C3%BCrk-Serengil-Alev-Oralo%C4%9Flu-Kotu-Tohum-1963%20(2).JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Rhoda goes head-to-head with her nemesis, handyman Leroy. Only this time, it's no dainty tea set they're squaring off over; it's a toy train set. One whose propulsive force (that only goes in circles) is a marvelously cinematic analogy for their roundelay sparring.</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The cumulative effect (and one that proves a major plus) is that Christine's emotional journey of discovery is no longer so centralized. Indeed, her big <i>"Whose child am I?"</i> revelation scene is introduced and dispensed with so quickly that it feels as though the director was embarrassed by the whole "My child inherited my mom's skipped-a-generation serial killer genes" gimmick.</div><div>Whatever instincts inspired Pesen's decisions in adapting the material, I must say they're exemplary. He and his talented cast have made <i>Kötü Tohum</i> a tighter, more cinematic, and, ultimately, for me, the most satisfying retelling of <i>The Bad Seed</i>.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiApWtc6LnzjPrawiGGQK80Sm8s8P7ylLSPXrKKihITyr4tuUzzhxyPr0gkoq1cXOlJddIprvpXEv0y3ohQszG1bN7jGIF_26KDAFEVDoozatqTKaQU-bt0xyCy1w-AzPYYGaLlSfV0PzYXx9hO6kHRJdY8edrCzyOSX6_lU90kYU6cooQhlP7qa-2v9o/s1414/Bad-Seed-Nancy-Kelly-Patty-McCormack-Alev-Oralo%C4%9Flu-Lale-Oralo%C4%9Flu-Kotu-Tohum-1963.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1414" data-original-width="866" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiApWtc6LnzjPrawiGGQK80Sm8s8P7ylLSPXrKKihITyr4tuUzzhxyPr0gkoq1cXOlJddIprvpXEv0y3ohQszG1bN7jGIF_26KDAFEVDoozatqTKaQU-bt0xyCy1w-AzPYYGaLlSfV0PzYXx9hO6kHRJdY8edrCzyOSX6_lU90kYU6cooQhlP7qa-2v9o/w245-h400/Bad-Seed-Nancy-Kelly-Patty-McCormack-Alev-Oralo%C4%9Flu-Lale-Oralo%C4%9Flu-Kotu-Tohum-1963.jpg" width="245" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>The Bad Seed </i>meets its match in the superb <i style="text-align: left;">Kötü Tohum </i> </b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><b>WHAT I LOVE ABOUT THIS FILM </b></div><div>My gripe with most remakes is that they're so often these totally superfluous, market-driven retreads with nothing new to add. <i>Kötü Tohum </i>is the only remake of <i>The Bad Seed </i>to attempt to use the material to say something beyond the genre scope of its premise. Every scene written by Nevzat Pesen serves double duty: 1) as a critique of classism, bourgeois society, and its tendency to prioritize its needs over the concerns of others; 2) as a means of adding complexity to the characters and context to their relationships.</div><div><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwbs6Xfrmu_3T3QjA3UDBXdlXYgWBvsjKdxVrrA1baCVHk1uwRt1-38uv1NONK_5e29rkhXmgYuZxfgW0dbEM3kMsX5YDUSa3FF7Ch0besLBPrpnnrXtUKFLQbRFzqfpjbzaYtQaaRFTJKRi_5ZwRVCSV2_yGw-lQHor-kgzboxWhwa6V1FPO-XdBolFE/s2323/Bad-Seed-Alev-Oralo%C4%9Flu-Levent-Haskan-K%C3%B6tu-Tohum-1963.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="864" data-original-width="2323" height="158" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwbs6Xfrmu_3T3QjA3UDBXdlXYgWBvsjKdxVrrA1baCVHk1uwRt1-38uv1NONK_5e29rkhXmgYuZxfgW0dbEM3kMsX5YDUSa3FF7Ch0besLBPrpnnrXtUKFLQbRFzqfpjbzaYtQaaRFTJKRi_5ZwRVCSV2_yGw-lQHor-kgzboxWhwa6V1FPO-XdBolFE/w425-h158/Bad-Seed-Alev-Oralo%C4%9Flu-Levent-Haskan-K%C3%B6tu-Tohum-1963.jpg" width="425" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>The Penmanship Contest</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">A fascinating fabrication of this remake is seeing just how the Penmanship Contest goes down. The entire class participates, and Rhoda (seated next to Claude) is as serious as a heart attack. Disaster strikes when her pencil breaks mid-test, leading her to turn wordlessly to Claude with a "Well...?" look on her face (though previously shown as aloof to his friendly overtures, it’s clear she’s not above exploiting his crush when she wants something).</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Claude obliges by giving her his pencil (no “Thank you” from Rhoda), and while she resumes the contest, he sharpens the pencil and returns to his own paper. The director inserts a shot of their teacher catching sight of this act of gallantry, offering the tantalizing suggestion that Claude’s humanist values (prioritizing kindness over winning) may have also played a part in his ultimately winning the contest. </div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9oBCoj8YiHz7CxSpl5cBiIP3LB3U-Aq6lqHRkgQ_RVxahXZjDLl2cCrd29eobtNI6y3nS7Sl7jVGIHDeUOJzy-qsdU_vYxrtC8IXMouuH0QWLlXliQokFAx958chI1S2icif6V0qYDMlGC_8hiCHgo1zaQx-KSAh0oLwtsQana7Ae6WAbApGeuFj6b9E/s1507/Bad-Seed-Alev-Oralo%C4%9Flu--K%C3%B6t%C3%BC-Tohum-1963.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1123" data-original-width="1507" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9oBCoj8YiHz7CxSpl5cBiIP3LB3U-Aq6lqHRkgQ_RVxahXZjDLl2cCrd29eobtNI6y3nS7Sl7jVGIHDeUOJzy-qsdU_vYxrtC8IXMouuH0QWLlXliQokFAx958chI1S2icif6V0qYDMlGC_8hiCHgo1zaQx-KSAh0oLwtsQana7Ae6WAbApGeuFj6b9E/w400-h297/Bad-Seed-Alev-Oralo%C4%9Flu--K%C3%B6t%C3%BC-Tohum-1963.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>The School Pageant</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div>To be found in no other existing version of <i>The Bad Seed</i> is this marvelous school recital sequence held a few days after the Penmanship Contest. As the scene opens, Claude is shown dancing a vigorous twist onstage while Rhoda glowers at him from the wings. In the audience, the beaming Daigles sit within unfortunate earshot of Rhoda's mother and the two snobbish landladies; the latter commenting rudely on what an egregious error it was to have awarded the medal to anyone but Rhoda. </div><div>Rhoda soon appears onstage in a meta, art-reflects-Iife number that sees a host of little girls dancing in tutus having their frolic brought to an abrupt halt by the intrusion of Rhoda brandishing a rifle (!). Understandably, the toe dancers scatter, leaving Rhoda (apparently playing a shepherd) with the stage all to herself, going solo. As she does every day in the school playground.</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmfkO3Xxf6oteDSECdleIsf3j_4cZ-o6L_zxOj9l0oqswm_nF6pyutZvRac3rg5F5m6q55_07ocyiVmD9Axag0k6eV2v97vPt97Kf9k8IWGhrwqkw3KKO1tkviWLCWW6MSV1uqR7SRjhGOb-D8q48Qqu9QJ8yNC4zz8lLuTTDQTPJgNhHbUoyQA46MWL0/s1504/Bad-Seed-Alev%20Oralo%C4%9Flu-Levent-Haskan-K%C3%B6tu-Tohum-1963%20(2).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1120" data-original-width="1504" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmfkO3Xxf6oteDSECdleIsf3j_4cZ-o6L_zxOj9l0oqswm_nF6pyutZvRac3rg5F5m6q55_07ocyiVmD9Axag0k6eV2v97vPt97Kf9k8IWGhrwqkw3KKO1tkviWLCWW6MSV1uqR7SRjhGOb-D8q48Qqu9QJ8yNC4zz8lLuTTDQTPJgNhHbUoyQA46MWL0/w400-h297/Bad-Seed-Alev%20Oralo%C4%9Flu-Levent-Haskan-K%C3%B6tu-Tohum-1963%20(2).JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>The Flashback</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div>One of the principal virtues of <i>Kötü Tohum</i> is that it feels like a thriller made by a director who hasn't learned the clichés of the genre. As evidenced in the flashback sequence devised to accompany Rhoda's confession to her mother that she killed Claude at the picnic for the Penmanship Medal. Though an emotionally harrowing sequence, it's not written with any of the melodrama one would expect. The remake stays true to the characters' psychology, so instead of having Rhoda single-mindedly stalk Claude around the picnic grounds like Bruce the Shark in <i>Jaws</i>, <i>Kötü Tohum </i>introduces a note of tragic poignancy. It's Cladue who pursues. </div><div>True to form, Rhoda is off to herself at the picnic, brooding while the other children play. Claude deserts his friends to check on Rhoda, who, in a repeat of her "willingness to exploit a vulnerability" behavior during the contest, informs Claude that she’s going off by herself to the lake, making sure to drop the bomb “You can come if you want to” as she departs. Poor lovestruck Claude follows, his doom truly sealed when Rhoda takes his hand in her first and only display of friendliness towards him. </div><div> </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGWV19i6-gYrRws1xKzcFwLVEql8ZP4q_RexTzHa_c-A7N7L8PXKuf7Xts6PVykQpf3CY_E7v3lnql7MBHSAkXpkgRcNqkHRxmhHgLE1kfF-pg4qrOuibMAJGBVhvJ_zWUkpdp8X-_WqTbLdUtMVSHWqSiG8O0zw7zl2s-U73eWUl9ErOV8Lwjvf08y2s/s1704/Bad-Seed-Alev-Oralo%C4%9Flu-Lale-Oralo%C4%9Flu-K%C3%B6t%C3%BC-Tohum-1963%20.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1258" data-original-width="1704" height="295" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGWV19i6-gYrRws1xKzcFwLVEql8ZP4q_RexTzHa_c-A7N7L8PXKuf7Xts6PVykQpf3CY_E7v3lnql7MBHSAkXpkgRcNqkHRxmhHgLE1kfF-pg4qrOuibMAJGBVhvJ_zWUkpdp8X-_WqTbLdUtMVSHWqSiG8O0zw7zl2s-U73eWUl9ErOV8Lwjvf08y2s/w400-h295/Bad-Seed-Alev-Oralo%C4%9Flu-Lale-Oralo%C4%9Flu-K%C3%B6t%C3%BC-Tohum-1963%20.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>"What will you give me for a basket of kisses?"</i></b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div><b>THE STUFF OF DREAMS </b></div><div><div>The general mindset of American pop culture is that the darker or more hopeless something is, the more inherently "real" or true-to-life it must be. Happy endings, or conclusions where justice is meted out, are seen as pure Hollywood copouts. </div><div>I'm unaware of 1963 Turkish cinema being bound by any of the censorship constraints of Hollywood, 1956, so the decision to retain <i>The Bad Seed</i>'s Hollywood ending over the play's original twist (ironic, cynical) ending is perhaps surprising, but it's also consistent; <i>Kötü Tohum</i> is a very moral movie.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFG6AYnVbq8Sjn_BxFhX22SnH6h1GrGYAmtr6z_RiXd1ke6pSXLiyJyuiBVaCSFROvg-GnbWIE6-YI4WGYUYaXVK1zsGFUri4NzMBgo9Ja2xnQtjLOvipIHX3EXS6fDEn5PfG_HEUwknGliXo0J-qKcECw3xoCckDKGc9HKGuvs5640mTBYgX9lEhfZ8w/s1510/Bad-Seed-Lale-Oralo%C4%9Flu-Nedret%20G%C3%BCven%C3%A7-Muzaffer-Yenen-Kotu-Tohum-1963.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1127" data-original-width="1510" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFG6AYnVbq8Sjn_BxFhX22SnH6h1GrGYAmtr6z_RiXd1ke6pSXLiyJyuiBVaCSFROvg-GnbWIE6-YI4WGYUYaXVK1zsGFUri4NzMBgo9Ja2xnQtjLOvipIHX3EXS6fDEn5PfG_HEUwknGliXo0J-qKcECw3xoCckDKGc9HKGuvs5640mTBYgX9lEhfZ8w/w400-h299/Bad-Seed-Lale-Oralo%C4%9Flu-Nedret%20G%C3%BCven%C3%A7-Muzaffer-Yenen-Kotu-Tohum-1963.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Where <i>The Bad Seed</i> often emphasized shock and melodrama, <i style="text-align: left;">Kötü Tohum</i><span style="text-align: left;"> just broke my heart in the way it gave prominence to the pain of grief and loss. The actors in this film are first-rate. </span></b><i style="text-align: left;"> </i><span style="text-align: left;"> </span><i style="text-align: left;"> </i></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Indeed, <i>Kötü Tohum</i>'s prime distinguishing trait is its humanist perspective. Through its expansion and centralizing of the Claude Daigle character (representing the virtues of decency, kindness, and compassion), I felt the film established the crucial elements of its moral universe. To end on a note of irony or "twist" for the sake of an audience gasp would feel incredibly irresponsible to me.</div><div>And how is Rhoda getting the "Leave Her to Heaven" retribution treatment any kind of a happy ending, anyway? It's only a happy ending if you forget about Claude's anguished parents, Leroy's agony, or absentee dad Mr. Penmark losing both his wife and daughter within days of one another.</div></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAw-F42kMrE6dhHL91BMM6Tt214Y55Ejw5r4dlj9A2eUK0-g8UHWb7zS0MKuVHj3zqpEOVrTMqYTOSffAS_ePpj26D4KLaRwyEbDEwrWYZBs-d2fBaMMgv0pFNL_efk7Pl9lRPNQDDUkdlU3Mu0ZOUQshUN10dAtWgAkHKf3fMOAjbSa3E6QfDfXHpTM8/s1485/Bad-Seed-Levent-Haskan-Alev-Oralo%C4%9Flu--K%C3%B6tu-Tohum-1963.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="975" data-original-width="1485" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAw-F42kMrE6dhHL91BMM6Tt214Y55Ejw5r4dlj9A2eUK0-g8UHWb7zS0MKuVHj3zqpEOVrTMqYTOSffAS_ePpj26D4KLaRwyEbDEwrWYZBs-d2fBaMMgv0pFNL_efk7Pl9lRPNQDDUkdlU3Mu0ZOUQshUN10dAtWgAkHKf3fMOAjbSa3E6QfDfXHpTM8/w400-h263/Bad-Seed-Levent-Haskan-Alev-Oralo%C4%9Flu--K%C3%B6tu-Tohum-1963.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>He doesn't, and they don't.</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>I don't usually recommend the movies I write about, but if you're a fan of <i>The Bad Seed</i>, I would definitely recommend keeping your eyes open for a copy of this movie on YouTube or elsewhere online. I won't say you'll feel the same way as I do about it, but I'm certain you'll find comparing the differences between the two irresistible.<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>BONUS MATERIAL</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5cTHpjiChqk7WvWq60iu5F38wzZxTqqon3GN-l_FhQsKAGXcKJjrpSmYYD1i7J0jf7eBT9WE3J8PFuJ407xXH_VT7kIo_IdKzDDHQo1JChro3jrcormJtCdrusqPzy-a1RqsYw4W6tvsr5cVwaEvhjyt5d1CswpLiNBiUITa6oXWmpubSAF-3VIoCUVI/s2116/Alev-Oralo%C4%9Flu-Lale-Oralo%C4%9Flu-Newspaper-photo%20.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1423" data-original-width="2116" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5cTHpjiChqk7WvWq60iu5F38wzZxTqqon3GN-l_FhQsKAGXcKJjrpSmYYD1i7J0jf7eBT9WE3J8PFuJ407xXH_VT7kIo_IdKzDDHQo1JChro3jrcormJtCdrusqPzy-a1RqsYw4W6tvsr5cVwaEvhjyt5d1CswpLiNBiUITa6oXWmpubSAF-3VIoCUVI/w400-h269/Alev-Oralo%C4%9Flu-Lale-Oralo%C4%9Flu-Newspaper-photo%20.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>All Grown Up</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">I don't know if the mother and daughter acting team of Lale Oraloğlu and Alev Oraloğlu ever made another film together, but they appeared in several productions at Istanbul's Oraloğlu Theater. Lale Oraloğlu, who passed away in 2007 at 82, had a long and distinguished career in virtually every facet of TV, film, and theater…in front of and behind the scenes.<i> Kötü Tohum </i>was Alev Oraloğlu's first leading role in a movie. Following in her mother’s footsteps, she continues to act in television, film, and theater today.</div></div><div><br /></div>Copyright © Ken Anderson 2009 - 2023</div>Ken Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04940648971296673233noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2627032459273165000.post-29767131974216823962023-06-16T23:53:00.058-07:002023-10-05T08:10:08.511-07:00BURT BACHARACH: A MAN AND HIS MOVIES<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>A TRIBUTE TO THE CINEMA MUSIC LEGACY OF COMPOSER BURT BACHARACH </b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1l_XU7tzEei8E9eOkEAiMeCVHX2mBTDtGi-Z8oU6DA9YFP5ixHjaR34COdWHghM59mEtwgrjdCj-XjqRMx2EkviB0vA2kWW3_KHL0I-zTdvCRvjD_OaX7HxTYRq1o9rypqc5jgLTkWcSjftRkFHhCfjzvbJjaHo9bNy0StRMHhtHKUsl_T-08klaf/s2240/Burt-Bacharach-And-His-Movies-Academy-Awards-What's-New-Pussycat-Alfie-Casino-Royale-Butch-Cassidy-and-the-Sundance-Kid.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2240" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1l_XU7tzEei8E9eOkEAiMeCVHX2mBTDtGi-Z8oU6DA9YFP5ixHjaR34COdWHghM59mEtwgrjdCj-XjqRMx2EkviB0vA2kWW3_KHL0I-zTdvCRvjD_OaX7HxTYRq1o9rypqc5jgLTkWcSjftRkFHhCfjzvbJjaHo9bNy0StRMHhtHKUsl_T-08klaf/w425-h259/Burt-Bacharach-And-His-Movies-Academy-Awards-What's-New-Pussycat-Alfie-Casino-Royale-Butch-Cassidy-and-the-Sundance-Kid.jpg" width="425" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Burt Bacharach</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>May 12, 1928 - February 8, 2023</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I don't think it's entirely my fault that, even to this day, a part of me still thinks Cole Porter looks like Cary Grant, Frédéric Chopin is a ringer for Cornel Wilde, and Franz Liszt strongly resembles Dirk Bogarde. The Hollywood biopic tradition of assigning an outrageously glamorous face to the largely faceless profession of composer is a sound one. It aligns the artist with the art. And in a world of image, mythmaking, and marketing, it's a distinct branding advantage when an artist "looks" like the art they create (e.g., Hemingway, Warhol, Halston). So who can blame the movies for their insistence that the composers of romantic music also possess romantic looks? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Which brings me to composer, arranger, songwriter, producer, pianist, and all-around legend, Burt Bacharach. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">As lyricist Sammy Cahn once famously remarked, Bacharach's atypically high professional visibility was owed to his being "the first composer who didn't look like a dentist" (the most visible pop composer I can remember as a kid was Henry Mancini, so, point made). Bacharach, who started his career in the '50s looking like a thick-necked college jock who'd accidentally stumbled into the music department on his way to the athletic field, looked nothing like his peers. But then his music didn't sound anything like theirs, either. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrLlrWRpUmD0aE-FLUmJUcCiNz7jQzTVEI_XBbRi0z1xognPscTX00tMklmrgjwAbkjYfAu6G4DnFf5mqoOO4BKfyUyb-QxqDbFdb6gHvo-ZNQb60WZefz5OIGcgZAaJxwD0wrEHaE5WKcnGvca5QoGCIGX0kb2UodNZIVcnzcEEIS_7U05S-PlOmG/s1950/Burt-Bacharach-Billboard-March-1970.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1950" data-original-width="1359" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrLlrWRpUmD0aE-FLUmJUcCiNz7jQzTVEI_XBbRi0z1xognPscTX00tMklmrgjwAbkjYfAu6G4DnFf5mqoOO4BKfyUyb-QxqDbFdb6gHvo-ZNQb60WZefz5OIGcgZAaJxwD0wrEHaE5WKcnGvca5QoGCIGX0kb2UodNZIVcnzcEEIS_7U05S-PlOmG/w279-h400/Burt-Bacharach-Billboard-March-1970.JPG" width="279" /></a></div>Whether lushly romantic or go-go groovy, Bacharach's fiercely inventive musical style was all about where the world was headed, not where it had been. Bacharach's appearance, natural charisma, and virtuoso talent as a pianist (his thin, uniquely inflective voice sealed the deal) led him to an unexpected performing career. By the '70s—via concerts, albums, TV specials, and a seemingly unbroken chain of hits sung by Dionne Warwick—Burt had become a global household name and distinguished himself as the marketable face of the Burt Bacharach/Hal David songwriting team. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Wed to glamorous movie star Angie Dickinson in 1965 (the illusion of their marriage immortalized in those iconic Martini & Rossi ads), Burt, as the tan, blow-dried, turtlenecked embodiment of California hip, came to look exactly like his music sounded: laid-back, sophisticated, sexy, and smooth.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZvYOr3zXCQN7fkB0zqoFU7jTM_jk9BmSwNxrpb6XBl56Ki_8_PwY0aUZhWKeEWMv8qCHLCNS4brKpSQb84GqQjFzTV2QXtLz57t-6_dxo-EuNQ3BqIJRvLCYJ-oqrH4n3O0UbbUa2hTY9z98G-xAy6pKG47e9jJvy9pcByejJv_AV1QKZYzZaXA5a/s1398/Burt-Bacharach-Futures-Album-Cover-1977.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="744" data-original-width="1398" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZvYOr3zXCQN7fkB0zqoFU7jTM_jk9BmSwNxrpb6XBl56Ki_8_PwY0aUZhWKeEWMv8qCHLCNS4brKpSQb84GqQjFzTV2QXtLz57t-6_dxo-EuNQ3BqIJRvLCYJ-oqrH4n3O0UbbUa2hTY9z98G-xAy6pKG47e9jJvy9pcByejJv_AV1QKZYzZaXA5a/w400-h213/Burt-Bacharach-Futures-Album-Cover-1977.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><u>Ken's Top 10</u></b><br /><b>Casino Royale<br />Are You There With Another Girl?<br />Close To You<br />Walk On By<br />Anyone Who Had a Heart<br />Promises, Promises<br />Alfie<br />Reflections<br />Something Big<br />Message To Michael</b><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Though I'd grown up hearing Burt Bacharach's songs on the radio for years without knowing it, my first real awareness of him was when I was ten years old and fell in love with his score for the chaotic James Bond spoof <i>Casino Royale </i>(1967). In all these years, it has never been surpassed as my favorite movie soundtrack album of all time. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I've been a devoted (some might say obsessive) Burt Bacharach fan ever since. Given the many years and blissful hours I've spent surrounded by his fabulous library of songs--dancing to them, dreaming to them, crying to them; it's not an overstatement to say the music of Bacharach/David has been the soundtrack of my youth.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg72H5HBKd2MocdZWgLvCJsNifweCZZCpX0wpNRYc5EcXMDwtH5PebVXKAX2ipvocHUgDc55GqvcXsvkzObHwdwpdEuq08YPol6jBPmoLFk-XyjYqVfzol71IdMc71rr5Y1iLhRQFqWtIGTdIFy8f7Ic5ACVQXr7sndnil0C9TaywocjxdzQN8ldC82/s1480/Burt-Bacharach-Casino-Royale-Billboard-April%20-18-1967.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1480" data-original-width="1057" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg72H5HBKd2MocdZWgLvCJsNifweCZZCpX0wpNRYc5EcXMDwtH5PebVXKAX2ipvocHUgDc55GqvcXsvkzObHwdwpdEuq08YPol6jBPmoLFk-XyjYqVfzol71IdMc71rr5Y1iLhRQFqWtIGTdIFy8f7Ic5ACVQXr7sndnil0C9TaywocjxdzQN8ldC82/w286-h400/Burt-Bacharach-Casino-Royale-Billboard-April%20-18-1967.JPG" width="286" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Billboard Magazine -April 19, 1967</b></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So, in keeping with the soundtrack emphasis…</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Since there's already so much out there about Bacharach's radio and album hits, my cinephile tribute to the late-great Burt Bacharach--3-time Oscar-winner, six-time Grammy-winner, 1972 inductee to the Songwriters Hall of Fame, 2008 Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award, and #32 in Rolling Stone's 2015 Top 100 Greatest Composers of All Time list—is to comprehensively highlight all the music and songs he wrote specifically for the movie screen.</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">COMPLETE FILM SCORES - 12</span></b></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXZ2dKn0ldBOEoEfSK2yavCzwsAddqugj234zsVl3L2fyOV-TJL84cKQpIdEwmQLD1Wvt9sJqadVK8-rmnp2Z-Pxcdmo4JtECpyyb5I7W6q4Zar7AhRAeoZnscpE_q6giNFi6WOR5mL4Fqviaq_1A6hVLT0M2KHVJ_ry-jJ0LTFqWhKrqHTNXMEt6e/s2802/What's-New-Pussycat-Peter-Sellers-1965-Movie-Poster.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2123" data-original-width="2802" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXZ2dKn0ldBOEoEfSK2yavCzwsAddqugj234zsVl3L2fyOV-TJL84cKQpIdEwmQLD1Wvt9sJqadVK8-rmnp2Z-Pxcdmo4JtECpyyb5I7W6q4Zar7AhRAeoZnscpE_q6giNFi6WOR5mL4Fqviaq_1A6hVLT0M2KHVJ_ry-jJ0LTFqWhKrqHTNXMEt6e/w400-h303/What's-New-Pussycat-Peter-Sellers-1965-Movie-Poster.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>What's New, Pussycat? - 1965 - Bacharach/David</b></td></tr></tbody></table>Bacharach's first film score (thanks to Angie Dickinson) brought him his first Best Song Oscar nomination. Tom Jones sings <i>"What's New, Pussycat"</i> to a fare-thee-well over the opening credits, but the song lost to "The Shadow of Your Smile" from <i>The Sandpiper</i>. I love the loony, loopy tone of this album, which bursts with musical variety. My favorite cuts are the title song, the propulsive <i>"My Little Red Book," </i>and the perfectly lovely romantic ballad<i>"Here I Am."</i> <div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja9ljCJTFH8KB5yJhp9Fdhm_tt2gHaTZp7Pqqz7RWYPofLxOjvfGMV_lxojlQSvvw7j6Ai6iVhxaEQ5mTr0hnvx38ekaI9Z4lQJgqUvL7bNQGNQWUL6awx-xL2rMD5xLAFR1aXuaGsqxn9QDL35vBxRtKWjFvPo9sNp55mEzXp47_xPhe2CDqy69ex/s1697/After-The-Fox-1966-Movie-Poster.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1274" data-original-width="1697" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja9ljCJTFH8KB5yJhp9Fdhm_tt2gHaTZp7Pqqz7RWYPofLxOjvfGMV_lxojlQSvvw7j6Ai6iVhxaEQ5mTr0hnvx38ekaI9Z4lQJgqUvL7bNQGNQWUL6awx-xL2rMD5xLAFR1aXuaGsqxn9QDL35vBxRtKWjFvPo9sNp55mEzXp47_xPhe2CDqy69ex/w400-h300/After-The-Fox-1966-Movie-Poster.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>After The Fox - 1966 - Bacharach/David</b></td></tr></tbody></table>The fox followed the pussycat with Bacharach's 2nd film score. I've always loved the deliciously silly call-response title song that has UK rock band The Hollies (when Graham Nash was still a member) interrogating Peter Sellers (in character as bumbling criminal mastermind, The Fox).<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ7tRkqZHQ304OKKwpyi2AfnwG8y1sicIPOkipJPN1zKaB5rLiWVwFCzMliS54R4H_ec1intUfR9UZi7KhV2HF8QXCvaOM0-PEjUiefHp-zrjNZe1_gbfefDPcD5XAsT2Z3Kl8y-LhRSJnwyiglR7oxB51Yc4oQbSFudoZExRBLdhQ67AJ6pqU5DIz/s1875/Casino-Royale-Herb-Alpert-1967.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1406" data-original-width="1875" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ7tRkqZHQ304OKKwpyi2AfnwG8y1sicIPOkipJPN1zKaB5rLiWVwFCzMliS54R4H_ec1intUfR9UZi7KhV2HF8QXCvaOM0-PEjUiefHp-zrjNZe1_gbfefDPcD5XAsT2Z3Kl8y-LhRSJnwyiglR7oxB51Yc4oQbSFudoZExRBLdhQ67AJ6pqU5DIz/w400-h300/Casino-Royale-Herb-Alpert-1967.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2010/08/casino-royale-1967.html" target="_blank">Casino Royale</a> - 1967 - Bacharach/David</b></td></tr></tbody></table>The sultry <i>"The Look of Love" </i>was nominated for Best Song but lost to <i>"Talk to the Animals"</i> from <i>Doctor Dolittle. </i>(WTF?) The score was Grammy nominated for Best Score, Best Instrumental Arrangement, and Best Instrumental Theme. I love EVERYTHING about this very '60s-sounding album, but my top faves are Herb Alpert's flawless rendition of the title tune, and <i>"Home James, Don't Spare the Horses."</i><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY9i2y9myriuYBok2chKwjtl8LqF5buvizpFE4P5m535Nssc6dYw_OF4cwcUfaMLV4Y3Y-mun3bQEqvgfHzqyl4TBgVsq3r7DmRdec0Plzd4mt0-hKjkf0j29EppfbrSxtgxiUXTQWX9cqnj85ouGcoevouBhQTw7aPrFxtwklbUpptFwPiN6TjYol/s1500/Butch-Cassidy-and-the-Sundance-Kid-Movie-Poster-1969.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1121" data-original-width="1500" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY9i2y9myriuYBok2chKwjtl8LqF5buvizpFE4P5m535Nssc6dYw_OF4cwcUfaMLV4Y3Y-mun3bQEqvgfHzqyl4TBgVsq3r7DmRdec0Plzd4mt0-hKjkf0j29EppfbrSxtgxiUXTQWX9cqnj85ouGcoevouBhQTw7aPrFxtwklbUpptFwPiN6TjYol/w400-h299/Butch-Cassidy-and-the-Sundance-Kid-Movie-Poster-1969.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Butch Cassidy & the Sundance Kid - 1969 - Bacharach/David</b></td></tr></tbody></table>Burt and Hal David won their first Best Song Oscar for <i>"Raindrops Keep Fallin' On My Head," </i>sung by B. J. Thomas over that iconic bicycle riding scene. Burt alone won a second Oscar that night for Best Original Score. Burt's score also won the Grammy that year, and <i>"Raindrops" </i>was nominated (but lost) in the Best Contemporary Song & Song of the Year categories. I don't much care for this movie, but the score is a knockout, and B. J. Thomas' distinctive vocals really make <i>"Raindrops"</i> an unforgettable classic for me. </div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7GGfQcWuMeR5aReAydHtZM874fwIspMXUbOIDBJZXrWcACAK1heuM0ihnQy7QQkuxbdh4R5fa4__nf8uUUlf0S8S59bHg9uorLCw5SLjdT-YfibUmzQHM68WXmjdN8sEdnofepjVKFBYk8bXOV2dToIZnolsjxy9G9pL4ETzqIb42kgtSUTLIK2HI/s1800/Lost-Horizon-1973-Movie-Poster.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1408" data-original-width="1800" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7GGfQcWuMeR5aReAydHtZM874fwIspMXUbOIDBJZXrWcACAK1heuM0ihnQy7QQkuxbdh4R5fa4__nf8uUUlf0S8S59bHg9uorLCw5SLjdT-YfibUmzQHM68WXmjdN8sEdnofepjVKFBYk8bXOV2dToIZnolsjxy9G9pL4ETzqIb42kgtSUTLIK2HI/w400-h313/Lost-Horizon-1973-Movie-Poster.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Lost Horizon - 1973 - Bacharach/David</b></td></tr></tbody></table>The movie responsible for busting up (temporarily, anyway) longtime collaborators Burt Bacharach and Hal David. You can read my thoughts on this famous flop favorite of mine here: <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/10/lost-horizon-1973.html" target="_blank">Lost Horizon</a>.</i></div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUVg6v_0FWTBrWlcgmJ5RLTHLYLZLkgreuzBFhr29awL2yJt7rj2z7XRUlWuNghsbXfTxoeAgjN2_aAQNMZhyz7QYsf0-GYIaPErbOVZvmB5OAMa0J8ZtYGIR5H6WnxIRWEzHn3_P6cnjLHYSvuz8t5C8XlO7i6KngQeStNByGf3IlT5ZZiFdIhO9s/s1456/Together-Amo-Non-Amo-Jacqueline-Bisset-Terence-Stamp-1979-.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1101" data-original-width="1456" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUVg6v_0FWTBrWlcgmJ5RLTHLYLZLkgreuzBFhr29awL2yJt7rj2z7XRUlWuNghsbXfTxoeAgjN2_aAQNMZhyz7QYsf0-GYIaPErbOVZvmB5OAMa0J8ZtYGIR5H6WnxIRWEzHn3_P6cnjLHYSvuz8t5C8XlO7i6KngQeStNByGf3IlT5ZZiFdIhO9s/w400-h303/Together-Amo-Non-Amo-Jacqueline-Bisset-Terence-Stamp-1979-.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Together? (Amo Non Amo) - 1979 - Bacharach/Anka</b></td></tr></tbody></table>When this Italian film was known as <i>Amo non Amo, </i>it had a score by the progressive rock band Goblin. When it hit these shores with the new title <i>Together? </i>it acquired a new score from Bacharach and Paul Anka.<i> </i>Bacharach's first non-Hal David score is full of pretty melodies assigned banal, sound-alike lyrics sung by Jackie DeShannon, Libby Titus, and the ever-muffled Michael McDonald. The soundtrack album was a staple in remainder bins for years, but I don't remember the film's release at all, only seeing it for the first time while researching this tribute. Directed by a woman (Armenia Balducci), this intimate relationship drama gave Jacqueline Bisset one of her better roles. <br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuUe4cXH2-8lnuepuT4UWRolLfw-hU2Eu1ZuDCIHChbP4gtGxhVikJhKOjzJ_sQXQZcAIRP9wl5JDBKNad8Q3jj5nBsH7504ehUSv303eoFavBVCuVpBAXyitC8t4539BzX0T1UdKt1IW_fKtRDHJEAxIY0Hm25X7-tFGMheTGt9gADERdzEqhTL9Y/s1558/Arthur-Dudley-Moore-1981.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1181" data-original-width="1558" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuUe4cXH2-8lnuepuT4UWRolLfw-hU2Eu1ZuDCIHChbP4gtGxhVikJhKOjzJ_sQXQZcAIRP9wl5JDBKNad8Q3jj5nBsH7504ehUSv303eoFavBVCuVpBAXyitC8t4539BzX0T1UdKt1IW_fKtRDHJEAxIY0Hm25X7-tFGMheTGt9gADERdzEqhTL9Y/w400-h304/Arthur-Dudley-Moore-1981.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Arthur - 1981 - Bacharach/Sager/Cross/Allen</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div>Bacharach won his third Academy Award for <i>"Arthur's Theme (The Best That You Can Do)," </i>a song written by four people, and sung by Christopher Cross over the closing credits. If this Best Song Oscar-winner and Song of the Year Grammy nominee appears elsewhere in the film, I'll never know, because when it comes to watching <i>Arthur</i>, one is my limit. And perhaps it proves I'm not a full-tilt Bacharach maniac when I say this song has never done a thing for me. Its popularity baffled me even in 1981. Bacharach composed the film's instrumental score (by himself, I should add), which features a few songs co-written with Carol Bayer Sager...Bacharach wife number three (of four). </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKLwN5iAPH4RtooMUI98uC_wSYgaSlbXcyyE3H9twVXeRPSYt7NkSnVVuh_V1Cu1U2TbR4Pv1paNp38hyLIhAnu_l3hnGGIEi1eeT2PhaCNqjuqX1o87JwLjkQWmwSVZ3IXCZ_z5llMvj2G86yDEgpuTrbERx2oWNYZvTGXxUnKXxLhe-3U6CMnsD_/s1800/Night-Shift-Henry-Winkler-Michal-Keaton-Shelly-Long-1982-Movie-Poster.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1347" data-original-width="1800" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKLwN5iAPH4RtooMUI98uC_wSYgaSlbXcyyE3H9twVXeRPSYt7NkSnVVuh_V1Cu1U2TbR4Pv1paNp38hyLIhAnu_l3hnGGIEi1eeT2PhaCNqjuqX1o87JwLjkQWmwSVZ3IXCZ_z5llMvj2G86yDEgpuTrbERx2oWNYZvTGXxUnKXxLhe-3U6CMnsD_/w400-h299/Night-Shift-Henry-Winkler-Michal-Keaton-Shelly-Long-1982-Movie-Poster.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Night Shift - 1982 - Bacharach/Sager/Ross</b></td></tr></tbody></table>I'm not trying to be perverse or contrary when I say that I like everything about Bacharach's score to this negligible comedy except the song that went on to great fame as a 1985 Song of the Year Grammy nominee and the anthem of AmFAR (American Federation of AIDS research). I speak of <i>"That's What Friends Are For,"</i> which was first heard croaked by Rod Stewart over this film's end credits. </div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6hte51ouvOxREXzVZLel2yLRfPceGsqK7j_to92YO_BLoXytrZukbj2fUicZeGPX6X44luLQ5FTbTucx1WliQNREt_i3fWXJgoq_-QxIeL4bouRjsmhDH2INhQZTvuoqMJf3LYMqcGMA9B3-pQDUd3L91mMdIxYMstbiZ7TnW_tgF5iWQxibaTRUW/s1750/Arthur-2-on-the-rocks-1988-Liza-Minnelli-Movie-poster.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1347" data-original-width="1750" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6hte51ouvOxREXzVZLel2yLRfPceGsqK7j_to92YO_BLoXytrZukbj2fUicZeGPX6X44luLQ5FTbTucx1WliQNREt_i3fWXJgoq_-QxIeL4bouRjsmhDH2INhQZTvuoqMJf3LYMqcGMA9B3-pQDUd3L91mMdIxYMstbiZ7TnW_tgF5iWQxibaTRUW/w400-h308/Arthur-2-on-the-rocks-1988-Liza-Minnelli-Movie-poster.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Arthur 2: On the Rocks - 1988 - Bacharach/Sager/De Burgh</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdv8Q4uLKm1rvtJcpqFwrJ2H190NKq4VziuZI-UefVLXJp9NacPpr9_6a1k6QdPQf5jnzrepY0QkCuzqorCGPFX8K2ugIvOchzUaSONwS5BOvJ6i1p_o2Nn2iAaHCvAfmQtIUeYWYAkrJzulFhKgy_BzVeS8w9j3WzGIZ-uY0wh1fxgqHXoBcYqwRr/s1805/Love-Hurts-1990.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1360" data-original-width="1805" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdv8Q4uLKm1rvtJcpqFwrJ2H190NKq4VziuZI-UefVLXJp9NacPpr9_6a1k6QdPQf5jnzrepY0QkCuzqorCGPFX8K2ugIvOchzUaSONwS5BOvJ6i1p_o2Nn2iAaHCvAfmQtIUeYWYAkrJzulFhKgy_BzVeS8w9j3WzGIZ-uY0wh1fxgqHXoBcYqwRr/w400-h301/Love-Hurts-1990.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Love Hurts - 1990 - Bacharach</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">I never heard of this movie before (it was released overseas but went the straight-to-video route in the U.S.). Bacharach contributed no songs to the score, but I understand his instrumental tracks are sprinkled sparsely throughout the film. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglG3T50m_KTmGCC-qVhm0n_8w-eUqPBP9p87-6oagJTAF_ElycueRJP6kH__QICLF26MB4tg4NcMoUAQD9u4IhJaUsFoISoo16vo0RttqAzaTKwhN2FzXHq2D3E0q7tlVbnvSLyCUnxTA_JdtTU8O7QNQpdz8GBfnDZWKGb2Xm6yRxKjzuUKU_3N8H/s2467/isnt-she-great-2000-Bette-Midler-Movie-poster.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1992" data-original-width="2467" height="323" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglG3T50m_KTmGCC-qVhm0n_8w-eUqPBP9p87-6oagJTAF_ElycueRJP6kH__QICLF26MB4tg4NcMoUAQD9u4IhJaUsFoISoo16vo0RttqAzaTKwhN2FzXHq2D3E0q7tlVbnvSLyCUnxTA_JdtTU8O7QNQpdz8GBfnDZWKGb2Xm6yRxKjzuUKU_3N8H/w400-h323/isnt-she-great-2000-Bette-Midler-Movie-poster.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Isn't She Great - 2000 - Bacharach/David</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRnCggOeDYotTJzFg9tXWgjQ68xNHcNX8QLMN7jECpR2C8IW7EUHw6Iqpxaxc15A2sONHkUG_8E413mbvERjIfEqHUsPF_N184Vk0Q9DLjMJl5iE_Zctgb_-eRCEPeRYAMCFsvCs6Y047qCXPORpBMWFzahaZHBv5CQmZHOLYLkcqli-aVtkjcOADd/s1781/A-Boy-Called-Po-2017-Burt-Bacharach.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1002" data-original-width="1781" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRnCggOeDYotTJzFg9tXWgjQ68xNHcNX8QLMN7jECpR2C8IW7EUHw6Iqpxaxc15A2sONHkUG_8E413mbvERjIfEqHUsPF_N184Vk0Q9DLjMJl5iE_Zctgb_-eRCEPeRYAMCFsvCs6Y047qCXPORpBMWFzahaZHBv5CQmZHOLYLkcqli-aVtkjcOADd/w400-h225/A-Boy-Called-Po-2017-Burt-Bacharach.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>A Boy Called Po - 2017 - Bacharach</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div>His first complete film score in 17 years, Bacharach dedicated this movie about autism to his daughter Nikki, who struggled all her life with issues related to her undiagnosed autism and committed suicide in 2007 at age 41. An obvious labor of love, Bacharach donated his talents to the project, played the piano himself on the score, and even secured the licensing rights to <i>"Close To You" </i>for director Joseph Bauer for just $400. Bacharach also composed a song with Billy Mann, <i>"Dancing With Your Shadow,"</i> that can be heard sung by Sheryl Crow over the closing credits.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">TITLE AND THEME SONGS - 37</span></b></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaDKPom6QBQvY8OQz6SDCyewZvyUsAxZnpXO4nohJe_7_SxIUvD7o07HF2U1DFA-gUh8G71wKRjkJgO_aZSetx6_jQTVlfY7KyDBFx_U2hppckq19_E5LgMl-P5qUqHskvJEefIVcOWZBqom9Sv2ah3qUxgbX8u-dKCJyHtVzqZmHqlSJ4UKFCOYyZ/s1544/Burt-Bacharach-Don't-Knock-the-Rock-1956-Lizzie-1957.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="581" data-original-width="1544" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaDKPom6QBQvY8OQz6SDCyewZvyUsAxZnpXO4nohJe_7_SxIUvD7o07HF2U1DFA-gUh8G71wKRjkJgO_aZSetx6_jQTVlfY7KyDBFx_U2hppckq19_E5LgMl-P5qUqHskvJEefIVcOWZBqom9Sv2ah3qUxgbX8u-dKCJyHtVzqZmHqlSJ4UKFCOYyZ/w400-h150/Burt-Bacharach-Don't-Knock-the-Rock-1956-Lizzie-1957.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>DON'T KNOCK THE ROCK (1956) - <i>"I Cry More" - </i>Alan Dale<br /> LIZZIE (1957) - <i>"Warm and Tender" </i>- Johnny Mathis</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD2xZI22iMXL1x0w9P0r4fUPkpv0Nz1EoHeFBZZT6Uf7i6jhRMomvNif9jxAoXX2wBrqTWfcWUrQ3Xu_Ui9l6lBfiePaLURvgWonTIVIBBo93qtVMu30T-M3jEoin0mSEjmampe8TOafoS6Z2No_3QNTVnBr3M_To8FmNaNFiCyxGlebIM0qMrSBvI/s1544/Burt-Bacharach-Sad-Sack-1957-Country-Music-Holiday-1958.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="578" data-original-width="1544" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD2xZI22iMXL1x0w9P0r4fUPkpv0Nz1EoHeFBZZT6Uf7i6jhRMomvNif9jxAoXX2wBrqTWfcWUrQ3Xu_Ui9l6lBfiePaLURvgWonTIVIBBo93qtVMu30T-M3jEoin0mSEjmampe8TOafoS6Z2No_3QNTVnBr3M_To8FmNaNFiCyxGlebIM0qMrSBvI/w400-h150/Burt-Bacharach-Sad-Sack-1957-Country-Music-Holiday-1958.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>THE SAD SACK (1957) - "<i>Sad Sack" </i>- Jerry Lewis <br />COUNTRY MUSIC HOLIDAY (1958) - <i>"Country Music Holiday"</i> - Bernie Nee </b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPFKBqm7PToFswlZdAKj6lUFhZ7cLEl4yNGKWf0p9q193Mh7UBLVKs9P-RC02-0lD96H-UvURyvxsuHFu3vEfkLPPxP1v1B8TTYOfWdDPB2WMqoxtbAooVUdp1bIVQ2LEGBVYufbqOPbK3fYDEEQaSna9NCIZVWk52INHGoW9Jf5bmAdvfRFdcQImX/s1542/Burt-Bacharach-The-Blob-1958-Juke-Box-Rhythm-1959.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="583" data-original-width="1542" height="151" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPFKBqm7PToFswlZdAKj6lUFhZ7cLEl4yNGKWf0p9q193Mh7UBLVKs9P-RC02-0lD96H-UvURyvxsuHFu3vEfkLPPxP1v1B8TTYOfWdDPB2WMqoxtbAooVUdp1bIVQ2LEGBVYufbqOPbK3fYDEEQaSna9NCIZVWk52INHGoW9Jf5bmAdvfRFdcQImX/w400-h151/Burt-Bacharach-The-Blob-1958-Juke-Box-Rhythm-1959.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>THE BLOB (1958) - <i>"The Blob" </i>- The Five Blobs (Bernie Knee)<br />JUKE BOX RHYTHM (1959) - <i>"Make Room for the Joy" </i>- Jack Jones</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">For years I watched the Steve McQueen, Helen Krump (Aneta Corsaut) sci-fi horror flick <b>The Blob</b> without knowing its comically ill-matched, uptempo mambo theme song was composed by Bacharach/David. An entertainingly amusing tune that perhaps takes itself no more seriously than the film it introduces. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGxk89EB9fRTBmYIpxt87ZazzKJbVmYWpTZS4uurZJETpe_BHnlXVfoEQ3LaUoZrBklsXnqgICnOhohYLUdWavelcLu2FpTcHVx1ybONhus2UHNyim97i8s_YUwGGEtBNYR9b0ansxMGhIRovT8fx65K_7iLmG8t1WyNKXCuPKTyhRDhS8BI5x_36U/s1549/Burt-Bacharach-Love-in-a-Goldfish-Bowl-1961-Ring-a-Ding-Rhythm-1962.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1549" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGxk89EB9fRTBmYIpxt87ZazzKJbVmYWpTZS4uurZJETpe_BHnlXVfoEQ3LaUoZrBklsXnqgICnOhohYLUdWavelcLu2FpTcHVx1ybONhus2UHNyim97i8s_YUwGGEtBNYR9b0ansxMGhIRovT8fx65K_7iLmG8t1WyNKXCuPKTyhRDhS8BI5x_36U/w400-h149/Burt-Bacharach-Love-in-a-Goldfish-Bowl-1961-Ring-a-Ding-Rhythm-1962.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>LOVE IN A GOLDFISH BOWL (1961) - "<i>Love in a Goldfish Bowl" </i>- Tommy Sands <br />RING-A-DING RHYTHM (1962) - <i>"Another Tear Falls"</i> - Gene Daniels</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_7DKN8vBPrAcygUsFCbYgX_VOYYc1v6uDp2hoadDmjoZjDBotuTWdj_GQPGkUOA5-rbdCg7i1cGEYpHeLl_VmgYgvCdhyScJQmYmNimWiHSt_0cr-s5GWotI4ueSocyidZCeOaC2gIJErkJsPLr8ZbIB_uftGIMddW0CtkvqDdsa-kreJVg5Y3Iqe/s1548/Burt-Bacharach-Forever-My-Love-Romy-Schneider-1962-Wonderful-to-Be-Young-Cliff-Richard-1962.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="573" data-original-width="1548" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_7DKN8vBPrAcygUsFCbYgX_VOYYc1v6uDp2hoadDmjoZjDBotuTWdj_GQPGkUOA5-rbdCg7i1cGEYpHeLl_VmgYgvCdhyScJQmYmNimWiHSt_0cr-s5GWotI4ueSocyidZCeOaC2gIJErkJsPLr8ZbIB_uftGIMddW0CtkvqDdsa-kreJVg5Y3Iqe/w400-h148/Burt-Bacharach-Forever-My-Love-Romy-Schneider-1962-Wonderful-to-Be-Young-Cliff-Richard-1962.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>FOREVER MY LOVE (1962) - <i>"Forever My Love"</i> - Jane Morgan<br />WONDERFUL TO BE YOUNG (1962) - <i>"It's Wonderful to Be Young" </i>- Cliff Richard</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjEpUKFOCJyrEsj8AIpEbjFVoa-yLGswTWi3PPyFFdmIHRP9MFpJQY7-6khtBcFlY580GWZLzKdaUSaUjcCUtrlRKiDhcWR9eGF3d4V32e7ATf5SzjJBplMO2LZ9ntaZmXE292vgzfS7q84R3VVbAr-znQZjNhf1628Q0vR95laAdVZCdvH63S1eQI/s1549/Burt-Bacharach-A-House-Is-Not-A-Home-1964-Send-Me-No-Flowers-1964.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="568" data-original-width="1549" height="146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjEpUKFOCJyrEsj8AIpEbjFVoa-yLGswTWi3PPyFFdmIHRP9MFpJQY7-6khtBcFlY580GWZLzKdaUSaUjcCUtrlRKiDhcWR9eGF3d4V32e7ATf5SzjJBplMO2LZ9ntaZmXE292vgzfS7q84R3VVbAr-znQZjNhf1628Q0vR95laAdVZCdvH63S1eQI/w400-h146/Burt-Bacharach-A-House-Is-Not-A-Home-1964-Send-Me-No-Flowers-1964.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>A HOUSE IS NOT A HOME (1964) - <i>"A House is Not a Home" </i>- Brooke Benton<br />SEND ME NO FLOWERS (1964) - <i>"Send Me No Flowers" </i>- Doris Day</b></td></tr></tbody></table>Bacharach's gift for haunting melodies and talent for having his songs take delightfully unexpected turns is exemplified by these two title songs, which are huge favorites of mine. If the jaunty Doris Day tune is an ideal fit for a feather-light romantic comedy, the plaintively beautiful song Burt composed for a movie about a whorehouse is an overly-charitable grace note with a capital "G."</div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVKDQZE-FAsMLwjLtPluX68qzJzF6CixRsHlp5-psCOoPBlNXqcv8KCzvEU_vodRD1zAyG7ulTcMW2vURiqPShcTqLuM3Qh919L4ZG4vLE7V3WKDDpMXlMmhuaCKzrT0bNh30OuTippFvuNnghJDEkLRrl0xDvyWnXU18HLZmU9eV0xEmGd-KiZkpP/s2000/Alfie-Michael-Caine-1966-Movie-Poster.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1511" data-original-width="2000" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVKDQZE-FAsMLwjLtPluX68qzJzF6CixRsHlp5-psCOoPBlNXqcv8KCzvEU_vodRD1zAyG7ulTcMW2vURiqPShcTqLuM3Qh919L4ZG4vLE7V3WKDDpMXlMmhuaCKzrT0bNh30OuTippFvuNnghJDEkLRrl0xDvyWnXU18HLZmU9eV0xEmGd-KiZkpP/w400-h303/Alfie-Michael-Caine-1966-Movie-Poster.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>ALFIE (1966) - <i>"Alfie"</i> - Cilla Black / Cher </b></td></tr></tbody></table>Bacharach didn't write the film's score, but the Bacharach/David composition <i>"Alfie" </i>(sung by Cilla Black in the UK version/Cher in US releases) was nominated for Best Song... losing to the lamentable <i>"Born Free." </i>Bacharach always cites this as his favorite of all his songs. It's undoubtedly one of mine.</div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2E7f3ad0xtWTGIMIPV5-nXfcpWvg51zpMCf50bh3_isltVqlzbIr9FRRcTxorvyp5PPYHNS7nAfhtsP3BptdR5o24bLsJPfU6_kwAlXMf_59CiiiyIj5J8fPuefO8Z5S5Clz8GleeEcLD7Fz_jui4OjEOMYw7LAaXWVQYZi-EmQ_AsKprv83HzanB/s1549/Burt-Bacharach-Made-in-Paris-1966-Promise-Her-Anything-1966.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="580" data-original-width="1549" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2E7f3ad0xtWTGIMIPV5-nXfcpWvg51zpMCf50bh3_isltVqlzbIr9FRRcTxorvyp5PPYHNS7nAfhtsP3BptdR5o24bLsJPfU6_kwAlXMf_59CiiiyIj5J8fPuefO8Z5S5Clz8GleeEcLD7Fz_jui4OjEOMYw7LAaXWVQYZi-EmQ_AsKprv83HzanB/w400-h150/Burt-Bacharach-Made-in-Paris-1966-Promise-Her-Anything-1966.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>MADE IN PARIS (1966) - <i>"Made in Paris"</i> - Trini Lopez <br />PROMISE HER ANYTHING (1966) - <i>"Promise Her Anything"</i> - Tom Jones</b></td></tr></tbody></table>A welcome change from all those romantic ballads are these two frug-friendly title songs that fairly burst with '60s à go-go élan. It's delectable, dance-tempo ear candy from Mr. Groovy himself. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnw619e9pKfFpj_I41Ot82uk5ZQc8Im0ot3RG2hrpijRibg3-VB2qSdTdEUklPUkwEBduP0DWdG0b84ggtYm80NxuFopuejF86lFSZGXNXe3Oj5bLLECOWzIEfRu1AfdoeSxgkBYSPVBiCBZ20ksA8Xesyep2myOSw0Fkjyl4ztDBcvRH3-R0-4I-h/s1549/Burt-Bacharach-The-April-Fools-1969-Long-Ago-Tomorrow-1971.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="581" data-original-width="1549" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnw619e9pKfFpj_I41Ot82uk5ZQc8Im0ot3RG2hrpijRibg3-VB2qSdTdEUklPUkwEBduP0DWdG0b84ggtYm80NxuFopuejF86lFSZGXNXe3Oj5bLLECOWzIEfRu1AfdoeSxgkBYSPVBiCBZ20ksA8Xesyep2myOSw0Fkjyl4ztDBcvRH3-R0-4I-h/w400-h150/Burt-Bacharach-The-April-Fools-1969-Long-Ago-Tomorrow-1971.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>THE APRIL FOOLS (1969) - <i>"April Fools" </i>- Dionne Warwick <br />LONG AGO, TOMORROW (1971) - <i>"Long Ago, Tomorrow" </i>- B.J. Thomas</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div>I've always loved the lilting quality of the beautiful song, <i>"April Fools" </i>(which plays during a montage sequence and again under the closing credits)<i>. </i>It's one of Bacharach/David's most lushly romantic compositions. Though the score for <i>The April Fools </i>was composed by Marvin Hamlish, another Bacharach song- <i>"I Say a Little Prayer for You,"</i> pops up during a party scene. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQQwmIyRuP6nbn9s-jqhD4mxXPEf7fZIWILY6J22I59dxKUIoVtNyHqQqOTDapGGemCwRn24IP0FzbB25O3eOQT6XlAkBurvjBbaEwBESG4vT4CksckBqocjnLQemPwTO0Pl7kWRfX5lQxZmf8aDazJV6UQo9QwcU261llH3YNfvEsehzbVFPFMenW/s1544/Burt-Bacharach-Something-Big-1971-Middle-Age-Crazy-Ann-Margret-1980.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="577" data-original-width="1544" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQQwmIyRuP6nbn9s-jqhD4mxXPEf7fZIWILY6J22I59dxKUIoVtNyHqQqOTDapGGemCwRn24IP0FzbB25O3eOQT6XlAkBurvjBbaEwBESG4vT4CksckBqocjnLQemPwTO0Pl7kWRfX5lQxZmf8aDazJV6UQo9QwcU261llH3YNfvEsehzbVFPFMenW/w400-h150/Burt-Bacharach-Something-Big-1971-Middle-Age-Crazy-Ann-Margret-1980.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>SOMETHING BIG (1971) - <i>"something big" </i>- Mark Lindsay <br />MIDDLE AGE CRAZY (1980) - <i>"Where Did The Time Go" </i>- The Pointer Sisters</b></td></tr></tbody></table>Because I have no memory of ever hearing the song <i>"something big"</i> on the radio in 1971 (although I do recall The Goldddigers [of all people] performing it on The Dean Martin Show) I don't think it was much of a hit. But it remains one of my favorite underappreciated Bacharach compositions. It's so quintessentially Bacharach--quirky, jazzy, laid-back, and catchy as hell. </div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWX-oGUe2HFWq59k6Afa1yxymkxREBdxucinweL8oxH3TT56ayHgjM-1mics2_stqAuynI30nH2y-HiGUhkuFyjtaurBaLjscBlxqy2LwIIoTRP3zwpFzxksf-2HUV_ThB6pyEnZ48R7NJFq65-VoydAJ6sBL33zNe-Wb-BOw5tJUsnhv9SnkQHVxv/s1517/Burt-Bacharach-Making-Love-1982-Romantic-Comedy-Mary-Steenburgen-1983.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="582" data-original-width="1517" height="154" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWX-oGUe2HFWq59k6Afa1yxymkxREBdxucinweL8oxH3TT56ayHgjM-1mics2_stqAuynI30nH2y-HiGUhkuFyjtaurBaLjscBlxqy2LwIIoTRP3zwpFzxksf-2HUV_ThB6pyEnZ48R7NJFq65-VoydAJ6sBL33zNe-Wb-BOw5tJUsnhv9SnkQHVxv/w400-h154/Burt-Bacharach-Making-Love-1982-Romantic-Comedy-Mary-Steenburgen-1983.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>MAKING LOVE (1982) - <i>"Making Love" </i>- Roberta Flack <br />ROMANTIC COMEDY (1983) - <i>"Maybe" </i>- Roberta Flack & Peabo Bryson</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxufG2p46JpmjvmtglPOHaVnSbo26pGwMRXW9KaiuByY3ulRTxadJOIa3mhyjggs8BBZGbBSVQu4Fu4cr9hMkpuRIK8Bi_d30cTBaEgHjiZB72RBRfkP3uv7ZaH9zaL8xXVAOwEENvi8WZjDEAEMsRm9ooQxMcc-7viy2aurIJYxrQEtVhzpbTQMig/s1549/Burt-Bacharach-Tough-Guys-1986-Baby-Boom-Diane-Keaton-1987.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="580" data-original-width="1549" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxufG2p46JpmjvmtglPOHaVnSbo26pGwMRXW9KaiuByY3ulRTxadJOIa3mhyjggs8BBZGbBSVQu4Fu4cr9hMkpuRIK8Bi_d30cTBaEgHjiZB72RBRfkP3uv7ZaH9zaL8xXVAOwEENvi8WZjDEAEMsRm9ooQxMcc-7viy2aurIJYxrQEtVhzpbTQMig/w400-h150/Burt-Bacharach-Tough-Guys-1986-Baby-Boom-Diane-Keaton-1987.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>TOUGH GUYS (1986) - <i>"They Don't Make 'em Like They Used To"</i> - Kenny Rogers <br />BABY BOOM (1987) - <i>"Ever Changing Times" </i>- Siedah Garrett</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl9_iXnumqLuPH6OekFWR0dH0Uc-HhhYHtIEsyWHgqWEzOyvxdkv8phiXaQTjWQ7zuuYcGU5nfg0A3IGY9EIDaiT9yxtpqJJ3Wlq0Z2AAIeVRndQVBp8owfxs6pvUJ8A_3Kfvr9GtQjPPwMP1LgUAlinhDYH7On0lS6qGCWoD8Zqr-uWrxZ_wr6qAF/s1549/Burt-Bacharach-Grace-of-My-heart-1996-Stuart-Little-1999.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="578" data-original-width="1549" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl9_iXnumqLuPH6OekFWR0dH0Uc-HhhYHtIEsyWHgqWEzOyvxdkv8phiXaQTjWQ7zuuYcGU5nfg0A3IGY9EIDaiT9yxtpqJJ3Wlq0Z2AAIeVRndQVBp8owfxs6pvUJ8A_3Kfvr9GtQjPPwMP1LgUAlinhDYH7On0lS6qGCWoD8Zqr-uWrxZ_wr6qAF/w400-h149/Burt-Bacharach-Grace-of-My-heart-1996-Stuart-Little-1999.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>GRACE OF MY HEART (1996) - <i>"God Give Me Strength"</i> - Kristen Vigard <br />STUART LITTLE (1999) - <i>"Walking Tall"</i> - Lyle Lovett</b></td></tr></tbody></table>Bacharach's collaborations with Elvis Costello produced some of his best music in years. The impassioned "<i>God Give Me Strength"</i> deserved a little Oscar notice. Bacharach teamed with longtime Andrew Llyod Webber lyricist Tim Rice (<i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/09/jesus-christ-superstar-1973.html" target="_blank">Jesus Christ Superstar</a></i>, <i>Evita</i>) for one of my favorite late-career Bacharach melodies, a jazz-lilt theme about a little white mouse. <br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><b><u>ACADEMY AWARD TALLY 6 nominations / 3 Wins</u></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>What's New Pussycat</i> (1965) Best Song nominee </div><div style="text-align: center;"> <i> Alfie </i>(1966 ) Best Song nominee </div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Casino Royale</i> (1967) Best Song nominee </div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i> Butch Cassidy </i> (1969) WON Best Song & Best Original Score </b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b> Arthur (1981) WON Best Song </b> </div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">EXPLOITATION SONGS - 12</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>A song written to publicize a movie on the radio but is not in the film </b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhHNJKZTZmFyH3lNghvwo1wdPltZYNr92vPvZAgFOnOXsxDthjM-rh9DqPm4FRbSkGKtu1m13mRW7ZihMpWcbDKG5WoUcRcTAR9X5I6GWDFKzOByUc2FWK8W-Q4hQDtcSH3pGEYzQd20Uglgb9g-inP_xkFJZS7PD7Cz50xbY_apQhi5qz2QpKFcSa/s1766/Desperate-Hours-Movie-Poster-1955.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1325" data-original-width="1766" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhHNJKZTZmFyH3lNghvwo1wdPltZYNr92vPvZAgFOnOXsxDthjM-rh9DqPm4FRbSkGKtu1m13mRW7ZihMpWcbDKG5WoUcRcTAR9X5I6GWDFKzOByUc2FWK8W-Q4hQDtcSH3pGEYzQd20Uglgb9g-inP_xkFJZS7PD7Cz50xbY_apQhi5qz2QpKFcSa/w400-h300/Desperate-Hours-Movie-Poster-1955.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The Desperate Hours - 1955 - Bacharach/ Wilson Stone</b></td></tr></tbody></table>Song: <i>The Desperate Hours</i> Sung by: Eileen Rodgers<br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtRaNGN3-ZUE28I89f42dNcX8stsJcnCmUHzF7_d4MQSgvHxPGvAlXzZnzm_aJOypJHidWHwK621DxrSKixGy61gWHZ4KnMAtJs4bcR5MxSZZw1q8AXKkLSoHtp1vtDCbyozY5dgU3YGS-PiTJI6BZlWOm7EUmPmaG3OklugWkClu1XHoC_TrvhM4x/s2837/Hot-Spell-Shirley-Booth-Movie-Poster-1958.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><b><img border="0" data-original-height="2203" data-original-width="2837" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtRaNGN3-ZUE28I89f42dNcX8stsJcnCmUHzF7_d4MQSgvHxPGvAlXzZnzm_aJOypJHidWHwK621DxrSKixGy61gWHZ4KnMAtJs4bcR5MxSZZw1q8AXKkLSoHtp1vtDCbyozY5dgU3YGS-PiTJI6BZlWOm7EUmPmaG3OklugWkClu1XHoC_TrvhM4x/w400-h310/Hot-Spell-Shirley-Booth-Movie-Poster-1958.jpg" width="400" /></b></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Hot Spell - 1958 - Bacharach/Mack David</b></td></tr></tbody></table>Song: <i>Hot Spell </i> Sung by: Margaret Whiting </div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><div>Sophia: <i>"There’s a hurricane a-comin’!”</i></div><div>Dorothy: <i>“ ‘A-comin’?” </i></div><div>Sophia: <i>“That’s right. People only use the 'a' when a really bad storm is a-comin' or a-brewin.’”</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>The above exchange from <i>The Golden Girls </i>partially explains why Miss Whiting reverts to dialect --<i>"All that's a-comin' is a hot spell!" </i> -- during the refrain of this enjoyable, western-trot anthem to lustful longing. </div><div><br /></div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-weight: bold; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyU1AMIDykVTwwaoTKAbP46dEfbIKQdk17rvcVZSO4582_4vT8bYX_HS5RoDioAkLWN-BiwtdLHer0H9tA6C-ps7pbE9Y_mSQdjZA-pAurHFloR6aehFZp4p1Ur1GeiFwjeNICHNqsPcaZk8gwNwFVGaSweit6E1OMEM7CN5Vrw7V5cSxvgp6QZHM8/s2250/The-Hangman-Robert-Taylor-Movie-Poster-1959.jpg" style="font-weight: 400; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1757" data-original-width="2250" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyU1AMIDykVTwwaoTKAbP46dEfbIKQdk17rvcVZSO4582_4vT8bYX_HS5RoDioAkLWN-BiwtdLHer0H9tA6C-ps7pbE9Y_mSQdjZA-pAurHFloR6aehFZp4p1Ur1GeiFwjeNICHNqsPcaZk8gwNwFVGaSweit6E1OMEM7CN5Vrw7V5cSxvgp6QZHM8/w400-h313/The-Hangman-Robert-Taylor-Movie-Poster-1959.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Hangman - 1959 - Bacharach/David</td></tr></tbody></table>Song: <i>The Hangman </i> Sung by: John Ashley </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-weight: bold; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy3rD1YU8ifB4Z6m6p0kl9UZqGsephTRTMjWLwhusvtnRWwsz54wkrzQhqWZ9JpzbMlMhmkWEMZRVxAllle_glYc_-R1mQBlfCz5dlRXhB1aEUZzFpN65ywtOrENUFCS-hhCsEJmG7wjFe0SjJqSM6KSbg6fZKlJmAlrPsvrjoLd56ARB0Onn68li6/s1784/Man-in-the-Net-Carolyn%20Jones,%20Alan-Ladd-1959-Poster.jpg" style="font-weight: 400; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1401" data-original-width="1784" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy3rD1YU8ifB4Z6m6p0kl9UZqGsephTRTMjWLwhusvtnRWwsz54wkrzQhqWZ9JpzbMlMhmkWEMZRVxAllle_glYc_-R1mQBlfCz5dlRXhB1aEUZzFpN65ywtOrENUFCS-hhCsEJmG7wjFe0SjJqSM6KSbg6fZKlJmAlrPsvrjoLd56ARB0Onn68li6/w400-h314/Man-in-the-Net-Carolyn%20Jones,%20Alan-Ladd-1959-Poster.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Man in the Net - 1959 - Bacharach/David</td></tr></tbody></table>Song: <i>The Net </i> Sung by: John Ashley</div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">Actor John Ashley has long been a familiar face to me from those Annette & Frankie Beach Party movies. I had no idea he had a career as a pop singer and introduced TWO<i> (</i>not particularly distinguished) Bacharach/David songs.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-weight: bold; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD_ZjNKWT12INrDARrmEOaHftBRBDrr9KgoR_V-UJJaqNGsP_ExmXAE3SzCpJC3NoWX2H5CLuFAWDBYZ2nekAdcfYYhAPP_49IzZdIqqD0u32lTy485iIUf2f9CEVXItZgnn0afMcx9rU9inKY-D4juJcrzgeJsmQ37LtisjX-TqfMgIHEa-R5YDx4/s1576/That-Kind-of-Woman-Sophia-Loren-1959-Movie-poster.jpg" style="font-weight: 400; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1238" data-original-width="1576" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD_ZjNKWT12INrDARrmEOaHftBRBDrr9KgoR_V-UJJaqNGsP_ExmXAE3SzCpJC3NoWX2H5CLuFAWDBYZ2nekAdcfYYhAPP_49IzZdIqqD0u32lTy485iIUf2f9CEVXItZgnn0afMcx9rU9inKY-D4juJcrzgeJsmQ37LtisjX-TqfMgIHEa-R5YDx4/w400-h314/That-Kind-of-Woman-Sophia-Loren-1959-Movie-poster.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That Kind of Woman - 1959 - Bacharach/David</td></tr></tbody></table>Song: <i>That Kind of Woman </i> Sung by: Joe Williams<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-weight: bold; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-irkbGjEKi2I4niLYNa4A56pJkABYOA_boMdh2OQE7n0I-mPcpt0XFex_8hhH1hwBtPI91U6D2d077jLS3dXp5AVD01X4Mct-VY9JTrhavbb6mvYdCvii1_qtnsTY6KY-s0OwnUYXyZdahU9vlp7Yha5ireLqJix76Vg60XxXy0wS5rytOUrLdsYU/s1602/Suddenly-Last-Summer-Elizabeth-Taylor-1959-Movie%20Poster.JPG" style="font-weight: 400; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1250" data-original-width="1602" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-irkbGjEKi2I4niLYNa4A56pJkABYOA_boMdh2OQE7n0I-mPcpt0XFex_8hhH1hwBtPI91U6D2d077jLS3dXp5AVD01X4Mct-VY9JTrhavbb6mvYdCvii1_qtnsTY6KY-s0OwnUYXyZdahU9vlp7Yha5ireLqJix76Vg60XxXy0wS5rytOUrLdsYU/w400-h313/Suddenly-Last-Summer-Elizabeth-Taylor-1959-Movie%20Poster.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Suddenly, Last Summer - 1959 - Bacharach/David</td></tr></tbody></table>Song: <i>Long Ago, Last Summer </i> Sung by: Diane Trask</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-weight: bold; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPv9tw_aU3HkOsH78JksurqgbrJR0fcZifwbtXo877r91sNDANuSUUHZiCUHSvcK89BxP5DbtAZZl4dCmH1yLPF40o0Yw3Vpd-tyjp2Wh8UTPllq9EvAL0kzyLCveA82hDJgBBJ1GsrWIxFInoY2sKb-1qdm1HzuCHfSx3oWVtC_gAERUHeUSEE5gE/s1828/Who's-Got-The-Action-Dean-Martin-Lana-Turner-1962-Movie-Poster.jpg" style="font-weight: 400; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1437" data-original-width="1828" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPv9tw_aU3HkOsH78JksurqgbrJR0fcZifwbtXo877r91sNDANuSUUHZiCUHSvcK89BxP5DbtAZZl4dCmH1yLPF40o0Yw3Vpd-tyjp2Wh8UTPllq9EvAL0kzyLCveA82hDJgBBJ1GsrWIxFInoY2sKb-1qdm1HzuCHfSx3oWVtC_gAERUHeUSEE5gE/w400-h315/Who's-Got-The-Action-Dean-Martin-Lana-Turner-1962-Movie-Poster.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who's Got the Action? - 1962 - Bacharach/Bob Hilliard</td></tr></tbody></table>Song: <i>Who's Got The Action?</i> Sung by: Phil Colbert</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-weight: bold; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOkX7cO9mD8wkkQgVQgC-hm7td_3qV4HbXL14R3EWZTdX2VGo5rsx59JdjOLO30571Vt4jUhdiNrYavcY-ML7jHB5sQp-v_wK_DvHOP3m-W5kdITuO98ZMgguzRgjtJphhlrbFxDS4Jmm26VilfC-vEe_WvOvHBX2E-ShdcGWYOaw7fFeI0Za0YBWB/s1979/Man-Who-Shot-Liberty-Valance-Jimmy-Stewart-1962-Movie-Poster.jpg" style="font-weight: 400; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1979" height="324" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOkX7cO9mD8wkkQgVQgC-hm7td_3qV4HbXL14R3EWZTdX2VGo5rsx59JdjOLO30571Vt4jUhdiNrYavcY-ML7jHB5sQp-v_wK_DvHOP3m-W5kdITuO98ZMgguzRgjtJphhlrbFxDS4Jmm26VilfC-vEe_WvOvHBX2E-ShdcGWYOaw7fFeI0Za0YBWB/w400-h324/Man-Who-Shot-Liberty-Valance-Jimmy-Stewart-1962-Movie-Poster.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance - 1962 - Bacharach/David</td></tr></tbody></table>Song: <i>The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance </i> Sung by: Gene Pitney</div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">Okay, is this catchy, Western-pop narrative tune not THE best exploitation song ever? It sparked my interest enough to get me to sit through this gunslinger soap. I was very disappointed that the song never turned up in the movie.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-weight: bold; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6r9T_a42z75fRFvjZpxR0HLYkH3rUJa_woiuyCmCdoRv5cLkO6yOrrzQkcLsOLjdh36P-gr78O3ngIBUM1nJJKeTeA9z7LmfwKRvpJASZHJxW8Zr61TA87axrUa9ja4BuYlNS49pWlcSBTpg-DloChKHT-PEkEo1BOb8qHARAUxOyp6MoGOALE8GE/s1649/Wives-and-lovers-1963-movie-poster.JPG" style="font-weight: 400; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1295" data-original-width="1649" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6r9T_a42z75fRFvjZpxR0HLYkH3rUJa_woiuyCmCdoRv5cLkO6yOrrzQkcLsOLjdh36P-gr78O3ngIBUM1nJJKeTeA9z7LmfwKRvpJASZHJxW8Zr61TA87axrUa9ja4BuYlNS49pWlcSBTpg-DloChKHT-PEkEo1BOb8qHARAUxOyp6MoGOALE8GE/w400-h314/Wives-and-lovers-1963-movie-poster.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wives & Lovers - 1963 - Bacharach/David</td></tr></tbody></table>Song: <i>Wives and Lovers</i> Sung by: Jack Jones</div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">Bacharach's music is so good on this song that it almost makes you forget the cringingly sexist lyrics. Putting the words in a woman's mouth (as with Warwick's sublime version) softens the eye-rolling a bit, but Bacharach's full instrumental version is primo Bacharach. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-weight: bold; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSrnB8yjel4cPfrwVg_O5SDRxjoi65W2O2jfASdyN8W3d8IP7xbCHoWXjL0bssixau0xUmwechWHjvzq9-NpC2BpAv0RlzV04iFKEaFhQAG5tOe67G8P563GZtcKKo8CL6iPDg7-PyUvfhvuskM1Noi5fE6YYBWT8NrfgspoyJS9_Nq3IB-U0lf5Qs/s1366/Who's-Been-Sleeping-In-My-Bed-Dean-Martin-1963-Movie-Poster.jpg" style="font-weight: 400; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1073" data-original-width="1366" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSrnB8yjel4cPfrwVg_O5SDRxjoi65W2O2jfASdyN8W3d8IP7xbCHoWXjL0bssixau0xUmwechWHjvzq9-NpC2BpAv0RlzV04iFKEaFhQAG5tOe67G8P563GZtcKKo8CL6iPDg7-PyUvfhvuskM1Noi5fE6YYBWT8NrfgspoyJS9_Nq3IB-U0lf5Qs/w400-h314/Who's-Been-Sleeping-In-My-Bed-Dean-Martin-1963-Movie-Poster.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who's Been Sleeping in My Bed? - 1963 - Bacharach/David</td></tr></tbody></table>Song: <i>Who's Been Sleeping in My Bed? </i> Sung by: Linda Scott</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-weight: bold; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2zCWokYXyx0Dqd3ZPPHhbXDuSVZOA6nEmUkPg6TE-cE06UMlzRCSLbJF6EhlSDZulPJGTd6VMKd10NI9QlhbYGHFVkQUopxIyz5thIFUa-p8ud5AFHCkeiBpEnSz2iAhJB49sinDk75t_7clbXwLgfKX0W9wBdW-bJ6_T7_vkqR--7PaULBnNlVpn/s1561/Fool-Killer-Anthony-Perkins-1965-Movie-Poster.JPG" style="font-weight: 400; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1219" data-original-width="1561" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2zCWokYXyx0Dqd3ZPPHhbXDuSVZOA6nEmUkPg6TE-cE06UMlzRCSLbJF6EhlSDZulPJGTd6VMKd10NI9QlhbYGHFVkQUopxIyz5thIFUa-p8ud5AFHCkeiBpEnSz2iAhJB49sinDk75t_7clbXwLgfKX0W9wBdW-bJ6_T7_vkqR--7PaULBnNlVpn/w400-h313/Fool-Killer-Anthony-Perkins-1965-Movie-Poster.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Fool Killer - 1965 - Bacharach/David</td></tr></tbody></table>Song: <i>Fool Killer </i> Sung by: Gene Pitney </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-weight: bold; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI8gtj1KQxin3CxQAVauSKDnFANOKkynbNKhZtNgLp9Mkjp0Sl8niYK8vSzd3_DnxPvGE2oo9meGqCV5vDKKDT-GIO30_Zyclr2A41Igegni8pR9-94Qu7QKKYBbp_Dr3_p1kzUNzPC7VfHzGt_Hal5teN0aG7A71FbAVB8QISsEvVxKQeH1ICBt7k/s1767/ET-The-ExtraTerrestrial-1982-movie%20-poster.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1307" data-original-width="1767" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI8gtj1KQxin3CxQAVauSKDnFANOKkynbNKhZtNgLp9Mkjp0Sl8niYK8vSzd3_DnxPvGE2oo9meGqCV5vDKKDT-GIO30_Zyclr2A41Igegni8pR9-94Qu7QKKYBbp_Dr3_p1kzUNzPC7VfHzGt_Hal5teN0aG7A71FbAVB8QISsEvVxKQeH1ICBt7k/w400-h296/ET-The-ExtraTerrestrial-1982-movie%20-poster.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial - 1982 - Bacharach/Neil Diamond/ Carol Bayer Sager</b></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Song: <i>Heartlight </i> Sung by: Neil Diamond </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As this was written more than a month after the Steven Spielberg film was released, it's more a tribute song than an exploitation one. But that's not how Universal Studios saw it. They sued the trio for $25,000. Something Bacharach in his 2013 memoir <i>Anyone Who Had a Heart </i>claimed to still irk him many years later. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">FILM APPEARANCES</span></b></div><div style="text-align: left;">The <i>Austin Powers</i> trilogy of spy spoofs introduced Burt Bacharach and his music to a new generation. (<i>Casino Royale's</i> "Look of Love" inspired its creator Mike Myers). Bacharach made cameo appearances in each film.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU0_oTM2_qPeoK0HZebSoJkD6389eIGr_NUwnPhZJ98MMXquw33cuxCGViXGyssMSgZdBC3rp_g001FIHrTNYssX4eHh39vFkGZbhlBB4u_ItCpsBU6uj1-SaVv34YkJ237MdA0hfRF7xkmztUf-u1s2VBmG71SiP8Tf92Nci83anukaFYvr0UHqrM/s1763/Burt-Bacharach-Austin-Powers-International-Man-of-Mystery-1997.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1763" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU0_oTM2_qPeoK0HZebSoJkD6389eIGr_NUwnPhZJ98MMXquw33cuxCGViXGyssMSgZdBC3rp_g001FIHrTNYssX4eHh39vFkGZbhlBB4u_ItCpsBU6uj1-SaVv34YkJ237MdA0hfRF7xkmztUf-u1s2VBmG71SiP8Tf92Nci83anukaFYvr0UHqrM/w400-h208/Burt-Bacharach-Austin-Powers-International-Man-of-Mystery-1997.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption"><b>AUSTIN POWERS: INTERNATIONAL MAN OF MYSTERY (1997)<br /></b>Singing the 1965 song <i>"What the World Needs Now Is Love" </i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2AL35rW6RvCBpvXrYfwMnrxyESIemNkTaA8aUEqCfWb3ObPwjhkUzOMzzwuQj2BzL9CwZBGdbBum-0_mRJLd44F2tTssBH_IBnhVvz2dH-_EBwcQWJwJYA7OgG6i9_S-tq4-p-UyaTIG05vQDe4wYvcbi-SmJtslgK--bsYkKKOLastfwPMgpZFd2/s1764/Burt-Bacharach-Austin-Powers-The%20Spy%20Who-Shagged%20Me-1999.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="905" data-original-width="1764" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2AL35rW6RvCBpvXrYfwMnrxyESIemNkTaA8aUEqCfWb3ObPwjhkUzOMzzwuQj2BzL9CwZBGdbBum-0_mRJLd44F2tTssBH_IBnhVvz2dH-_EBwcQWJwJYA7OgG6i9_S-tq4-p-UyaTIG05vQDe4wYvcbi-SmJtslgK--bsYkKKOLastfwPMgpZFd2/w400-h205/Burt-Bacharach-Austin-Powers-The%20Spy%20Who-Shagged%20Me-1999.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption"><b>AUSTIN POWERS: THE SPY WHO SHAGGED ME (1999</b>)<br />Elvis Costello sings 1969's <i>"I'll Never Fall in Love Again" </i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg45mq3i07QHwmcIDLEpdhrwmXOxs44bLLKma740_8Pm2aDXWhlZTPxu6iXdQ_OYTtJDpYdCoWfwDbqHoTiy7LxU0VOvAGhP0VaTd1yc4QoMfvmDB66hhidy8lYH_mYPWbFTYeAcjuLXh_465RLOWWLzSwsdGmcQqnZYnO344zZmr4gSEilxdOUn35i/s1768/Burt-Bacharach-Austin-Powers-in-Goldmember-2002.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="910" data-original-width="1768" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg45mq3i07QHwmcIDLEpdhrwmXOxs44bLLKma740_8Pm2aDXWhlZTPxu6iXdQ_OYTtJDpYdCoWfwDbqHoTiy7LxU0VOvAGhP0VaTd1yc4QoMfvmDB66hhidy8lYH_mYPWbFTYeAcjuLXh_465RLOWWLzSwsdGmcQqnZYnO344zZmr4gSEilxdOUn35i/w400-h206/Burt-Bacharach-Austin-Powers-in-Goldmember-2002.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>AUSTIN POWERS in GOLDMEMBER (2002)</b><br />Singing 1965's <i>"What the World Needs Now Is Love"<br /><br /></i></td></tr></tbody></table></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>HONORABLE MENTION</b></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHfyj5vNlAKdZAc6TVW6EEX0432UEI9eG8MRnRG0pJ2H4V3z3bz_w1l8zfZcwwCsRjErNRYX1pLujFs7hPeOHsyef6LNbM9YPF9N8FsVP2DzZakxwwRcTOKAopKZdTfgI8WMU2LS_b0mH8CSkK-mF8EiIlGs6yseHsfxexqYUfWixxHH0dobtKXvGp/s1295/Burt-Bacharach-Abc-Movie-of-the-week-1969-Nikki-1966.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="970" data-original-width="1295" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHfyj5vNlAKdZAc6TVW6EEX0432UEI9eG8MRnRG0pJ2H4V3z3bz_w1l8zfZcwwCsRjErNRYX1pLujFs7hPeOHsyef6LNbM9YPF9N8FsVP2DzZakxwwRcTOKAopKZdTfgI8WMU2LS_b0mH8CSkK-mF8EiIlGs6yseHsfxexqYUfWixxHH0dobtKXvGp/w320-h240/Burt-Bacharach-Abc-Movie-of-the-week-1969-Nikki-1966.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>"Nikki" - 1966 - Bacharach/David</b></td></tr></tbody></table>Neither an exploitation song nor a melody written exclusively for a motion picture, but as a Boomer, I'd be remiss if I failed to include this seminal '70s anthem in this comprehensive record of Bacharach's film legacy. Composed in 1966 in honor of the birth of daughter [with 2nd wife Angie Dickinson] Lea Nikki Bacharach (1966 - 2007), "Nikki" was repurposed and immortalized in 1969 when this gentle melody was given a robust orchestral arrangement and became the theme for The ABC Movie of the Week for the next five years. (A rare, off-his-game Hal David contributed some forgettable lyrics that have happily remained so.)<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>BONUS MATERIAL</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRUztpYz_vrwb-n730d9qA8dOaYgA758mrk14xpGLaXcb1Zn-y5iFyE-4dZSuN7_ejkvTuGKoIbnS50_Mc5bAeW5wtOewxn1dmnXTxQi7tsTsVQnMVDEJZE28KKUD0aez-ln2JK_FNHSaoqG30T4APDdxXBrw_XumicJ2xLuSZx248_K7-XUnHZTzv/s1735/Hal-David-Dionne-Warwick-Burt-Bacharach.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1735" data-original-width="1548" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRUztpYz_vrwb-n730d9qA8dOaYgA758mrk14xpGLaXcb1Zn-y5iFyE-4dZSuN7_ejkvTuGKoIbnS50_Mc5bAeW5wtOewxn1dmnXTxQi7tsTsVQnMVDEJZE28KKUD0aez-ln2JK_FNHSaoqG30T4APDdxXBrw_XumicJ2xLuSZx248_K7-XUnHZTzv/w358-h400/Hal-David-Dionne-Warwick-Burt-Bacharach.jpg" width="358" /></a></div>For all the individual achievement reflected by Burt Bacharach's fitting dominance in this tribute, I must make clear that as far as I'm concerned, there IS no Burt Bacharach without lyricist Hal David (May 25, 1921 – Sept. 1, 2012). And (in my life, at least) there would be NO Bacharach/David without Dionne Warwick. Having the opportunity to see her perform last year and hear her singing songs born of this genius trio's longtime collaboration was one of the premier experiences of my life. <br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVaSoUOWRdlRVtp0N3eJ_2FTi_HJvkQK5yG5Km4W738BaDbMEa9RAuSva5IkrjW8DD7LuhjosouCRq6sTpYm4OpQ2zXD-2vMbSzj_VPYppCnnat7Dtk1oKNRvQoUabIPIbGIalTQX3iuGyHQw_IXLNvEZlU6UzoTqYUSp1fWXAcNxaKCzQJ3SaT0ms/s1979/Burt-Bacharach-Song-by-Song-2003-Serene-Dominic-Billboard-April-1970-Newsweek-June-1970.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1147" data-original-width="1979" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVaSoUOWRdlRVtp0N3eJ_2FTi_HJvkQK5yG5Km4W738BaDbMEa9RAuSva5IkrjW8DD7LuhjosouCRq6sTpYm4OpQ2zXD-2vMbSzj_VPYppCnnat7Dtk1oKNRvQoUabIPIbGIalTQX3iuGyHQw_IXLNvEZlU6UzoTqYUSp1fWXAcNxaKCzQJ3SaT0ms/w434-h251/Burt-Bacharach-Song-by-Song-2003-Serene-Dominic-Billboard-April-1970-Newsweek-June-1970.jpg" width="434" /></a></div>This tribute to Burt Bacharach's contribution to cinema wouldn't be possible without Serene Dominic's invaluable reference - "Burt Bacharach: Song By Song." Published in 2003, I highly recommend this informative and entertaining book to any Bacharach fans.<div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD6u5LdbvKHbk5yWvdG9XcjWhAhhTvcngS_j2oOUEJEnrcpw4FmNB5t_5mQbf3V2Qshrwm7ytz8svZpr0YqrqNHGi2HegFy6P8FVztUmjxjXEwKATQ_PF-48Ev1MvXhTPke391RgCz3_gfFucaDmhGuISJqYkTwg2UixzYcmfOXjWgKOPk8w3cplt7/s1319/Burt-Bacharach-Album-Cover-Jim-McCrary-1971.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1305" data-original-width="1319" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD6u5LdbvKHbk5yWvdG9XcjWhAhhTvcngS_j2oOUEJEnrcpw4FmNB5t_5mQbf3V2Qshrwm7ytz8svZpr0YqrqNHGi2HegFy6P8FVztUmjxjXEwKATQ_PF-48Ev1MvXhTPke391RgCz3_gfFucaDmhGuISJqYkTwg2UixzYcmfOXjWgKOPk8w3cplt7/s320/Burt-Bacharach-Album-Cover-Jim-McCrary-1971.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The Composer as Pop Star</b><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;">Photographer Jim McCrary (who shot the iconic cover of Carol King's <i>Tapestry</i> album)</div><div style="text-align: center;">took this photo for Burt's 1971 self-titled LP for A&M Records. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Copyright © Ken Anderson 2009 - 2023</div></div></div>Ken Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04940648971296673233noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2627032459273165000.post-60144551612130033882023-05-26T09:36:00.005-07:002023-06-03T21:27:42.220-07:00THE TRAGEDY OF MACBETH 2021<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbEL7gzowaW0JOlBbVGaxLiWWSmi3VEmG5dpFWT2G42w_o-uNbdSElCuOPP1957BEImPdYlBeXy2hfx4t1ltDH2qFyLtA1P5WOyIcx11yU9W-S5GiKDm5OtSQTUDiQzNvhot4r308N34bVoYqQ3hlM02M49FjDMRXVSR1Py0H3ZKrEDnuCsaJxhuG-/s1478/Tragedy-of-Macbeth-2021.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1478" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbEL7gzowaW0JOlBbVGaxLiWWSmi3VEmG5dpFWT2G42w_o-uNbdSElCuOPP1957BEImPdYlBeXy2hfx4t1ltDH2qFyLtA1P5WOyIcx11yU9W-S5GiKDm5OtSQTUDiQzNvhot4r308N34bVoYqQ3hlM02M49FjDMRXVSR1Py0H3ZKrEDnuCsaJxhuG-/w400-h293/Tragedy-of-Macbeth-2021.png" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div><b><i> "The art of film can only really exist through a highly organized betrayal of reality." </i></b></div><div style="text-align: right;"><b>François Truffaut </b></div><div><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div>For reasons obvious, the years 2020 and 2021 are largely a blur to me. The pandemic and subsequent lockdown of 2020 turned time into a literal ontological abstraction; with yesterdays feeling as remote and irretrievable as dreams, tomorrows never actually seeming to arrive at all. Only the tail-end of 2021 stands out in my mind. And that's chiefly because I associate it with those snail-pace early days of life in Los Angeles stumbling towards a return to something resembling "normalcy." And not a minute too soon. </div><div>For the close of 2021 is also burned into my mind as the days when the American populace—vacillating between being independently suicidal or societally homicidal over having to endure even one second more of inconvenience—seemed hell-bent on making real the allegorical nightmares of Goldman's <i>Lord of the Flies </i>(1963) and Buñuel's <i>The Exterminating Angel </i>(1962). </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWx3-P-IP6LXW2E0Wla-WRPPJC8nUjvu788uWtBIoxDPfrjr9xwE_3d3qekALNcZ7TohfzwWaiuYDIpnFdQAKSPAkgPoGmaXDCNuEc118aaoQ15buEs0Vpkn_ycFeh9rz8JasdHuqcP6iecVonAUcGGlwkzUOZW2Q9WgFCc3FkIsa0bqHaq3NyYf6q/s4032/The-Tragedy-of-Macbeth-Denzel-Washington-Joel-Coen-Jan-29-%202022.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2238" data-original-width="4032" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWx3-P-IP6LXW2E0Wla-WRPPJC8nUjvu788uWtBIoxDPfrjr9xwE_3d3qekALNcZ7TohfzwWaiuYDIpnFdQAKSPAkgPoGmaXDCNuEc118aaoQ15buEs0Vpkn_ycFeh9rz8JasdHuqcP6iecVonAUcGGlwkzUOZW2Q9WgFCc3FkIsa0bqHaq3NyYf6q/w400-h223/The-Tragedy-of-Macbeth-Denzel-Washington-Joel-Coen-Jan-29-%202022.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div><b>I was so hyped to see this movie; every time I saw a billboard or poster I, practically gasped</b></div></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">Happily, I also associate the waning days of 2021 with the off-the-charts excitement I felt about the movies slated for holiday release (Nov/Dec). A roster of titles that featured four -count 'em, FOUR!- movies I anticipated with the eagerness of a kid on Christmas Eve. A rarity of sensation that had me remembering how, when I was young, it felt like every month yielded at least a minimum of two or three movies I convinced myself I couldn't live without. Now, in advanced adulthood and during this, Hollywood's Theme Park Ride era of moviemaking (thank you, Mr. Scorsese), I feel fortunate if a calendar year yields even one movie I can get worked up about. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div>To look forward to something is to foresee a tomorrow. So, at the time, with a new year on the horizon and the world emerging from beneath a devastatingly dark cloud, it was all too easy to take my enthusiasm for this uncommonly rich cinema bounty as a glimmer of post-election hope and reminder that the arts endure. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7lkNSIE2B9wFDzDDwRU16UlTjYScqUneOTI4JDfWUOAOT-tCAAE-FybHYUdoKrNalJz6VL8QS1QyDM0hzRDHirpOrubeXfFEkRZWGtUtNj8-JcyfXop2l0Y1HwmucEmJoPhOM_U3QFLDh0D6sYYqtpY3tihTMKYDf6ynLss-uL_Oro24JYzBjfxCJ/s1998/Power-of-the-Dog-Nightmare-Alley-Wwst-Side-Story-The-Tragedy-of-Macbeth-Holiday-Movie-Releases-2021.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="707" data-original-width="1998" height="165" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7lkNSIE2B9wFDzDDwRU16UlTjYScqUneOTI4JDfWUOAOT-tCAAE-FybHYUdoKrNalJz6VL8QS1QyDM0hzRDHirpOrubeXfFEkRZWGtUtNj8-JcyfXop2l0Y1HwmucEmJoPhOM_U3QFLDh0D6sYYqtpY3tihTMKYDf6ynLss-uL_Oro24JYzBjfxCJ/w468-h165/Power-of-the-Dog-Nightmare-Alley-Wwst-Side-Story-The-Tragedy-of-Macbeth-Holiday-Movie-Releases-2021.jpg" width="468" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div><b>Cinematherapy<br /></b><b>The Big Four: </b><b><i>The Power of the Dog</i>, <i>Nightmare Alley</i>, <i>West Side Story</i>, & <i>The Tragedy of Macbeth.</i> <br /></b><b>Like many, I leaned heavily on the magic of movies to get me through the darkest days of the pandemic and the death throes of a certain political hellscape. At the close of 2021, the impassioned artistry of these four films lifted my spirits in ways you can't imagine. Each in their individual brilliance buoyed my certainty that art always has and always will surmount chaos and ignorance. </b> </div><p></p></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;">As badly as I wanted to see these films, only <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2022/12/west-side-story-2021.html" target="_blank">West Side Story</a></i> had me seriously considering leapfrogging over the recent spikes in COVID outbreaks and seeing it in a theater. Ultimately, cooler heads prevailed (one, actually, my partner's) and I kept my ass at home. But thanks to the swift turnaround from theatrical release to streaming, postponing my cinema gratification to early 2022 proved hardly the hardship I'd imagined it would be. </div><div style="text-align: left;">Indeed, the decision to wait only served to feed my already keen excitement. Plus, streaming these films from the comfort of home brought with it the bonus of being able to savor each of these outstanding movies multiple times at my leisure. A perk I'm afraid I indulged to a fault. Particularly as pertaining to <i>The Tragedy of Macbeth</i>, which I rapturously watched five times. </div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8_cU-WQ8Gyclh2JMOhKhYl2IFIu32Fq79Ich-9LCWrbbGmV6T9DLEVChPB5I1Q-PGFH9gz1qcBfIPYQ1MMpzoQOQWLsiRqIvKimInw_fvnlh5tzZv9uaUuGvAFq724qe7aL4002EKxqDwYAWq3eaHfms6faVsGsUK8gXjbPJz3vSIZp2mc3bsgwCP/s1788/Denzel-Washington-Tragedy-of-Macbeth-2021.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1305" data-original-width="1788" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8_cU-WQ8Gyclh2JMOhKhYl2IFIu32Fq79Ich-9LCWrbbGmV6T9DLEVChPB5I1Q-PGFH9gz1qcBfIPYQ1MMpzoQOQWLsiRqIvKimInw_fvnlh5tzZv9uaUuGvAFq724qe7aL4002EKxqDwYAWq3eaHfms6faVsGsUK8gXjbPJz3vSIZp2mc3bsgwCP/w400-h293/Denzel-Washington-Tragedy-of-Macbeth-2021.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Denzel Washington as Macbeth</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6-HEXs2wjSKPA2rUgJoe53ps71U7WTD_KEDJAi07HdLkLL0ZqIbXeWcH-dJy7To93aiQdy83zfP9xg7b9sZ4Pbl8ZFBNr1yIIr9ULEiPOWS-CULn_HlJR3NaLUy-YLaVIpfYArmQ8uvBnqtVRf7f2e2iVRzfTwwjMwLBV0K3BpCTcVoUr5m4noE7D/s1478/Frances-McDormand-Tragedy-of-Macbeth-2021.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1478" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6-HEXs2wjSKPA2rUgJoe53ps71U7WTD_KEDJAi07HdLkLL0ZqIbXeWcH-dJy7To93aiQdy83zfP9xg7b9sZ4Pbl8ZFBNr1yIIr9ULEiPOWS-CULn_HlJR3NaLUy-YLaVIpfYArmQ8uvBnqtVRf7f2e2iVRzfTwwjMwLBV0K3BpCTcVoUr5m4noE7D/w400-h293/Frances-McDormand-Tragedy-of-Macbeth-2021.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Frances McDormand as Lady Macbeth</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-WOM6E_1-4Qc9uf4y9YpuPQj0Jv6FWxxH7OiWu19zjHxeOdgXAUPTjfY5JSsYzr5BTCtxL9cgv_P7uQUNQBfl-JquOnQDf32TS_kImEUHX8NreS_MO77tPD--k5fc-sYwE0oe5U2jaxTmWEiIXadqTXGZAsc1_JX0KBdnJKLsfQ9vhKFT5E1wHia6/s1478/Brendan-Gleeson-Tragedy-of-Macbeth-2021.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1478" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-WOM6E_1-4Qc9uf4y9YpuPQj0Jv6FWxxH7OiWu19zjHxeOdgXAUPTjfY5JSsYzr5BTCtxL9cgv_P7uQUNQBfl-JquOnQDf32TS_kImEUHX8NreS_MO77tPD--k5fc-sYwE0oe5U2jaxTmWEiIXadqTXGZAsc1_JX0KBdnJKLsfQ9vhKFT5E1wHia6/w400-h293/Brendan-Gleeson-Tragedy-of-Macbeth-2021.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brendan Gleeson as King Duncan</td></tr></tbody></table>When it comes to the works of William Shakespeare, I'm hardly an aficionado and more the type to be seen bolting for the exit the minute someone uses "Shakespearean" as an adjective (calling to mind as it does images of capes, tights, and over-orating hams). But of all the Shakespeare plays I've read, tragedies and comedies alike, <i>Macbeth</i> has always been my favorite. An opinion underscored by measure of the sheer number and variety of film, television, and stage adaptions of "The Scottish Play" I've enjoyed over the years.<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjADJxctNBTtAOGC1IbFvp2z0i8CWsHiWU-Y4yQO3QuvfGnUEGuLOHTrZyAgd4WAC9B2mOi5mVwG-UViUwTI49QHhZoDDOLF_-GBECMCE0WMdPI3e1jWhp4CnFnjodFa3Ow5QI-sKr5EUVN6E_L_NOXezDMlUTOcYEF7WqCinnZQve5XrawHLwrBDWo/s1478/Bertie-Carvel-Tragedy-of-Macbeth-2021.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1478" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjADJxctNBTtAOGC1IbFvp2z0i8CWsHiWU-Y4yQO3QuvfGnUEGuLOHTrZyAgd4WAC9B2mOi5mVwG-UViUwTI49QHhZoDDOLF_-GBECMCE0WMdPI3e1jWhp4CnFnjodFa3Ow5QI-sKr5EUVN6E_L_NOXezDMlUTOcYEF7WqCinnZQve5XrawHLwrBDWo/w400-h293/Bertie-Carvel-Tragedy-of-Macbeth-2021.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bertie Carvel as Banquo</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsg0YKRkuwuoU_Jw0ttGYGIioe5PskHpRw5SOCvUoMRe66ZyjdGnz0AS-g62n99GlsZoHPDUWYP9cZGujuJfjsw_27ZR7-DeARVsxbTU7t6fWeaLQO2est_XuYiZWb0HSHvKu_q-mIHZxBfTPVmBUB56jagvwdd61afxoiAFc-SN4sk8ITy4M82aIi/s1478/Corey-Hawkins-Tragedy-of-Macbeth-2021%20(2).png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1478" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsg0YKRkuwuoU_Jw0ttGYGIioe5PskHpRw5SOCvUoMRe66ZyjdGnz0AS-g62n99GlsZoHPDUWYP9cZGujuJfjsw_27ZR7-DeARVsxbTU7t6fWeaLQO2est_XuYiZWb0HSHvKu_q-mIHZxBfTPVmBUB56jagvwdd61afxoiAFc-SN4sk8ITy4M82aIi/w400-h293/Corey-Hawkins-Tragedy-of-Macbeth-2021%20(2).png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Corey Hawkins as Macduff</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYhIxvMXM82whbDdbzSzZkwT-gLTpm3oCtTlQSgIoMJJvRcLTvF6iliNsZypCsnM3E-IoztGIhalH1kbeKAOznz3BpJFsEqLtOJd_Z8xRz9XJ96-5achdYlEqYsM2PyM__OeYa1eX4kxNrpf0LPdB9DXU4maWUV--hLaTuty82niB1og49cbQeF2mQ/s1478/Alex-Hassell-Tragedy-of-Macbeth-2021%20(2).png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1478" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYhIxvMXM82whbDdbzSzZkwT-gLTpm3oCtTlQSgIoMJJvRcLTvF6iliNsZypCsnM3E-IoztGIhalH1kbeKAOznz3BpJFsEqLtOJd_Z8xRz9XJ96-5achdYlEqYsM2PyM__OeYa1eX4kxNrpf0LPdB9DXU4maWUV--hLaTuty82niB1og49cbQeF2mQ/w400-h293/Alex-Hassell-Tragedy-of-Macbeth-2021%20(2).png" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alex Hassell as Ross</td></tr></tbody></table><i>Macbeth</i>, Shakespeare's blood-soaked tragedy of a nobleman brought low by ambition and a waning conscience has captivated me since it was required reading in my high school English class. As poetically engrossing on the printed page as it is emotionally absorbing when given visual dimension on the screen, I've always loved <i>Macbeth</i>’s heady potion of history, the supernatural, melodrama, prose, fatalism, swordplay, guilt, ambition, free will, madness, and psychology. It’s got everything! And at the center, two incredibly dynamic, complex, and grievously-flawed characters. <div><br /><div>But it's never been a mystery to me why <i>Macbeth</i> stands out from the pack. Classical in structure and (to my way of thinking) often needlessly formal in presentation, <i>Macbeth</i>,<i> </i>as the stuff of movies,<i> </i>is right up my alley in being precisely the kind of dagger-sharp evisceration of the dark side of humanity that characterize a great many of my favorite films. It's a theme I tend to gravitate to and for which (as this blog has revealed to me) I clearly have a decided preference.</div><div>Indeed, for me, one of the most mesmerizing things about this, director Joel Coen’s "Dreamscape meets Theater-of-the-Mind" conceptualization of <i>The Tragedy of Macbeth</i> is the degree to which it evokes the very essence of what my sweetheart might label as "Typical Ken Movies":</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Dbev_Jz7wvL82ivG1X3XDWuqJJaCit-1aX1ejxonhMc838DyIZNXt-xA4zNs43-abzm8VFo--Ogccy8sXNQ_mPgzbNdi1VL2d3L-DM8g5bUXH4vc15_s2wpK-AApqWFH8YpRUEOWC2cQdT2ySLSbbKd4ylKs61UJUsj5STgyWQWNq9DhFqxugdKM/s1920/Casino-Rober-DeNiro-Sharon-Stone-1995-Martin-Scorsese.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="816" data-original-width="1920" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Dbev_Jz7wvL82ivG1X3XDWuqJJaCit-1aX1ejxonhMc838DyIZNXt-xA4zNs43-abzm8VFo--Ogccy8sXNQ_mPgzbNdi1VL2d3L-DM8g5bUXH4vc15_s2wpK-AApqWFH8YpRUEOWC2cQdT2ySLSbbKd4ylKs61UJUsj5STgyWQWNq9DhFqxugdKM/w400-h170/Casino-Rober-DeNiro-Sharon-Stone-1995-Martin-Scorsese.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Even the Macbeths wouldn't mess with this duo</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">I'm crazy about Martin Scorsese. Particularly the operatic scope he brings to movies full of psychological and criminal intrigues like <i>Raging Bull</i> (1980), <i>Casino</i> (1995), and <i>The Irishman </i>(2019). Like <i>The Tragedy of Macbeth</i>, many of Scorsese's films are about violent people with Goliath-sized dreams who meet tragic ends due to their inability to get out of the way of their own inherently Lilliputian natures. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVSc3T7dgOElPi_lLTVuYOLxUnYFOJl3mZTOo683pr6HcEBEY5LMEsBGcXBr7eRDlwjWe4Am7f83fwlmNz82QBEaSF6vcoC4_x-OkpSQLQctAzeZNZQWbaKQq18JNi1IBuPKv2vUYunNLRK_LPd4ZJiU-hk26zPg8SWnJ71x5h2ZuCkIRLQXzNOhrD/s1808/Vince-Edwards-Marie-Windsor-The-Killing-1956-Stanley-Kubrick.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1808" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVSc3T7dgOElPi_lLTVuYOLxUnYFOJl3mZTOo683pr6HcEBEY5LMEsBGcXBr7eRDlwjWe4Am7f83fwlmNz82QBEaSF6vcoC4_x-OkpSQLQctAzeZNZQWbaKQq18JNi1IBuPKv2vUYunNLRK_LPd4ZJiU-hk26zPg8SWnJ71x5h2ZuCkIRLQXzNOhrD/w400-h239/Vince-Edwards-Marie-Windsor-The-Killing-1956-Stanley-Kubrick.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Sly Vince Edwards (and his eyelashes) & scheming Marie Windsor in <i>The Killing</i><br /></b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">A favorite subgenre of mine is the thriller where a meticulously planned "foolproof" crime goes stupendously off the rails due to weak wills and flaws of character. Lord and Lady Macbeth's grandiose plans are felled by picayune things like jealousy, greed, guilt, and fear. Collapse-points echoed in best-laid-plans favorites like <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2012/07/seance-on-wet-afternoon-1964.html" target="_blank">Séance on a Wet Afternoon</a></i> (1964), <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2019/02/a-simple-plan-1998.html" target="_blank">A Simple Plan</a></i> (1998), <i>Before The Devil Knows You're Dead </i>(2007), and Stanley Kubrick's <i>The Killing</i> (1956). </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSBYnpvDfRQXRg7Ajserok8JxTGuv4Rci9bl1Jvz9jMeMcaWobLO3DQ_8DRS4SVeP2TsmyBgHd3WYflRXcDDgQF_M5kL7atJkENKAUydVRPxLnPXX7G6COOdANXUsx-RG4teGO0VkCGIZ2pNSkS-gs5Eb0_BeJJ0YNzXjuNSaHCXkHc4xe_-DcTbb6/s1920/Julie-Christie-Warren-Beatty-McCabe-and-Mrs.Miller-1971-Robert-Altman%20(2).png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1920" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSBYnpvDfRQXRg7Ajserok8JxTGuv4Rci9bl1Jvz9jMeMcaWobLO3DQ_8DRS4SVeP2TsmyBgHd3WYflRXcDDgQF_M5kL7atJkENKAUydVRPxLnPXX7G6COOdANXUsx-RG4teGO0VkCGIZ2pNSkS-gs5Eb0_BeJJ0YNzXjuNSaHCXkHc4xe_-DcTbb6/w400-h166/Julie-Christie-Warren-Beatty-McCabe-and-Mrs.Miller-1971-Robert-Altman%20(2).png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>"I say 'we,' Mr. McCabe because you think small." </i>- McCabe & Mrs. Miller</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">Movies of the '70s challenged cinema's masculinity myth (and its unwaveringly sure heroes) by giving us dimensional, vulnerable males who experienced self-doubt and were not always dispositionally up to the tasks they set for themselves. A characteristic the vacillating murderer Macbeth shares with the antiheroes of Francis Ford Coppola's <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2017/05/the-conversation-1974.html" target="_blank">The Conversation</a> </i>(1974) and Robert Altman's <i>McCabe and Mrs. Miller</i> (1971). </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCaJQhRMd0ss-V4M2wsoG5dIq69rwom-obCXHCuT6nb4zPvUlAcMPbKOdoOgl21CwL5aDsF_q_cquM0x9xWos-RO279F2drU8GHOcisE4Ru0L4R0gAYKjwn5kNXZlhKyfnV2IRgqXnmOnJp7styL0YLrjNsynmo6q47hFkr5b-XfQSQbMZaLHVl_jp/s1906/Who's%20Afraid-of-Virginia-Woolf-Elizabeth-Taylor-Richard-Burton-1966-Mike-Nichols.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1906" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCaJQhRMd0ss-V4M2wsoG5dIq69rwom-obCXHCuT6nb4zPvUlAcMPbKOdoOgl21CwL5aDsF_q_cquM0x9xWos-RO279F2drU8GHOcisE4Ru0L4R0gAYKjwn5kNXZlhKyfnV2IRgqXnmOnJp7styL0YLrjNsynmo6q47hFkr5b-XfQSQbMZaLHVl_jp/w400-h226/Who's%20Afraid-of-Virginia-Woolf-Elizabeth-Taylor-Richard-Burton-1966-Mike-Nichols.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>"When you durst do it, then you were a man!"</i> - The Tragedy of Macbeth</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">Where my partner and I truly part ways in our taste in films is my weakness for movies in which a certain emotional brutalism is used to train a spotlight on aspects of the human condition polite society usually prefers to keep relegated to the shadows. For me, Mike Nichols is a master of this: <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/10/whos-afraid-of-virginia-woolf-1966.html" target="_blank">Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?</a></i> (1966), <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2016/12/carnal-knowledge-1971.html" target="_blank">Carnal Knowledge</a> </i>(1971), and <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/01/closer-2004.html" target="_blank">Closer </a></i>(2004). Where Joel Coen’s <i>The Tragedy of Macbeth</i> won me over is that it feels wholly uninterested in the violence of swordplay and battle, but, via the extraordinary performances given by the entire cast, goes in really hard when it comes to the emotional and psychological violence the characters inflict upon one another. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-7J1nk9ngdv31ZyuhCujTYfy2v3pXEveCPr5Ccpx6VGsQnTvRoK4keDXsqPZqFr5r2h8JRkOAlcEENVm2NowxDv_PmuvmNVuQtOPp6s2gHMp3p-p-7uPh9da-L-vOSQlwYe2xzNgvIWtlE94od2gXFRF5-qadH3C39ex6O7AqhnrK_CM5B4oz1yNy/s2333/Jon-Finch-Francesca-Annis-Macbeth-1971-Roman-Polanski.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="986" data-original-width="2333" height="169" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-7J1nk9ngdv31ZyuhCujTYfy2v3pXEveCPr5Ccpx6VGsQnTvRoK4keDXsqPZqFr5r2h8JRkOAlcEENVm2NowxDv_PmuvmNVuQtOPp6s2gHMp3p-p-7uPh9da-L-vOSQlwYe2xzNgvIWtlE94od2gXFRF5-qadH3C39ex6O7AqhnrK_CM5B4oz1yNy/w400-h169/Jon-Finch-Francesca-Annis-Macbeth-1971-Roman-Polanski.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Macbeth 1971: For Those Who Think Young<br /><i>"All youth are reckless beyond words." </i>- Hesiod<br />Jon Finch (28) & Francesca Annis (25) in Roman Polanski's <i>Macbeth</i> </b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">For the longest time, Roman Polanski's sprawling and horrifically naturalistic film held solitary sway as my preferred screen adaptation of <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2013/09/macbeth-1971.html" target="_blank">Macbeth</a></i>. But Joel Coen's extravagantly stylized <i>The Tragedy of Macbeth</i> (an interpretation so utterly different in every aspect, no rational comparison between the two can be made) has joined it in an equal-esteem partnership. Two entirely different experiences. Two magnificently realized artistic visions. </div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoZPDOFXizqmd9dHTipdH3wq1727kLVRuFfTZwOJYMixnVJn39db-aZVYC_BSXDa1NpkSgGUFpBlFXJY_H5ez2dM9KHhWJx6Q47HX6arY6NrZPoS7-XXrtwRg_kvD6S6QZkhhD3qm9Tr2AzqcAlcih7nrwFy9Bzjivt5Of-PwU5TN35AcH9tf9q9Ll/s1478/Tragedy-of-Macbeth-Denzel-Washington-Frances-McDormand_2021%20(3).png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1478" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoZPDOFXizqmd9dHTipdH3wq1727kLVRuFfTZwOJYMixnVJn39db-aZVYC_BSXDa1NpkSgGUFpBlFXJY_H5ez2dM9KHhWJx6Q47HX6arY6NrZPoS7-XXrtwRg_kvD6S6QZkhhD3qm9Tr2AzqcAlcih7nrwFy9Bzjivt5Of-PwU5TN35AcH9tf9q9Ll/w400-h293/Tragedy-of-Macbeth-Denzel-Washington-Frances-McDormand_2021%20(3).png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Macbeth 2021: No Country for Old Men </b><br /><b>Frances McDormand (63) & Denzel Washington (66)</b><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">In 1971, Polanski's <i>Macbeth</i> collaborator Kenneth Tynan famously remarked that the idea of a Lord and Lady Macbeth in their 60s was <i>"nonsense"</i> because <i>"It's too late for them to be ambitious." </i>What an absurd statement! As anyone familiar with American politics will tell you, folks over 60 are dangerous as fuck. </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9ZbEcXXNLAx0vKrlRT0Wc2vlmIHVUiiyPj__ZvsglYMtlRdfmRhrFTSYE1ee05W5mbPYZ9TM-GVOZRIqv7auEH32iHn3ehacpsnLTQj8J6AN0q4aSll7m-y_0wDAqTg-H477unjjeZeb0sW7meAwHqt5JMKlLUjFkPJE-p5vAFfgxj7xzve6nLCIY/s1221/Kathryn-Hunter-The-Tragedy-of-Macbeth-2021.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="496" data-original-width="1221" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9ZbEcXXNLAx0vKrlRT0Wc2vlmIHVUiiyPj__ZvsglYMtlRdfmRhrFTSYE1ee05W5mbPYZ9TM-GVOZRIqv7auEH32iHn3ehacpsnLTQj8J6AN0q4aSll7m-y_0wDAqTg-H477unjjeZeb0sW7meAwHqt5JMKlLUjFkPJE-p5vAFfgxj7xzve6nLCIY/w475-h193/Kathryn-Hunter-The-Tragedy-of-Macbeth-2021.jpg" width="475" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Kathryn Hunter as The Three Witches & The Old Man</b></td></tr></tbody></table>I'm not going to embarrass myself and tell you how many times I watched <i>The Tragedy of Macbeth </i>without realizing the phenomenal Kathryn Hunter played that fourth role!</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div><b>WHAT I LOVE ABOUT THIS FILM</b></div><div><div>As a film fan enamored of the emotive movie experience, Shakespeare – associating it as I do with Mr. Koller's English class – tends to present a challenge, as my knee-jerk impulse is to approach it academically. </div><div>When I watch a screen adaptation of a Shakespeare play, particularly if I'm unfamiliar with it, my mind feels like it splinters off into three channels. One part focuses on the performances, eager to latch onto something I can psychologically or emotionally identify with in these long-ago-created characters. Another gets absorbed in the period detail and recreation of another time and place (Castles! Crowns! Courts! Capes!). And the third part has me wanting to connect to the language, trying to follow the plot while keeping an appreciative ear open to the rhythms of the words (Blank verse? Prose? Iambic pentameter?). Yet, for all these attempts to engage with the material, in the end, I usually wind up just being overly aware of how effortful it's all been.</div><div>I enjoy dissecting and analyzing movies, but AFTER I've seen the film, not WHILE I'm watching it.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC7XKDIgIxIRzsDviEqHRbAuYbzEReVclrFWf7itndYHonix3UDMzPgmvJIbYeT7xXQdJz9KJEJdocjhkTLfsFpMYLpzVnxXSwap6rBKi26fYZXpA7jixnBNpDExetzumCcn8Sx41qeR7gXgDTdp8RcnoZPrVKBGzc_w_9fADLm0JCHVa0qqnL82bQ/s1773/Tragedy-of-Macbeth-Denzel-Washington-Frances-%20McDormand-Brendan-%20Gleeson-2021.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1329" data-original-width="1773" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC7XKDIgIxIRzsDviEqHRbAuYbzEReVclrFWf7itndYHonix3UDMzPgmvJIbYeT7xXQdJz9KJEJdocjhkTLfsFpMYLpzVnxXSwap6rBKi26fYZXpA7jixnBNpDExetzumCcn8Sx41qeR7gXgDTdp8RcnoZPrVKBGzc_w_9fADLm0JCHVa0qqnL82bQ/w400-h300/Tragedy-of-Macbeth-Denzel-Washington-Frances-%20McDormand-Brendan-%20Gleeson-2021.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>To Kiss - To Kill<br />Mirrored framing captures the opposite ends of passion's spectrum</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Because I always overthink everything, my cinema ideal has always been the movie that encourages me to turn off my mind and surrender to the sensory, visceral experience. (That I'm free to pick apart to my heart's content later.) <i>The Tragedy of Macbeth</i>—an aesthetically astonishing interpretation that envisions Macbeth as a noirish, metaphysical thriller —gave me just such an experience. </div><div>Joel Coen (in his first solo effort after making 18 films with his brother, Ethan) is staggeringly successful in realizing his expressed desire to make a film of <i>Macbeth</i> that doesn't "hide the play." And indeed, <i>The Tragedy of Macbeth</i>'s melding of hyper-cinematic mise-en-scène to an aggressively stylized theatricality creates a world dynamically "untethered to reality." As a more cohesively realized example of what Francis Ford Coppola strove for in <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2012/05/one-from-heart-1982.html" target="_blank">One From the Heart</a>,</i> <i>The Tragedy of Macbeth</i> achieves what Truffaut called "the betrayal of reality"… film's canny ability to make use of artifice to reveal truth.</div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvyGnfEJ-qeBhS-Ph9fzFwiALYDOXgWltffm33gWHo6XrLXaBLQBPPPF3mRva2wRw7gom1R1fXoGUtVZ-Y8Ou11hBW4O3RG3nlpnrYJVlIh-oYz2lcZm6BVEEc3XbyV6vzRjrRBKZoCuDe5G1YOfbhRjW-zuld0c71GY6mZFfsFlAWqixk_KHFV8oJ/s1791/Moses-Ingram-Tragedy-of-Macbeth-2021.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1298" data-original-width="1791" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvyGnfEJ-qeBhS-Ph9fzFwiALYDOXgWltffm33gWHo6XrLXaBLQBPPPF3mRva2wRw7gom1R1fXoGUtVZ-Y8Ou11hBW4O3RG3nlpnrYJVlIh-oYz2lcZm6BVEEc3XbyV6vzRjrRBKZoCuDe5G1YOfbhRjW-zuld0c71GY6mZFfsFlAWqixk_KHFV8oJ/w400-h290/Moses-Ingram-Tragedy-of-Macbeth-2021.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Moses Ingram as Lady Macduff</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>THE STUFF OF DREAMS </b> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As an adaptation of <i>Macbeth </i>that I feel prioritizes the internal and interpersonal struggles of the characters, the lack of ornamentation in <i>The Tragedy of Macbeth</i>'s stark visual style extends to its performances. Words are spoken rather than orated, and as there is none of that "In the Grand Shakespearean Tradition" kind of acting on display (except, provocatively, as a signifier of Macbeth losing his mind), it felt like I was given greater access to the pitiable humanity behind Lord and Lady Macbeth’s desperate ambition.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_pE-iRbdleqjRKIdzGqAZ9q0QIV0tmsfo2uU_raCg0BnFMQ-AJdHnAt98jMvhBb8Ho2sz-qcSXja4JFS76Cj8_6rL7dXVvr1xjO-ytMPrt6Sz5sYhd1ZxNjr54T4Xsj5v37S50ULIlL-1H5T0BnPOwItKulc_-UwPTDkVhWwH3kYGDpHCdtuQNv4A/s1999/The-Tragedy-of-Macbeth-Denzel-Washington-Frances-McDormand-2021%20.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="717" data-original-width="1999" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_pE-iRbdleqjRKIdzGqAZ9q0QIV0tmsfo2uU_raCg0BnFMQ-AJdHnAt98jMvhBb8Ho2sz-qcSXja4JFS76Cj8_6rL7dXVvr1xjO-ytMPrt6Sz5sYhd1ZxNjr54T4Xsj5v37S50ULIlL-1H5T0BnPOwItKulc_-UwPTDkVhWwH3kYGDpHCdtuQNv4A/w461-h166/The-Tragedy-of-Macbeth-Denzel-Washington-Frances-McDormand-2021%20.jpg" width="461" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The use of close-ups in <i>The Tragedy of Macbeth</i> forces <br />a sometimes discomfiting intimacy with the characters. </b> </td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">Cinematographer Bruno Delbonnel's camera seems to exalt (as I did) in letting light and shadow play across the cast's intelligent eyes and expressive, lived-in faces. To watch a contemporary American film is to be bombarded by so much botox, fillers, and tightly-pulled flesh, discerning the display of emotion becomes a game. The facial wrinkles and furrows on glorious display in <i>The Tragedy of Macbeth</i> have poetry.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_JUCpGk0xXkGwjs4IVKehw-sRHehdSxU4HPisTakdTLpzRQlRuN5_Sedhzi6jPvWqujSnJRK9ec_LMf9NpXJBQta3LNKnSMplsbleau9szJEif9UXk9u6CERxr05ieogEeW24hDOt_22W2ymoea8LE1RtxfZIG3wc7jxiPKqllWSr6CEjq-EHAYHl/s1478/Tragedy-of-Macbeth-Bertie-Carvel-Lucas-Barker-2021.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1478" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_JUCpGk0xXkGwjs4IVKehw-sRHehdSxU4HPisTakdTLpzRQlRuN5_Sedhzi6jPvWqujSnJRK9ec_LMf9NpXJBQta3LNKnSMplsbleau9szJEif9UXk9u6CERxr05ieogEeW24hDOt_22W2ymoea8LE1RtxfZIG3wc7jxiPKqllWSr6CEjq-EHAYHl/w400-h293/Tragedy-of-Macbeth-Bertie-Carvel-Lucas-Barker-2021.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The Kid Who Would Be King<br />Banquo and his son Fleance (Lucas Barker)</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;">There's an exchange in the neo-noir thriller <i>Black Widow </i>(1987) where investigator Debra Winger asks serial widow Theresa Russell why marrying even one wealthy man wasn't enough to make her rich. Russell responds: <i>"Rich is hard. You never really figure you're quite there."</i></div><div><div style="text-align: left;">Swap "power" for rich, and you've got <i>Macbeth</i> in a nutshell. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>The Tragedy of Macbeth </i>taps into a characteristic I've observed in very ambitious people: the joy of attaining an objective always seems so short-lived because there’s no distinction between greed and growth. There's never any arrival point for satisfaction because "having a lot" still doesn't mean "having the most," so there is always more to get. Inevitably, ambition, when unmoored to the spiritual overseers of morality and ethics, creates an internal void. A void that comes to be bridged by that ruinous, self-serving philosophy of the power-hungry…" the end justifies the means." </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6fOPWvSu0e9C1Hjs-nOKTHocBbkF-ia6UYlRy8vCiISkUTrH9g6CE7sAoS5VEsk5HeitTNsIpgS7V1YWSOezsBtJYtHOvRiGppA_p9UBJer8zWVPvrJK6f-u2Hig7RKlHuCjtmLCuQ_RE0Bbuapt21aLhhWYgDd3yCB5Yw2XwmjoLNiv_sXdX-Rgu/s1544/Tragedy-of-Macbeth-Frances-McDormand_2021.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="564" data-original-width="1544" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6fOPWvSu0e9C1Hjs-nOKTHocBbkF-ia6UYlRy8vCiISkUTrH9g6CE7sAoS5VEsk5HeitTNsIpgS7V1YWSOezsBtJYtHOvRiGppA_p9UBJer8zWVPvrJK6f-u2Hig7RKlHuCjtmLCuQ_RE0Bbuapt21aLhhWYgDd3yCB5Yw2XwmjoLNiv_sXdX-Rgu/w458-h167/Tragedy-of-Macbeth-Frances-McDormand_2021.jpg" width="458" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>" 'Tis the eye of childhood that fears a painted devil." / "Yet, here's a spot."</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">Lady Macbeth, scoffing at the aftermath of violence, is later haunted by its phantom. The mirroring of shots in <i>The Tragedy of Macbeth</i> infers that despite the exercising of free will, events follow a predetermined pattern. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBhdRWv5fHpPtSPe--HMNxxdzHuTMfV15rXgLMcs9F8y9zov-IHTQwfIOHN3bAwUWqeOSclGy8gVHt0NiS-rtvK_M3kbrIilGwXSyhbQNduj5SUqqpzHsfrrpCjfolHQz5pxXLdOtpwEraRRSD3QzvrxN3nr9uapGyFjVm9Le8-SOa_e2M7qPNEufz/s1478/Tragedy-of-Macbeth-Denzel-Washington-2021%20(2).png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1478" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBhdRWv5fHpPtSPe--HMNxxdzHuTMfV15rXgLMcs9F8y9zov-IHTQwfIOHN3bAwUWqeOSclGy8gVHt0NiS-rtvK_M3kbrIilGwXSyhbQNduj5SUqqpzHsfrrpCjfolHQz5pxXLdOtpwEraRRSD3QzvrxN3nr9uapGyFjVm9Le8-SOa_e2M7qPNEufz/w400-h293/Tragedy-of-Macbeth-Denzel-Washington-2021%20(2).png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Ignoble Denzel Washington is my favorite Denzel Washington. <br />His riveting performance as Macbeth totally overwhelmed me. It's a thing of beauty</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><b>PERFORMANCES </b> </div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div>Casting Shakespeare with two top-tier American Oscar winners known for their straightforward, naturalistic acting styles sparked all kinds of "Consider the possibilities!" excitement in me. My curiosity about what qualities Denzel Washington (with his unassailable gravitas) and Frances McDormand (she of the stripped-down emotional bluntness) would bring to <i>The Tragedy of Macbeth</i> was rewarded tenfold. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsCc4srfXNr3wDiIiOUO2w1a04XCkCQapqGudwB_bRvspFSFH9MhpQktUcLiboaPWkxyvJX1Ry7LD_BXieyML8h5WhAysSMUqAn50l78J1D27LR0T4Dx7I4elW8WnsqM3Omqh0nvjLQ3RtDqXaJLxCVST1usivk2WXJ5yh6pyFlTeRD94dgD88433S/s1478/Tragedy-of-Macbeth-Denzel-Washington-Frances-McDormand-2021.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1478" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsCc4srfXNr3wDiIiOUO2w1a04XCkCQapqGudwB_bRvspFSFH9MhpQktUcLiboaPWkxyvJX1Ry7LD_BXieyML8h5WhAysSMUqAn50l78J1D27LR0T4Dx7I4elW8WnsqM3Omqh0nvjLQ3RtDqXaJLxCVST1usivk2WXJ5yh6pyFlTeRD94dgD88433S/w400-h293/Tragedy-of-Macbeth-Denzel-Washington-Frances-McDormand-2021.png" width="400" /></a></div>It plays no small part in my adoration of <i>The Tragedy of Macbeth </i>that Washington and McDormand's riveting, poignant performances single-handedly elevate the emotional stakes of this tale like no other I've seen. This is the first adaptation of <i>Macbeth </i>to give me waterworks. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHHtDckKrVnNr1v-lA8_1-266TONuZCHMBWE1ow85-PClDOaiFZqcozjXNpRrF2g8PL-TjOhStKthe0weUHMub1OSYTPde1hM1tdKSnaCyIeVubv3Yp0SuhFbO8epj73rXJJk2Z1TVYj30hoLDomcEyTwsJahQc18o_x8KBVsYCvAXbQUGc1IfPY1Y/s2000/Tragedy-of-Macbeth-Denzel-Washington-Alex-Hassell-Frances-McDormand-2022.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="505" data-original-width="2000" height="114" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHHtDckKrVnNr1v-lA8_1-266TONuZCHMBWE1ow85-PClDOaiFZqcozjXNpRrF2g8PL-TjOhStKthe0weUHMub1OSYTPde1hM1tdKSnaCyIeVubv3Yp0SuhFbO8epj73rXJJk2Z1TVYj30hoLDomcEyTwsJahQc18o_x8KBVsYCvAXbQUGc1IfPY1Y/w450-h114/Tragedy-of-Macbeth-Denzel-Washington-Alex-Hassell-Frances-McDormand-2022.jpg" width="450" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">There's no end to the accolades I heap upon every member of this assured, accomplished cast. Standouts are Bertie Cavell's Banquo, with his sad eyes and heroic eyebrows. Moses Ingram's regal Lady Macduff. And then there's that flawless changeling, Kathryn Hunter. But a particular favorite is Alex Hassell as the sly Ross, whose role is amplified here and is costumed in a way that fittingly and amusingly has him resembling a male Morticia Addams. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div><br /></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><b>THE STUFF OF FANTASY </b></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>A parting shot of appreciation for the absolutely breathtaking beauty of <i>The Tragedy of Macbeth.</i> Exquisite Expressionism in a barren, storybook nightmare. </b></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn3pKehkgvuNtcfcHwo4FJcP7W9f-oYDEPGZOfUAw5X0y0oC1QNNGd-XaG7Qi5p56RcMc9L284qK6uGGtG8mf5MIuB9T2B-Xey3FeVgWzloRc9735maqiKqdv2vn65aowXCG0O-CIxp1XV_deiMYQs0vkLXk0M7I-WKlb05nEystV4DcWULs_QMGT8/s1795/Tragedy-of-Macbeth-Bruno%20Delbonnel-'2021%20(1).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1302" data-original-width="1795" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn3pKehkgvuNtcfcHwo4FJcP7W9f-oYDEPGZOfUAw5X0y0oC1QNNGd-XaG7Qi5p56RcMc9L284qK6uGGtG8mf5MIuB9T2B-Xey3FeVgWzloRc9735maqiKqdv2vn65aowXCG0O-CIxp1XV_deiMYQs0vkLXk0M7I-WKlb05nEystV4DcWULs_QMGT8/w400-h290/Tragedy-of-Macbeth-Bruno%20Delbonnel-'2021%20(1).JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii72bM0tanyHbUh1pQ4gg_WLGQEEvhB8FDErCpU6iStUwaf45_qocXHCUrMX7LB_G_4_NJbIigQynId32D1gXp7uMHFfFS7UzSDMMZnri5OOvVjnLFIgOpHcMGfi3fcBg9BkXIttCaY_Eq4RlzPXTOwCare4EgKec1XA38Mr0utUgV9zx0wASDUF71/s1791/Tragedy-of-Macbeth-Bruno%20Delbonnel-'2021%20(2).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1304" data-original-width="1791" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii72bM0tanyHbUh1pQ4gg_WLGQEEvhB8FDErCpU6iStUwaf45_qocXHCUrMX7LB_G_4_NJbIigQynId32D1gXp7uMHFfFS7UzSDMMZnri5OOvVjnLFIgOpHcMGfi3fcBg9BkXIttCaY_Eq4RlzPXTOwCare4EgKec1XA38Mr0utUgV9zx0wASDUF71/w400-h291/Tragedy-of-Macbeth-Bruno%20Delbonnel-'2021%20(2).JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy8YqKGsVTURl4A-f52--7eBCUX9cWapM9DWsYOULvuZHruD18m85ZrdlwXQVGInxkSlqxqIOYu5e8pZWMIO1_4HBBX9krkZSQfRIuTI_h3eVkvETHkT4F8DKW8fjYVsBhwbrZ280Cx6tVI54huv3pKmrPGiboAJNJDl5O5iqbZ13lPYoHP2WLanCe/s1478/Tragedy-of-Macbeth-Bruno%20Delbonnel-'2021%20(2).png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1478" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy8YqKGsVTURl4A-f52--7eBCUX9cWapM9DWsYOULvuZHruD18m85ZrdlwXQVGInxkSlqxqIOYu5e8pZWMIO1_4HBBX9krkZSQfRIuTI_h3eVkvETHkT4F8DKW8fjYVsBhwbrZ280Cx6tVI54huv3pKmrPGiboAJNJDl5O5iqbZ13lPYoHP2WLanCe/w400-h293/Tragedy-of-Macbeth-Bruno%20Delbonnel-'2021%20(2).png" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidl6awL-CyAa3IUmSIkeQurX9l1zBa5kSkZWJIllTz-0Jn8uE71TihtULE31edkEE4p2W99FJtXjqX3QWQdKfr2scd9R65HVT_GaKTM_Yq_GUjME9WIYJ3waSNbZBrSHeA9KoqUTHvcCny8LYBd1vISnkm1W54stgTMuW49UIZ_Y2YeZmS_kZcr5yY/s1478/Tragedy-of-Macbeth-Bruno%20Delbonnel-'2021%20(1).png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1478" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidl6awL-CyAa3IUmSIkeQurX9l1zBa5kSkZWJIllTz-0Jn8uE71TihtULE31edkEE4p2W99FJtXjqX3QWQdKfr2scd9R65HVT_GaKTM_Yq_GUjME9WIYJ3waSNbZBrSHeA9KoqUTHvcCny8LYBd1vISnkm1W54stgTMuW49UIZ_Y2YeZmS_kZcr5yY/w400-h293/Tragedy-of-Macbeth-Bruno%20Delbonnel-'2021%20(1).png" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpKFM_tbK1AFHpXVSPw-UbAJQysug7V6zyXJ38W2bpYRThOxlCfacgywEwCSaBnk_C4TtoO1LWE56l-5aXdqkk2wQIZzIybXk7VA1z4KWfEpzD4AhrKNt1iCXijrqeO4tXnVe1M-fze4dcDy37ajlfs6DcdbeOoczFTPnwGbjPg8l0M8Y26DcSE9iY/s1796/Tragedy-of-Macbeth-Alex-Hassell-2021-Production-Design-Cinematography.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1302" data-original-width="1796" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpKFM_tbK1AFHpXVSPw-UbAJQysug7V6zyXJ38W2bpYRThOxlCfacgywEwCSaBnk_C4TtoO1LWE56l-5aXdqkk2wQIZzIybXk7VA1z4KWfEpzD4AhrKNt1iCXijrqeO4tXnVe1M-fze4dcDy37ajlfs6DcdbeOoczFTPnwGbjPg8l0M8Y26DcSE9iY/w400-h290/Tragedy-of-Macbeth-Alex-Hassell-2021-Production-Design-Cinematography.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Cinematography: Bruno Delbonnell - Production design: Stefan Dechant</div><div><br /></div>Sparse brevity is not only a visual characteristic of <i>The Tragedy of Macbeth</i>. In a Coen Brothers interview about their process adapting Cormac McCarthy's 2005 novel <i>No Country for Old Men</i> for their 2007 film, they remarked that they don't edit so much as compress. </div><div>I'd say that perfectly describes how Joel Coen delivers a traditionally 2 ½ hour Shakespeare work (Polanski's <i>Macbeth</i> runs 2 hours 20 minutes) in a bare-bones 105 minutes.</div><div>The paring down of the original text is so judicious I never felt I missed a thing. Indeed, I had to re-read Shakespeare's <i>Macbeth </i>with a copy of Coen's screenplay at my side to even know what was excised. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Vo6BXwrgtZFtW6L1boxoYejtpc8rRr2AXgMZ9TuAbLzFNO6OhcvFZmLZlU3B3H9ZfWN0ndYfriRWxaDikwDIhTntZiFXSLNqr9bCkXWufM-7y-XfPySa46nTfOUT6dux7zuWAFoF-_aK_7S3E0B02DGwq-kE6CF0B4Ee-DCpqw9L7jJnl52CARA6/s1478/The-Tragedy-of-Macbeth-2021-Frances-McDrman-Denzel-Washington.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1478" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Vo6BXwrgtZFtW6L1boxoYejtpc8rRr2AXgMZ9TuAbLzFNO6OhcvFZmLZlU3B3H9ZfWN0ndYfriRWxaDikwDIhTntZiFXSLNqr9bCkXWufM-7y-XfPySa46nTfOUT6dux7zuWAFoF-_aK_7S3E0B02DGwq-kE6CF0B4Ee-DCpqw9L7jJnl52CARA6/w400-h293/The-Tragedy-of-Macbeth-2021-Frances-McDrman-Denzel-Washington.png" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">January 2021: In a world emerging from darkness, <i>The Tragedy of Macbeth</i> made an indelible, enlivening impression on me, for it's sometimes too easy to forget the transcendent power of art. I think it's a genuinely masterful film of astonishing beauty that made real for me, the catharsis of tragedy. </div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>BONUS MATERIAL</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1hPoJJudp5r-Q39GRIF3NPcnIpxE1enoutnKaXXGCnoPKHAJEvaGQa-9LoPotapxS2VM0ZdNeFhydF8e7TtaubQ3f4XWqgsnj6RaCvBkUOwtFV-I0pvVHEHI1zveFGAy__ctEUMZuc_IXjJw5gdYcQVpb7OJPxy4R0TSxVo_j_0Q0_IrdCikAHKRt/s2218/Tragedy-of-Macbeth-2021-Billboard-Jan-2022-Denzel-Washington-Frances-McDormand-Joel-Coen..JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1406" data-original-width="2218" height="254" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1hPoJJudp5r-Q39GRIF3NPcnIpxE1enoutnKaXXGCnoPKHAJEvaGQa-9LoPotapxS2VM0ZdNeFhydF8e7TtaubQ3f4XWqgsnj6RaCvBkUOwtFV-I0pvVHEHI1zveFGAy__ctEUMZuc_IXjJw5gdYcQVpb7OJPxy4R0TSxVo_j_0Q0_IrdCikAHKRt/w400-h254/Tragedy-of-Macbeth-2021-Billboard-Jan-2022-Denzel-Washington-Frances-McDormand-Joel-Coen..JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">See a clip from <i>The Tragedy of Macbeth</i> on the Cinema Dreams YouTube channel</div><div style="text-align: center;"><u><a href="https://youtu.be/FZH7q2pIrZY" target="_blank">HERE</a></u></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Copyright © Ken Anderson 2009 - 2023</div></div>Ken Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04940648971296673233noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2627032459273165000.post-33088776666922728402023-04-22T12:03:00.010-07:002023-05-04T05:32:04.311-07:00MOVIES I FORGOT TO REMEMBER<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBa6WJMdMea4Ks1mdijjYkRYuvGMJWr6WPA-axCLvplJJO8lKhxSY0Y26gBMXAf_ZenInZoiF7uM55a8S_P_PUEdrQKe_fb0zQp1xrgXkvih3z89iTQnapBFpTEOheQt6ZLPwXCSkOU_lnP86ZjUIav7LQrv6B9T02XPvg1sPvwYXx6dbiaxevgDC3/s1958/Movies-I-Forgot-To-Remember.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1072" data-original-width="1958" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBa6WJMdMea4Ks1mdijjYkRYuvGMJWr6WPA-axCLvplJJO8lKhxSY0Y26gBMXAf_ZenInZoiF7uM55a8S_P_PUEdrQKe_fb0zQp1xrgXkvih3z89iTQnapBFpTEOheQt6ZLPwXCSkOU_lnP86ZjUIav7LQrv6B9T02XPvg1sPvwYXx6dbiaxevgDC3/w444-h243/Movies-I-Forgot-To-Remember.jpg" width="444" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>What The Hell Did I Just Watch?</b><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><i>Silent Scream</i>, <i>Friday the 13th Part VII: The New Blood</i>, <i>Wanted: Dead or Alive</i>, <i>Amityville 3-D</i>, The Nesting, and <i>Dead & Buried. </i>Even when presented with evidence that I actually saw these "classics," it's still news to me. <br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b>"Movies are the memories of our lifetime." Martin Scorsese</b></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b><br /></b></i></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge7Wf8t76kg1ksy7vDDhgdd2zUf-k5TcJROaPiO4cbj_41Smfz4LVvOa30E_aN-3UJIIaIG55N8fDrTdWcqbe10clwwWmCW4A8JkghaLucvCwHGpT5U2bukMDDntrJ53lEF2UjeATReMuAXoOpc91cdyK_GVlD2-sVjbAc--gX4M955mFQN0vg0sLV/s2558/Paul-Dano-Mateo-Zoyan-Michelle-Williams-The%20-Fabelmans-2022.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1336" data-original-width="2558" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge7Wf8t76kg1ksy7vDDhgdd2zUf-k5TcJROaPiO4cbj_41Smfz4LVvOa30E_aN-3UJIIaIG55N8fDrTdWcqbe10clwwWmCW4A8JkghaLucvCwHGpT5U2bukMDDntrJ53lEF2UjeATReMuAXoOpc91cdyK_GVlD2-sVjbAc--gX4M955mFQN0vg0sLV/w400-h209/Paul-Dano-Mateo-Zoyan-Michelle-Williams-The%20-Fabelmans-2022.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>The Fabelmans</i> (2022) - Steven Spielberg</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Except when they're not. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div>I've loved movies all my life. And of all the things that make film the art form that speaks to me with the most eloquence, my favorite is its magical ability to feed dreams and create memories. Indeed, the miracle of making lasting memories is so much a part of what I associate with movies that I seldom consider when it's not. Which is most of the time. </div><div><br /></div><div>Not every movie can, nor needs to be, the kind of movie we never forget. But I'm always amazed how some films, through no effort on my part, practically fuse themselves to my psyche on contact, while others slide off like Teflon.</div><div>Which brings me to the subject of this post. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: red;">Saying</span></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgus9G8RqWqqsJ-1qhSFTXgNPrXyunWbmuNdGhpSHLiQziFV2J-vdXwlWdA3lmBRAw2GkYPdmm_BD9VVQJ_lMEZSgRmGML4D28tUygHM_ho7z-nh5hZxppIAyPEURYW8jHVivVb94Td1NuAVAmSYraCMxjiyOwlWB3gMiSEjhCn2rxqL-cQg4zvHsiG/s1256/Hello-Again-Shelley-Long-Corbin-Bernsen-1987.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="893" data-original-width="1256" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgus9G8RqWqqsJ-1qhSFTXgNPrXyunWbmuNdGhpSHLiQziFV2J-vdXwlWdA3lmBRAw2GkYPdmm_BD9VVQJ_lMEZSgRmGML4D28tUygHM_ho7z-nh5hZxppIAyPEURYW8jHVivVb94Td1NuAVAmSYraCMxjiyOwlWB3gMiSEjhCn2rxqL-cQg4zvHsiG/w400-h285/Hello-Again-Shelley-Long-Corbin-Bernsen-1987.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;"><b>To Movies I Forgot I Ever Saw</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">(Something tells me I'm not the only one who doesn't remember seeing this</div><div style="text-align: center;"> 1987 comedy starring Shelley Long and Corbin Bernsen)</div><div><br /></div><div><div>A recent spate of hysterical weather here in L.A. left me with plenty of time and zero excuses not to give my apartment a thorough cleaning. While clearing out a particularly Fibber McGee-ish closet, I came upon a box crammed with old movie reviews I'd written between the years 1976 to 1990. (Since my teens, I'd gotten into the habit of taking a pen and pad with me to the movies, scribbling notes in the dark to be later transposed into reviews written for my eyes only.) The discovery of this stack of files, containing roughly some 600 typed (my Wite-out® addiction was out of control) and handwritten reviews, mercifully put an end to cleaning for the day as I immersed myself in reading about all the films I'd seen during that time.</div><div><br /></div><div>Even the oldest of my essays felt familiar after a paragraph or so; my feelings about the films reviewed not really having changed much over the years. What surprised me was when I came across several reviews of movies I would have sworn I hadn't seen at all. Reading them failed to jar a single memory. No bells rang. No flashes of recognition. No memories retrieved. A complete blank. An entire experience vanished. </div><div>I certainly don't expect to remember every detail of every movie I've seen. But at the very least, I DO expect to remember that I saw the damn thing. </div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtSMtVNYjTViwUgXlrzQwr2ZH1QqcvhizxxiuvCDucfL2xPlfGvBgom_jE3yOukOmPcmereNTBv4xWHZYb_RvsV9Gks7ZeMn8CWyayghL-bvDHRMoGotLrYyxx7PIPoVeXxryZMOf-mBDqPnj4LBwBmcWIJhhKHHr3lPbiUop7S-NXqEu8mo34uOop/s1390/Star-Chamber-Michael-Douglas-Sharon-Gless-1983.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1078" data-original-width="1390" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtSMtVNYjTViwUgXlrzQwr2ZH1QqcvhizxxiuvCDucfL2xPlfGvBgom_jE3yOukOmPcmereNTBv4xWHZYb_RvsV9Gks7ZeMn8CWyayghL-bvDHRMoGotLrYyxx7PIPoVeXxryZMOf-mBDqPnj4LBwBmcWIJhhKHHr3lPbiUop7S-NXqEu8mo34uOop/w400-h310/Star-Chamber-Michael-Douglas-Sharon-Gless-1983.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Michael Douglas and Sharon Gless in <i>The Star Chamber</i> - 1983</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;">Did I see this crime thriller? Yes. Do I remember seeing it? No. Allow me to volunteer an "Ode to Cinema" quote they can maybe try out on the next Academy Awards Broadcast: "Some movies stay with you for a lifetime. Some movies stay with you for the time it takes to walk from the theater to your car." </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><div>That this "Lost Movie" phenomenon can be ascribed (in varying degrees or combinations) to: 1) The sheer number of movies I've seen in my life, 2) My age, 3), the "forgetability factor" of the films themselves (virtually all are escapist genre films), and, perhaps most significantly, 4) the advent of Cable TV (which introduced me to movies I would never have paid to see)—only adds to its fascination.</div><div><br /></div><div>So, as a change of pace from posting about films that are meaningful to me and that I've never forgotten, I thought it'd be nice to give a shout-out to the movies I've completely erased from my mind. For this reason, the critiques and comments will come from reviews written when I first saw them. There are 20 films in total, the uniting factor being that had you asked me if I'd seen any of them, I'd have said, "Definitely, not!"</div></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">****</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifupYBSblV_XL5iqzDSeqP4JTjVSL7eOb0ZvR1eiDNVdvch63-6iXnkokBa0fW9dbfK-xRPkusJlosSyC8zsiqIQCcKEZ3v5tyX66t3HeKX3z-LitHH1vVOzskPBwFG8LCY5JkN7jCvxs-jksbjPj_ifmc3K6fqjLypqhaEnJqHap4K5KF-urUHNNP/s1976/Massacre-at-Central-High-1976.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1177" data-original-width="1976" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifupYBSblV_XL5iqzDSeqP4JTjVSL7eOb0ZvR1eiDNVdvch63-6iXnkokBa0fW9dbfK-xRPkusJlosSyC8zsiqIQCcKEZ3v5tyX66t3HeKX3z-LitHH1vVOzskPBwFG8LCY5JkN7jCvxs-jksbjPj_ifmc3K6fqjLypqhaEnJqHap4K5KF-urUHNNP/w400-h239/Massacre-at-Central-High-1976.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Andrew Stevens-Derrel Maury-Kimberly Beck-Robert-Carradine-Steve Bond</b></div><div>A bullied teen exacts bloody retribution on his tormentors in this cynically prescient High School horror film /social allegory.</div><div><br /></div><div><u>What I wrote in 1982:</u></div><div><i>"As there is not a single authority figure or teacher to be found anywhere on campus, my lingering thought was that the titular massacre must have happened before the opening credits. A shade more ingenious than your average teen horror flick, but hands-down the worst-acted, 'Massacre at Central High' is an odd mix of astute and tacky. But by the end, I'm not sure which won out." </i></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_NB0m8rrOYNRG8LDGLcyIxWqvA58hsjJW1UGOmAJW0kbr__yfdElebjQbmLimtAC_5f4t17JscZ95ku3shHSX7q245AsXS0SA876w9F-vmwWGx1-vOz0pUYTNdAY496A2PSkXYWknqXAv5gwBhDl9k8-B8Yv_v-v3afu8hUiGFafbAAM6tPKOuGXS/s1999/Cat-and-The-Canary-1978.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1178" data-original-width="1999" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_NB0m8rrOYNRG8LDGLcyIxWqvA58hsjJW1UGOmAJW0kbr__yfdElebjQbmLimtAC_5f4t17JscZ95ku3shHSX7q245AsXS0SA876w9F-vmwWGx1-vOz0pUYTNdAY496A2PSkXYWknqXAv5gwBhDl9k8-B8Yv_v-v3afu8hUiGFafbAAM6tPKOuGXS/w400-h236/Cat-and-The-Canary-1978.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Carol Lynley-Wendy Hiller-Edward Fox-Honor Blackman-Olivia Hussey</b></div><div>Playwright John Willard's influential 1922 murder mystery (big house, reading of the will, unsavory would-be-heirs, mad killer on the loose) receives its 6th screen iteration in this 1978 UK release that didn't cross the pond until 1981.</div><div><br /></div><div><u>What I wrote in 1982:</u></div><div><i>"Enjoyable in its old-fashioned familiarity, the film's somewhat shapeless execution (I can't tell if it's supposed to be a gentle spoof or intended to be taken seriously) prevents it from being entirely effective as either. Still, it's fun to simply watch the interplay of the film's </i><i>better-than-it-deserves cast. </i><i>I know 'The Cat and the Canary' is intended to be a bit of escapist fluff, but even lightness doesn't have to be this weightless."</i></div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhctFN5uOwBNNoCcCUOlGC3gZ3wJP7XDtcLW5egDlbyyimQCYiM9QbutByAHxhoPRBHt6QS1Lp3-7lOOh0jHMpcQEmHZdzwRT_53Y40qnnGEsq6riUgMSR99LyEFDUOLJNYJQ06a-mzcfmJL0brAvJPyj9Qgu1d6QGbof2OFPiVKpiNAd634cEGj6le/s2000/Agency-1980.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1187" data-original-width="2000" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhctFN5uOwBNNoCcCUOlGC3gZ3wJP7XDtcLW5egDlbyyimQCYiM9QbutByAHxhoPRBHt6QS1Lp3-7lOOh0jHMpcQEmHZdzwRT_53Y40qnnGEsq6riUgMSR99LyEFDUOLJNYJQ06a-mzcfmJL0brAvJPyj9Qgu1d6QGbof2OFPiVKpiNAd634cEGj6le/w400-h238/Agency-1980.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Lee Majors, Robert Mitchum, Valerie Perrine-Saul Rubinek </b></div><div>A hotshot advertising whiz discovers his agency is using subliminal advertising to influence a political campaign. This 1980 Canadian production was released in the US in 1981, almost simultaneously with the similarly-themed Albert Finney sci-fi thriller <i>Looker.</i></div><div><br /></div><div><u>What I wrote in 1982:</u></div><div><i>" 'Agency' misses the mark by failing to find a way to make the danger potential of subliminal advertising even remotely exciting. Not to mention cinematic. Lee Majors is as stiff and inexpressive as ever; lovely Valerie Perrine is wasted; and not even Robert Mitchum…oozing reptilian menace from every pore…is able to pump some juice into this suspense-free, anti-thriller."</i></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVpmZ6j1aK4e5HQJDVjPTFRR4CNLfP5Ndnrpl8TLKJxhzTCgstEF-k4z-U3DRkzc0OL5siffsneKjeFA9vx17KVVkcM1TVObAjvDHSo3mJloD9eCfKUrae5cLdoXhYtmRPWU9Yda7R0KBlUm0_wPOrDb5WpWvLb9_Cv2K5HVf4x5gPRuQxJg8Au5Gq/s2000/He-Knows-Youre-Alone-1980.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1183" data-original-width="2000" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVpmZ6j1aK4e5HQJDVjPTFRR4CNLfP5Ndnrpl8TLKJxhzTCgstEF-k4z-U3DRkzc0OL5siffsneKjeFA9vx17KVVkcM1TVObAjvDHSo3mJloD9eCfKUrae5cLdoXhYtmRPWU9Yda7R0KBlUm0_wPOrDb5WpWvLb9_Cv2K5HVf4x5gPRuQxJg8Au5Gq/w400-h236/He-Knows-Youre-Alone-1980.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Caitlin O'Heaney-Don Scardino-Tom Hanks </b></div><div>Undistinguished slasher flick about a spurned bridegroom who flips his lid and homicidally targets brides-to-be. Notable only for being the film debut of Tom Hanks.</div><div><br /></div><div><u>What I wrote in 1982:</u></div><div><i>"A tiresome excursion into the well-traveled territory of psycho-killer on the loose. No attempt is made to make us understand the killer or care about the victims, so the whole affair takes on a rote, shooting ducks in a gallery feel. The nondescript and interchangeable victims are lined up solely for the purpose of being picked off…as regular as clockwork."</i></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHVImWhTbmZjFD4dzQ1EPrvXUvvbFv3gboa9zMkhk3lnTLCqWltZ0htkNqgE9apWVW6k9QzIC6DfOQfb4rZ3OWzA0a143ho32tvY85RSRmlhcw3479XJKmUm_QPCi1yFQ3mJVPAF0S22amBZVz7u8wEONJn9G8zDOTUIMdBKJRiEgs7GLCKtU1DMIr/s1986/Never-Never-Land-1980.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1185" data-original-width="1986" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHVImWhTbmZjFD4dzQ1EPrvXUvvbFv3gboa9zMkhk3lnTLCqWltZ0htkNqgE9apWVW6k9QzIC6DfOQfb4rZ3OWzA0a143ho32tvY85RSRmlhcw3479XJKmUm_QPCi1yFQ3mJVPAF0S22amBZVz7u8wEONJn9G8zDOTUIMdBKJRiEgs7GLCKtU1DMIr/w400-h239/Never-Never-Land-1980.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Petula Clark- Cathleen Nesbitt-John Castle </b></div><div>Actress Diane Baker (<i>Marnie</i>, <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2014/04/strait-jacket-1964.html" target="_blank">Strait-Jacket</a></i>) produced this family drama about a girl from a broken home who copes by retreating into fantasies fed by the Peter Pan book she's always reading.</div><div><br /></div><div><u>What I wrote in 1982:</u></div><div><i>"Cathleen Nesbitt is very charming as a former actress fallen on hard times in this sweet, sentimental movie about the validity of found families and the unavoidability of growing up. Though it plays out like one of those Afterschool Specials on TV--its 60 minutes of plot pulled like taffy to extend to a 90-minute running time--it's a movie with its heart in the right place. And it's nice seeing Petula Clark in a movie again."</i></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMFX60zegRnbPghhkstqwjZUCVPc5iFaj0WOEO2cBg1O71GTqEJOvN5zLLBkSq5yeTC76ubHWIn860GHClk6D0GxopGzMGzrevjJyMECZgIWW4vCXBJpW2J0ungdrId8M4Nf87pmCxqD7Z-BdoAhmERHkgSBrRtaxZxMkSbbpXiHkcXd4U-1JgVKdK/s2000/Galaxy-of-Terror-1981.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1182" data-original-width="2000" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMFX60zegRnbPghhkstqwjZUCVPc5iFaj0WOEO2cBg1O71GTqEJOvN5zLLBkSq5yeTC76ubHWIn860GHClk6D0GxopGzMGzrevjJyMECZgIWW4vCXBJpW2J0ungdrId8M4Nf87pmCxqD7Z-BdoAhmERHkgSBrRtaxZxMkSbbpXiHkcXd4U-1JgVKdK/w400-h236/Galaxy-of-Terror-1981.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Edward Albert-Erin Moran-Ray Walston-Grace Zabriskie-Sid Haig</b></div><div>A Roger Corman-produced <a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2019/06/alien-1979.html" target="_blank"><i>Alien</i></a> rip-off that was, at a budget of $5 million, the B-movie King's most expensive film. The movie's oh-so-familiar plotline recounts the horrific fate that befalls the members of a rescue vessel dispatched to a distant planet in search of survivors of a marooned ship. </div><div><br /></div><div><u>What I wrote in 1982:</u></div><div><i>"This motley group of rag-tag rescuers couldn't get a kitten out of a tree. Certainly not with pint-sized Erin Moran on hand as a kind of fire-sale Sigourney Weaver. Gore and gross-outs stand in for suspense and character development in this imitation-is-the-sincerest-form-of-flattery knockoff that hews so closely to Ridley Scott's infinitely superior film, it could have been made on a faulty fax machine." </i> </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUduQnP8Xa28xMCz7Y29xujjpspwnHtXjUom9J1Oq1XKAnz3x0qNUjK3gfGNWscWVetib1m-Xm7szYit27yE6ExxqHz6yHNpgjmeDrIMi9DaEgzAw7KD-Gd0R0BnaeSrwqgA6Cavv8s__eOn4o9UKy-AqBcEWRv_AYr6WKNP8O_v8ZOikgFi3HAi5G/s2000/Night-School-1981.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1192" data-original-width="2000" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUduQnP8Xa28xMCz7Y29xujjpspwnHtXjUom9J1Oq1XKAnz3x0qNUjK3gfGNWscWVetib1m-Xm7szYit27yE6ExxqHz6yHNpgjmeDrIMi9DaEgzAw7KD-Gd0R0BnaeSrwqgA6Cavv8s__eOn4o9UKy-AqBcEWRv_AYr6WKNP8O_v8ZOikgFi3HAi5G/w400-h239/Night-School-1981.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Rachel Ward-Leonard Mann-Drew Snyder</b></div>A mad killer on a motorcycle terrorizes students at a Boston girls' school. Notable for being the film debut of Australian actress Rachel Ward and the ignominious final film of British director Ken Hughes (<a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2010/08/casino-royale-1967.html" target="_blank"><i>Casino Royale</i></a>, <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2020/12/chitty-chitty-bang-bang-1968.html" target="_blank">Chitty Chitty Bang Bang</a></i>). </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /><u>What I wrote in 1982:</u><br /><i>"This instantly disposable entry in the shock/shlock horror race is so similar to a host of others that you'll swear you've seen it before. In other words, it's one of those movies where all the women know a mad killer is about, yet insist on venturing out alone or seeking refuge in places that offer no escape. The appearance of the stunning Rachel Ward is the film's sole note of distinction."</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvvvHFpRicCIk2J2dsfZxHBz_iBLpPeHSi9E8chD_w5Aw1yMNto2VKtO6vN-_Tq7Fd4TzCQwYcHRejvKG986V2PdnzmN24i1xDVrhhhYoBPZtBt4o4IJtowZdwdkLdnlwVG3_6wtl4DmVDMecIPvZlsybjyOsN5URTYMAlmrQNwMlA3lZo5bxyKDsH/s1999/Puberty-Blues-1981.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1183" data-original-width="1999" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvvvHFpRicCIk2J2dsfZxHBz_iBLpPeHSi9E8chD_w5Aw1yMNto2VKtO6vN-_Tq7Fd4TzCQwYcHRejvKG986V2PdnzmN24i1xDVrhhhYoBPZtBt4o4IJtowZdwdkLdnlwVG3_6wtl4DmVDMecIPvZlsybjyOsN5URTYMAlmrQNwMlA3lZo5bxyKDsH/w400-h236/Puberty-Blues-1981.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Nell Schofield-Jad Capelja-Jeffrey Rhoe</b></div><div>Australian coming-of-age comedy about two teen girls desperate to be accepted by the in-crowd of surfer boys. A 1981 release, this early effort from Bruce Beresford (<i>Tender Mercies</i>, <i>Crimes of the Heart</i>) opened in the US in 1983. </div><div><br /></div><div><u>What I wrote in 1984:</u></div><div><i>"A teen beach movie with a feminist perspective sounds like a great idea. Too bad the perspective of the two girls at the center of this authentic-feeling look at adolescent peer pressure is roughly level with your average doormat. Realistic perhaps, but 80 minutes of boorish chauvinism hardly makes up for 5 minutes of triumphant female rebellion just before fadeout."</i></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdXvMzxbkFWKZd8ZXpWFGv5suZ3Y5LqSOYx2aOHbjF1ghXioI_J_Osw4dns766COxJY8TBt-Anjzfyd01rM7Y4ZlLQxcRnh2903ke5lxNQmUePm6otL747x5G5lKj_MXEJLy5bgSRPAKraT-aWOXUcGX_2IguKrP1RokpVNkVbqJbSg1Re54epdw7b/s1999/They-Call-Me-Bruce-1982.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1173" data-original-width="1999" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdXvMzxbkFWKZd8ZXpWFGv5suZ3Y5LqSOYx2aOHbjF1ghXioI_J_Osw4dns766COxJY8TBt-Anjzfyd01rM7Y4ZlLQxcRnh2903ke5lxNQmUePm6otL747x5G5lKj_MXEJLy5bgSRPAKraT-aWOXUcGX_2IguKrP1RokpVNkVbqJbSg1Re54epdw7b/w400-h235/They-Call-Me-Bruce-1982.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Johnny Yune-Margaux Hemingway-Raf Mauro </b> </div><div>The late Korean-American comic Johnny Yune lends often wince-inducing old-school brand of stand-up humor (all one-liners & obvious setups) to this Jerry Lewis-style vehicle about an innocent who gets mixed up with the Mafia.</div><div><br /></div><div><u>What I wrote in 1984: </u></div><div><i>"'They Call Me Bruce' is a road-movie comedy that's funny in the offbeat, low-budget, everything-but-the-kitchen-sink way that 'Airplane' is. The idea of Margaux Hemingway as a villain is promising, but she remains the most well-known, least well-used member of the cast."</i></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJkZVFaqlq0wRoD2_bTi6_2Dk3Tbngyl_djs5699XNNTrGNI5CnTdvZtjzLZybYmmNtVH4i-rUYu1IyYwyKJXbvLXhyfLWPkoWSyu2WkAq8NE3QRakRP2rlSID_bwgS8U6sME__JNhYAXDgBgKYbmJrhnMfFTWauudznvp79Cdm-8Q0r6_RnmUZA9L/s2000/Chained-Heat-1983.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1182" data-original-width="2000" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJkZVFaqlq0wRoD2_bTi6_2Dk3Tbngyl_djs5699XNNTrGNI5CnTdvZtjzLZybYmmNtVH4i-rUYu1IyYwyKJXbvLXhyfLWPkoWSyu2WkAq8NE3QRakRP2rlSID_bwgS8U6sME__JNhYAXDgBgKYbmJrhnMfFTWauudznvp79Cdm-8Q0r6_RnmUZA9L/w400-h236/Chained-Heat-1983.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Linda Blair-Stella Stevens-Sybil Danning-Tamara Dobson-Nita Talbot-Edy Williams</b></div><div>A women's prison film starring Linda Blair. Now you know the entire plot and premise. What gets me is how I could ever forget a movie with a cast as camp-tastic as this. </div><div><br /></div><div><u>What I wrote in 1984:</u></div><div><i>"It takes place in one of those prisons where false eyelashes and blow-dryers are more plentiful than shivs and cakes with files baked into them. The cast alone is a hoot: prison warden Stella Stevens barks all of her lines; Linda Blair (who must have a patent out on these kinds of roles) goes topless; Tamara' Cleopatra Jones' Dobson leads 'the sisters' in a riot, and eternal starlet Edy Williams is on hand as an extra. "</i></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2k8efno8Vmwq_uYpjzlHOir40uYNouk_6903H72I-SjZB31jE_Ebqh7IoPfoiUTgVFrxcxAJ7xauX0jGm8yotfwcTb3Ix2BzXZrfMrcocuZNeMZ9RlDR-nFUG0_ZWvUckgyYHU4XyHcTeM5JAQNu3kw9mMFsr5WZ2-5nCBMGwikaLkHjCgUNnrcXK/s1993/Curtains-1983.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1186" data-original-width="1993" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2k8efno8Vmwq_uYpjzlHOir40uYNouk_6903H72I-SjZB31jE_Ebqh7IoPfoiUTgVFrxcxAJ7xauX0jGm8yotfwcTb3Ix2BzXZrfMrcocuZNeMZ9RlDR-nFUG0_ZWvUckgyYHU4XyHcTeM5JAQNu3kw9mMFsr5WZ2-5nCBMGwikaLkHjCgUNnrcXK/w400-h238/Curtains-1983.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>Samantha Eggar-Linda Thorson-John Vernon</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><i>A Chorus Line </i>meets <i>Friday the 13th</i> in this casting couch slasher about a cattle call audition that has wannabe actresses vying for a role to (literally) die for.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><u>What I said in 1984:</u></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><i>"Samantha Eggar, who really must have had some mortgage payments to meet, easily outclasses her co-stars in this contrived-yet-derivative slasher flick that should be a lot more fun than it is. Also, there's something perverse about making a movie about actresses, yet failing to cast any. And whose idea was it to cast the monumentally colorless John Vernon as a dynamic, sexually dangerous movie director?"</i></div><div><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUU2CipZzzWywDd8EsGfRxS8wlZEWKo_d7HNzdyMIg9f77dnLotZuGL_t2EOrAAqaAOje5eiu2ZoZ4gLcVSjNRyZKe2pyNXOtkyjtnjEt4Cfw3wLWCgIC-bnnsio9dsS98oYV6ii0mk9ntsMVgOZ-nQSI5uZCPA3lytYXMAmiKHgFmH6XYEvr2jIfc/s1995/Mr-Mom-1983.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1180" data-original-width="1995" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUU2CipZzzWywDd8EsGfRxS8wlZEWKo_d7HNzdyMIg9f77dnLotZuGL_t2EOrAAqaAOje5eiu2ZoZ4gLcVSjNRyZKe2pyNXOtkyjtnjEt4Cfw3wLWCgIC-bnnsio9dsS98oYV6ii0mk9ntsMVgOZ-nQSI5uZCPA3lytYXMAmiKHgFmH6XYEvr2jIfc/w400-h236/Mr-Mom-1983.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Teri Garr-Michael Keaton-Martin Mull-Christopher Lloyd-Ann Jillian</b></div>Husband is fired from his job, so wife becomes the breadwinner. Call the Press.<br /><br /><u>What I wrote in 1984:</u><br /><i>"The comedy in this movie feels as fresh and up-to-date as an episode of Ozzie and Harriet. Keaton and Garr are as charming as all get-out, but the entire film feels like one of those TV commercials where a grown man has no idea how a refrigerator works… dragged out to 90 minutes."</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTd9utpiZU2ZwX_tthbpkZ7yRiSV4yW7Dh8zULwNcL5UKBhuYXQ9vL-vC3In4wXokxYfCg-P_LJm6wYmF5TA8QrBlG6HBhg9RfzYgeGMhV0eHNo7gN-b9-pLUs1AXBBjb2YeaN-t9SUW9Q1FbhzA9ZOfP2T1pQVb9CE1skOGUvn1sDev0EZEU9oL_v/s1991/A-Private-Function-1984.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1175" data-original-width="1991" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTd9utpiZU2ZwX_tthbpkZ7yRiSV4yW7Dh8zULwNcL5UKBhuYXQ9vL-vC3In4wXokxYfCg-P_LJm6wYmF5TA8QrBlG6HBhg9RfzYgeGMhV0eHNo7gN-b9-pLUs1AXBBjb2YeaN-t9SUW9Q1FbhzA9ZOfP2T1pQVb9CE1skOGUvn1sDev0EZEU9oL_v/w400-h236/A-Private-Function-1984.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Maggie Smith-Michael Palin-Denholm Elliott-Liz Smith</b></div><div>The class-conscious wife of a small-town chiropodist in postwar (meat-rationing) England hopes to gain a cultural leg-up by stealing a pig intended for a banquet celebrating the Royal wedding of Princess Elizabeth to Prince Philip.</div><div><br /></div><div><u>What I wrote in 1988:</u></div><div><i>"This very British comedy about class, social climbing, and bodily functions is a delight from start to finish. Maggie Smith is probably the screen's most gifted vocal gymnast. She can wring more comedy and pathos out of the simplest line of dialogue than any actress I can think of. Michael Palin wisely bows to her clear comedic domination of their scenes together." </i></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9NMRLixqvIrHn1TPBRPOa8AucbfX0Vm89TkPsimdYfCToPjFd3YsJmkXm9xjdJa5g_zEzAMuCUYKDPhFyXcCHaN3UavIJvdPzXCLmIFcsRbtR6Qs3siEGUK--8b07FEMV8xsTFRH24HPhYmkVkBYte_-7bnBq-Tn92t4r586G_3Sn_bwetA5vDZhv/s2000/Testament-1983.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1187" data-original-width="2000" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9NMRLixqvIrHn1TPBRPOa8AucbfX0Vm89TkPsimdYfCToPjFd3YsJmkXm9xjdJa5g_zEzAMuCUYKDPhFyXcCHaN3UavIJvdPzXCLmIFcsRbtR6Qs3siEGUK--8b07FEMV8xsTFRH24HPhYmkVkBYte_-7bnBq-Tn92t4r586G_3Sn_bwetA5vDZhv/w400-h238/Testament-1983.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Jane Alexander, William Devane, Lukas Haas, Kevin Costner-Mako</b></div><div>The threat of nuclear war was on everybody's mind in the early '80s, spawning several films (<i>The Day After </i>-1983 [made for TV], <i>Under Fire </i>- 1983, and <i>Silkwood</i> -1984). This particular plea for disarmament was initially conceived as a PBS American Playhouse TV exclusively production and humanizes the political argument by focusing its lens on a northern California family.</div><div><br /></div><div><u>What I wrote in 1984:</u></div><div><i> "Achingly painful depiction of a nuclear holocaust that hits so much harder because there's not a trace of 'disaster movie' spectacle or sensationalism. And precious little sentimentality. That the annihilation of mankind is viewed from the perspective of one unexceptional family seems to drive the nightmare of it all straight to the heart."</i></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPGYNdLBufWUiDq64y_-qGuCLh1mv5mYzQ6zqGogVDqeYLVcZb2fiInxtdqTl3XyUcKHDV6ljWaDxjMpXKEXnMFKJqj-7FwUJmkNj-cWvhV0Z8BE46uCVc23w7QtS5sKZ3cNs6QXVVng7CTRDosKPsVFOJ7h4zn5GOw0TaBX8d9SgjmhT-lIuMAMkT/s1968/Cross-My-Heart-1987.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1185" data-original-width="1968" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPGYNdLBufWUiDq64y_-qGuCLh1mv5mYzQ6zqGogVDqeYLVcZb2fiInxtdqTl3XyUcKHDV6ljWaDxjMpXKEXnMFKJqj-7FwUJmkNj-cWvhV0Z8BE46uCVc23w7QtS5sKZ3cNs6QXVVng7CTRDosKPsVFOJ7h4zn5GOw0TaBX8d9SgjmhT-lIuMAMkT/w400-h241/Cross-My-Heart-1987.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"> <b>Annette O'Toole-Martin Short-Paul Reyser</b></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The all-important "third date" is the subject and setting of this comedy about two people single burdened with too many fronts they're trying to keep up.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><u>What I wrote in 1989:</u></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>"An uneven but thoroughly delightful romantic comedy of the '80s that manages to be both charmingly sentimental and touchingly straightforward in chronicling the self-inflicted pains and humiliations of the modern dating scene. Ten years after 'Annie Hall,' it's nice to know the 'nervous romance' is still good for a laugh or two."</i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHKrYwhOXfCDt_2A8u73gZ6mMoFiCDoxwquVTRGqHtyjyogw5xuvX4pjiA-tSUdPfPI__sUMu41JR1UQ4OYXez8HOSnytqnSUGfHk2N2BNbCEVofBdbgAGo-8lDz9FR-ooEZk2lTIg8xjUr6wga5-hTHUUNtHsrdburJm-MvGeDkDYBEEVfGE0Q5df/s1999/Housekeeper-1986.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1178" data-original-width="1999" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHKrYwhOXfCDt_2A8u73gZ6mMoFiCDoxwquVTRGqHtyjyogw5xuvX4pjiA-tSUdPfPI__sUMu41JR1UQ4OYXez8HOSnytqnSUGfHk2N2BNbCEVofBdbgAGo-8lDz9FR-ooEZk2lTIg8xjUr6wga5-hTHUUNtHsrdburJm-MvGeDkDYBEEVfGE0Q5df/w400-h236/Housekeeper-1986.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Rita Tushingham-Jackie Burroughs</b></div><div><div>When I wrote about Claude Chabrol's film<i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2017/09/the-ceremony-la-ceremonie-1995.html" target="_blank"> Le Cérémonie</a></i> (1995) on these pages back in 2017, I'd completely forgotten that I'd actually seen this artless Canadian adaptation of the same source novel</div><div>(Ruth Rendell's <i>A Judgement in Ston</i>e – 1977). Tushingham plays a mentally fragile housekeeper with a guarded secret in this psychological thriller that's also something of a family affair: It's the directing debut of Tushingham's then-husband, cinematographer Ousama Rawi, and her daughter Aisha portrays Tushingham's character as a little girl.</div><div><br /></div><div><u>What I wrote in 1988:</u></div><div><i>"A thriller that really struggles to find its footing. The idea of Rita Tushingham as a homicidal housekeeper is distinctly irresistible, but the result is a jumble of missed potential. Hampered by the flat look of a made-for-TV movie and a tone that careens recklessly from character study to exploitation horror, not even Tushingham's considerable talent can salvage this pedestrian handling of a not-uninteresting premise."</i></div></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSweLgyG1kB4MlitmYQpYYO91ClNB48d6Tw6NSXuvfuSglGc_m14LNr9ZmN9Id4a0tVpBpvB6gZ-9Yoq7B4yvCtbdd6mBIC-nXKjFvpaMYAPEEHfM_SmoAvTzcqTBfzZ59y7J7l5sE8iVd7iL7LxiTBcka0iVeqb07jyuspbvuXlGr13b1ZwDGIFkE/s2000/Stormy-Monday-1988.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1180" data-original-width="2000" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSweLgyG1kB4MlitmYQpYYO91ClNB48d6Tw6NSXuvfuSglGc_m14LNr9ZmN9Id4a0tVpBpvB6gZ-9Yoq7B4yvCtbdd6mBIC-nXKjFvpaMYAPEEHfM_SmoAvTzcqTBfzZ59y7J7l5sE8iVd7iL7LxiTBcka0iVeqb07jyuspbvuXlGr13b1ZwDGIFkE/w400-h236/Stormy-Monday-1988.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>Melanie Griffith-Tommy Lee Jones-Sting-Sean Bean</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">A thriller set in Newcastle, England, that has American Tommy Lee Jones and expatriate Melanie Griffith somehow getting embroiled in money laundering, shady land deals, and romantic triangles. All set to a sax-heavy jazz score. Directing debut of Mike Figgis (<i>Leaving Las Vegas</i>). </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><u>What I wrote in 1990:</u></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><i>"Curiously affectless romantic thriller full of mood and atmosphere and a lot of posturing by its pretty cast. At least the dull action is intermittently enlivened by Melanie Griffith's scary punk haircut. Behind the MTV music video lighting and smoke effects are one very good actor and three OK ones in search of a movie."</i></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAVmnvu-iMVbRAn98wMeFUZLn3TALB4jwP4fbj3W3NgZVowZCRW9JRIyAY64ZulDs8j6nVxDumorIaVmEziAAEiqLHEyYUOCtPjVq15MfLeafmpi5HTh3SxE8vWe7rrg4Kv0Duf_KLMF0mcfzykLSLFxFCjOnXcfzx5lNlFxufYnaESbKao7AyG0iI/s1999/Fatal-Beauty-1987.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1178" data-original-width="1999" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAVmnvu-iMVbRAn98wMeFUZLn3TALB4jwP4fbj3W3NgZVowZCRW9JRIyAY64ZulDs8j6nVxDumorIaVmEziAAEiqLHEyYUOCtPjVq15MfLeafmpi5HTh3SxE8vWe7rrg4Kv0Duf_KLMF0mcfzykLSLFxFCjOnXcfzx5lNlFxufYnaESbKao7AyG0iI/w400-h236/Fatal-Beauty-1987.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Whoopi Goldberg-Sam Elliott-Ruben Blades-Jennifer Warren-Brad-Dourif</b></div>A Los Angeles detective is on the trail of a drug kingpin pushing a particularly potent strain of cocaine with the street name…you guessed it, fatal beauty.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><u>What I said in 1988:</u><br /><i>"Whoopi Goldberg, the actress Hollywood hasn't a clue as to how to use, is cast in a routine cop flick that clutches its pearls like a Southern white lady every time Goldberg has a scene with love interest Sam Elliott. Better than 'Burglar' (1987) but a long way from 'The Color Purple' (1985)." </i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0IIk7V1ryGbCPb9LQTJ1bEaVaEjZEVMv_RJDmm1BEKcXdcyfupTdSmpC_HVVItSQyruvdkQBNNAntQcYi1JzhLBH_NYXUdRFksDPD1WdDdkcRw97M9wENzKeotG9RZZQFWHLeANkA4osI6lCbCHqGHC02SYsjdZyapYNVAY5X29LnhGeD7c3eLvT3/s2000/Sister-Sister-1987.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1189" data-original-width="2000" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0IIk7V1ryGbCPb9LQTJ1bEaVaEjZEVMv_RJDmm1BEKcXdcyfupTdSmpC_HVVItSQyruvdkQBNNAntQcYi1JzhLBH_NYXUdRFksDPD1WdDdkcRw97M9wENzKeotG9RZZQFWHLeANkA4osI6lCbCHqGHC02SYsjdZyapYNVAY5X29LnhGeD7c3eLvT3/w400-h238/Sister-Sister-1987.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Eric Stoltz-Judith Ivey-Jennifer Jason Leigh</b></div><div>The arrival of a stranger threatens the close relationship of two sisters bound by a scandalous secret. </div><div>The directing debut of Bill Condon (<i>Gods and Monsters</i>, <i>Dreamgirls</i>).</div><div><br /></div><div><u>What I wrote in 1988:</u></div><div><i>"In a nutshell: Snidely Whiplash comes between Polk Salad Annie and Cracklin' Rosie. A tense & exciting third act is the payoff for making it through this swamp & sweat bayou thriller about a mysterious 'handsome stranger' who disrupts the lives of two sisters who </i><i>run a hotel out of their decaying Louisiana mansion, yet still find time to harbor a dark secret." </i></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisrgPommlG16nYbRB35zOZ2eKgWvZQJDjnupgsTdGKolJptdzCi_yN0lesrsdEoquCTg5kAXxPJfFZAOup7GFSqBB_thefaRY4fRwQI9wLwh4IlYtXaea_wKiwCspLGApNbpHuxRBpUTW-CIaqwCxDOJ6UMbvDah0U_oZfkt8oV8X-b7KVQ8i7v1sW/s1993/Lady-Beware-1987.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1149" data-original-width="1993" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisrgPommlG16nYbRB35zOZ2eKgWvZQJDjnupgsTdGKolJptdzCi_yN0lesrsdEoquCTg5kAXxPJfFZAOup7GFSqBB_thefaRY4fRwQI9wLwh4IlYtXaea_wKiwCspLGApNbpHuxRBpUTW-CIaqwCxDOJ6UMbvDah0U_oZfkt8oV8X-b7KVQ8i7v1sW/w400-h230/Lady-Beware-1987.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Diane Lane-Michael Woods-Cotter Smith-Tyra Ferrell</b></div><div>A department store window designer is stalked and terrorized by a man fixated on the provocative content of her window displays. This erotic suspense thriller had the ill fortune of opening the same day as <i>Fatal Attraction</i>. </div><div><br /></div><div><u>What I wrote in 1988:</u></div><div><i>"Behind that awful, Barbara Cartland-type title is a fairly effective, if derivative, suspense thriller. Diane Lane plays a department store window dresser who lives in what looks to be Jennifer Beals' loft apartment from 'Flashdance,' and whose sexually overheated, <a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/06/eyes-of-laura-mars-1978.html" target="_blank">Laura Mars</a>-style widow designs attract the attentions of a loony out to make her life pure hell." </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;">####</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I guess movies are no different than all of life's experiences; we don't get to decide which will be the ones that stay with us for a lifetime. But while a past experience can never be relived, movies are forever. Maybe I'll rewatch one of these forgotten gems and see if this time anything "sticks." </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p style="background-color: white; font-family: Impact, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0.75em 0px 0px; position: relative; text-align: left;"></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Be sure to check out the Companion Piece essay to this post:</span><span style="font-size: 24px; font-weight: normal;"> <br /></span><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2017/03/making-memory-cinema-cult-of-longing.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;">MAKING A MEMORY: CINEMA & THE CULT OF LONGING</span></a></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">May all your movie experiences be more memorable.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIzzblhNhCzITMRN4QKnOkK6KJpMRwMSziryOzKauB7W0IcZHBaNoTJoXVS3ysb_7b7FPNwCBmWGmhiSmE180rzPt3HaecKfBMN4ThORXkuqp19jCUbonIU1KbeXq1gAzE_DLPvaPTzT-tIrX87hqdfjxMRTxWFJMl6_NzWLx1sx2GuvgXphLS8WP6/s1821/Movies-1966-Newspaper%20Ad.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="802" data-original-width="1821" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIzzblhNhCzITMRN4QKnOkK6KJpMRwMSziryOzKauB7W0IcZHBaNoTJoXVS3ysb_7b7FPNwCBmWGmhiSmE180rzPt3HaecKfBMN4ThORXkuqp19jCUbonIU1KbeXq1gAzE_DLPvaPTzT-tIrX87hqdfjxMRTxWFJMl6_NzWLx1sx2GuvgXphLS8WP6/w400-h176/Movies-1966-Newspaper%20Ad.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Copyright © Ken Anderson 2009 - 2023Ken Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04940648971296673233noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2627032459273165000.post-4360270752629395302023-02-16T17:26:00.029-08:002023-09-03T16:09:41.793-07:00THE TENANT 1976<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj82hrx-BlO_BMDnZ6lr6UW1LBufZf4kKC0aily1DXn-V01Ek85N8ULI0qf89yE44MgRhTmlHj9HjPobYviceMtjvb9YmrAX6GwtrSWLSf6a2iFO9PZ208Fobd1ubJkGR__9LFac4c0cmp6yBufXKWgxwQf11DZg0Uhh2XxrUlxd-FvNwgrDEqMf2Va/s2317/The-Tenant-Roman-Polanski-Titles-1976.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1294" data-original-width="2317" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj82hrx-BlO_BMDnZ6lr6UW1LBufZf4kKC0aily1DXn-V01Ek85N8ULI0qf89yE44MgRhTmlHj9HjPobYviceMtjvb9YmrAX6GwtrSWLSf6a2iFO9PZ208Fobd1ubJkGR__9LFac4c0cmp6yBufXKWgxwQf11DZg0Uhh2XxrUlxd-FvNwgrDEqMf2Va/w400-h224/The-Tenant-Roman-Polanski-Titles-1976.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div><span style="color: red; font-size: x-small;"><b>Spoiler Alert: Crucial plot points are revealed in the interest of critical analysis and discussion</b></span></div><div><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;">Somewhere beyond the boundaries of the healthy, adaptive kind of Cultural Paranoia that I, a Black gay man, accesses daily to navigate hostile environments of discrimination and racial bias; on the far side of whatever amorphous fears are harbored by the kind of people who routinely dress in fatigues and buy anything with the word “Tactical” on the packaging; past the limits of the alternately narcissistic/masochistic borders of <i>“Everyone’s out to get me!” </i>delusional paranoia…there lies the macabre Twilight Zone that is Roman Polanski’s brilliant <i>The Tenant</i>. A bizarre, Kafkaesque exploration of social alienation and encroaching madness that film critic Vincent Canby accurately described as a nightmare vision of <i>“Emotional isolation that becomes physical.”</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcIyF6enkD3TtQywxvu5EOzZk39u-zXr1wVwJz0SI5_pD89EU84zYbekN3ps33UcCxjiGJ9xfnuZkuIt9poIjl9cQh7sD9_pgxdmiuqjq9k7WUW3BD6xGOSZ8dfbc4IUGvuUXNoWfOrS_AUvUY_n-LEXAY-tODEIFeXAKL-v4HqoJEzxYhOeSq6xpg/s1920/Roman-Polanski-The-Tenant-1976%20(8).png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcIyF6enkD3TtQywxvu5EOzZk39u-zXr1wVwJz0SI5_pD89EU84zYbekN3ps33UcCxjiGJ9xfnuZkuIt9poIjl9cQh7sD9_pgxdmiuqjq9k7WUW3BD6xGOSZ8dfbc4IUGvuUXNoWfOrS_AUvUY_n-LEXAY-tODEIFeXAKL-v4HqoJEzxYhOeSq6xpg/w400-h225/Roman-Polanski-The-Tenant-1976%20(8).png" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div>Adapted for the screen with almost religious faithfulness by Polanski and longtime collaborator Gerard Brach from the 1964 novel<i> Le Locataire Chimérique</i> by Roland Topor, <i>The Tenant</i> marks the Academy Award-winning director’s 9th feature film. It also marks what many consider to be the third and final entry in his unofficial Urban Paranoia Trilogy (aka, his Apartment Trilogy): <i>Repulsion</i> – 1965, <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/09/rosemarys-baby-1968.html" target="_blank">Rosemary’s Baby </a></i>– 1965, & <i>The Tenant</i> – 1976. </div><div><div>For his part, Polanski flatly denies ever deliberately setting out to make a contemporary terror triptych. But admirers of his work have seized upon the thematic recurrence in these films of many of the director’s most fervent obsessions: paranoia, alienation, sex, psychosis, subjective reality, and cramped dwellings. Each film in the trilogy is a modern-gothic study of urban dread set in a different, obliquely-threatening, impersonal city (London, Manhattan, and Paris, respectively). Their eerie narratives unfold largely within the oppressive confines of decaying apartment structures, wherein rooms take on the character of four-walled prisons-of-the-mind, mirroring the progressive mental deterioration of their psychologically isolated protagonists.</div><div>The lead character in <i>The Tenant</i> is male (Polanski himself, his 3rd on-screen appearance in one of his own films), signifying the trilogy’s sole departure from having a woman as the central focus of a storyline. </div><div>It's neither coy nor misleading when I say that The Tenant does not disrupt the gender prominence of the trilogy. </div></div></div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDFXvLbsdy5hrINDlQkkFKHnK_-5aUnQZBoqF8M3uC3iIOmsXVOhqSwmeZa2kInyfopQFBXOUUUmd7mAmCFsSWxUoJlYoSQ4jECGDS11o1OSCic4O7c67lyfxkEMHglrAU7UeePMph4S8ptIz_dEHVMlfrANTE9RAxGFcI6WrxfXKx1KbSB5ZUpSSS/s1920/Roman-Polanski-The-Tenant-1976%20(14).png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDFXvLbsdy5hrINDlQkkFKHnK_-5aUnQZBoqF8M3uC3iIOmsXVOhqSwmeZa2kInyfopQFBXOUUUmd7mAmCFsSWxUoJlYoSQ4jECGDS11o1OSCic4O7c67lyfxkEMHglrAU7UeePMph4S8ptIz_dEHVMlfrANTE9RAxGFcI6WrxfXKx1KbSB5ZUpSSS/w400-h225/Roman-Polanski-The-Tenant-1976%20(14).png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Roman Polanski as Trelkovsky</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsj01lqAr4_oZI3ZApZQ2Vw8-X7Qy8ek_M8QX-krOuVVESvW5BKUqzT3Z-z5DpYCPgMclqHH11thupWOw61L2Uz1t20_xruYkbTKKgNzau_aJaWrowfFDnxYG1i6mI4DoWTI0po43r6GfkDgC_Nj0z8J5Kcn5M8_sRx9MyhQ68hzbVaQoqKheUxk4I/s1920/Isabelle-Adjani-The_Tenant-1976%20(3).png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsj01lqAr4_oZI3ZApZQ2Vw8-X7Qy8ek_M8QX-krOuVVESvW5BKUqzT3Z-z5DpYCPgMclqHH11thupWOw61L2Uz1t20_xruYkbTKKgNzau_aJaWrowfFDnxYG1i6mI4DoWTI0po43r6GfkDgC_Nj0z8J5Kcn5M8_sRx9MyhQ68hzbVaQoqKheUxk4I/w400-h225/Isabelle-Adjani-The_Tenant-1976%20(3).png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Isabelle Adjani as Stella</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijPFAgob6CLDScHV0l3EEEXTOAAGQB0kYEPEDP6cSmUVy0pP0sBJqw0yUpk4GrJJpx2oCwaRnvbu2q425m1fkKb5F2QE3S-eOXWX9XZXebH1s9zerPMOSdw4zaH0m-9UsVctQBNesrIS5SRZDWmwC_spVh8svBgoF0HpHEvNbXlRKY4tnwMyypzWAg/s1920/Shelley-Winters-The_Tenant-1976.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijPFAgob6CLDScHV0l3EEEXTOAAGQB0kYEPEDP6cSmUVy0pP0sBJqw0yUpk4GrJJpx2oCwaRnvbu2q425m1fkKb5F2QE3S-eOXWX9XZXebH1s9zerPMOSdw4zaH0m-9UsVctQBNesrIS5SRZDWmwC_spVh8svBgoF0HpHEvNbXlRKY4tnwMyypzWAg/w400-h225/Shelley-Winters-The_Tenant-1976.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shelley Winters as The Concierge</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiukVIcblXMYbAnpg1UKN4g_ZABHLRoJDD-FYjENgxbebGtkOoh8c69EKEiwVGD3dQbdTW1-yFvrWqYrskVfyDfkkspt-xH3-RX1ybdG3gf3Nao-hkv05jU6380c-ixcRQ916bcncGlst6LEP0n9gLGLeWqoBSzxG_Dx22Tehx1axgJMzSGF5LUAE9b/s1758/Melvyn-Douglas-The-Tenant-1976.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="958" data-original-width="1758" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiukVIcblXMYbAnpg1UKN4g_ZABHLRoJDD-FYjENgxbebGtkOoh8c69EKEiwVGD3dQbdTW1-yFvrWqYrskVfyDfkkspt-xH3-RX1ybdG3gf3Nao-hkv05jU6380c-ixcRQ916bcncGlst6LEP0n9gLGLeWqoBSzxG_Dx22Tehx1axgJMzSGF5LUAE9b/w400-h217/Melvyn-Douglas-The-Tenant-1976.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Melvyn Douglas as Monsieur Zy</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBUfx2CTxYu4A5Cujkei9SpAW39lLPQMY96yZb5B6l-ty9snFK3n0zyN_8tgFc7scOdrH_8ArtryHYCxNGwcQjaTLjuT_Yy1Q5v6EpVmG7To17OVDOVEnSroDvB1PnU0R5hKqNv_Z9rSFyukrl4SB3XiDGm3h9Wg6WSFiOE_wny-KBnW5MaYUXCo9J/s1920/Jo-Van-Fleet-The-Tenant-1976.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBUfx2CTxYu4A5Cujkei9SpAW39lLPQMY96yZb5B6l-ty9snFK3n0zyN_8tgFc7scOdrH_8ArtryHYCxNGwcQjaTLjuT_Yy1Q5v6EpVmG7To17OVDOVEnSroDvB1PnU0R5hKqNv_Z9rSFyukrl4SB3XiDGm3h9Wg6WSFiOE_wny-KBnW5MaYUXCo9J/w400-h225/Jo-Van-Fleet-The-Tenant-1976.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jo Van Fleet as Madame Dioz</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT1dVqFuMsLezbMvTbRQSUHyWZwY102oO1ek2T7dB_ebBu9i19E5VhjFkrHTfnK1-H3EW4aRfc8FtasS2MLpme90JhyG86yexnKtsQZ0M6khRXb-_bQIUFhiOfXyk8JZYkXvg7zVEb7ghSSxfC_DG9X19G7a31OubnMIhLP7oOIUzyHhEu_9HmzDMP/s1920/Lila-Kedrova-The-Tenant-1976.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT1dVqFuMsLezbMvTbRQSUHyWZwY102oO1ek2T7dB_ebBu9i19E5VhjFkrHTfnK1-H3EW4aRfc8FtasS2MLpme90JhyG86yexnKtsQZ0M6khRXb-_bQIUFhiOfXyk8JZYkXvg7zVEb7ghSSxfC_DG9X19G7a31OubnMIhLP7oOIUzyHhEu_9HmzDMP/w400-h225/Lila-Kedrova-The-Tenant-1976.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lila Kedrova as Madame Gaderian</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><div>There's a scene in the movie musical <i>On a Clear Day You Can See Forever </i>where Barbra Streisand—as wallflower go-a-longer Daisy Gamble—discloses to hypnotherapist Yves Montand the results of a vocational guidance test: "<i>Healthy, adjusted, and no character. I mean, no character of any kind. I mean, not even any…characteristics!”</i></div><div>Well, that describes <i>The Tenant</i>'s Monsieur Trelkovsky in a nutshell. Trelkovsky, a soft-spoken Polish-born office clerk of indeterminate disposition who continually has to remind people he’s a French citizen, is a fellow who tiptoes through life as though he holds only a month-to-month tenancy on his own body.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP3U-7GPQSpDgyA59A6elvutVRMFZqjYCqJU0GP__r74PPkS4T1hpGnxrXdu7JaORBn7O2rQm-QegfyxOAffmhNsZ2XD7Wox3LToW23nXCo_kiNe6HRo86UbSwoI1fxD0bzm8Ke4IPALycSYxb_KmrO-X9GuhYeQyFdnXC40oV1Kplca-5tfKie_I4/s1920/Roman-Polanski-The-Tenant-1976%20(4).png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP3U-7GPQSpDgyA59A6elvutVRMFZqjYCqJU0GP__r74PPkS4T1hpGnxrXdu7JaORBn7O2rQm-QegfyxOAffmhNsZ2XD7Wox3LToW23nXCo_kiNe6HRo86UbSwoI1fxD0bzm8Ke4IPALycSYxb_KmrO-X9GuhYeQyFdnXC40oV1Kplca-5tfKie_I4/w400-h225/Roman-Polanski-The-Tenant-1976%20(4).png" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">During what can only be assumed to be a severe mid-‘70s Parisian housing shortage, Trelkovsky is so desperate for lodgings that he pursues—with a self-interest bordering on the ghoulish—the not-yet-vacated apartment of a not-yet-dead attempted suicide. The tenant, a young Egyptologist named Simone Choule, threw herself from the window of her flat just days before and now lies in a coma at a nearby hospital.</div><div><div>Faced with a moral conundrum (his wish to acquire the apartment is the silent, simultaneous wish that she won’t recover), Trelkovsky, in a gesture bearing the outward appearance of sympathy, but could just as likely be a cagey "calculation of probability" field trip—visits Mlle Choule in the hospital. Wrapped head to toe in bandages, the Egyptologist indeed looks like a mummy herself, with nothing of the woman beneath visible save for a single staring eye and a gaping mouth from which a tooth is conspicuously, grotesquely missing.</div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-x1KyUeOq-FUhj5O7es0rX-Cvps5EzXhZYRCXpY6vgz6GitKfhLLO0eTLq8gJZjXmHZQJcS6wbZUFcX3IzhqB6evH9AulCPIoFUJR9g6LKdQ5JsIxA9gkQR6kR1KVLzZ1PUenZcahUDU90oj_hDJHFX966OobS97UXscUBe4iMIbSxozCJt9Z68r2/s1920/Shelley-Winters-Roman-Polanski-The_Tenant-1976.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-x1KyUeOq-FUhj5O7es0rX-Cvps5EzXhZYRCXpY6vgz6GitKfhLLO0eTLq8gJZjXmHZQJcS6wbZUFcX3IzhqB6evH9AulCPIoFUJR9g6LKdQ5JsIxA9gkQR6kR1KVLzZ1PUenZcahUDU90oj_hDJHFX966OobS97UXscUBe4iMIbSxozCJt9Z68r2/w400-h225/Shelley-Winters-Roman-Polanski-The_Tenant-1976.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Presented as though it were a bonus feature of the apartment, the concierge shows<br />Trelkovsky the hole Simone Choule's body made in the glass awning four stories below</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div>Simone Choule dies shortly after this visit (brought to a jarring conclusion when the patient lets out a soul-rattling scream at the sight of the stranger at her bedside). And Trelkovsky—pragmatically heedless of any possible bad omens augured by gaining advantageous self-benefit at the price of another's misfortune—wastes no time moving into the apartment. An apartment that hasn’t yet been entirely cleared of the dead woman’s possessions.</div><div><br /></div><div><div>Early scenes show Trelkovsky getting what he wants by adopting a persona of over-polite inoffensiveness (e.g., he finesses the bulldoggish concierge by paying her a gratuity and placates the surly landlord by appealing to his financial practicality). These passively assertive acts suggest that perhaps Trelkovsky’s outwardly suppressed identity is more of an adaptive skill; a tool a Polish émigré hones in a city where being “foreign” instantly brands one a target of suspicion and distrust.</div><div>Presuming that a certain characterlessness and malleability of personality are what Trelkovsky has always relied upon as a survival mechanism to go about life as unobtrusively as possible; <i>The Tenant </i>effectively puts the turn to the screw by making this quality in Trelkovsky...a “vacancy of self”...the tragic flaw that will come to seal his fate. </div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyK7_GeJNlszLWdPs0ceP9GGH8F1rQT53jPGZVcfImvDWdu2zLECX9sfgwDBYFOL2TfipNVQAa_KDG-E07aSOseZqNyeLxx9OaViWhWdom0CGfVhKXQ-HcWkHOxLFCWWVLzLkHa3BlGJGaW5hkQdbFJQBJ5uiOzbPKXu7k9F97r-QjXyQ9QD87zAl0/s1920/The-Tenant-Roman-Polanski-Isabelle-Adjani-1976.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyK7_GeJNlszLWdPs0ceP9GGH8F1rQT53jPGZVcfImvDWdu2zLECX9sfgwDBYFOL2TfipNVQAa_KDG-E07aSOseZqNyeLxx9OaViWhWdom0CGfVhKXQ-HcWkHOxLFCWWVLzLkHa3BlGJGaW5hkQdbFJQBJ5uiOzbPKXu7k9F97r-QjXyQ9QD87zAl0/w400-h225/The-Tenant-Roman-Polanski-Isabelle-Adjani-1976.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Though interested in Simone's friend, Stella, Trelkovsky, by lying about knowing Simone and keeping his occupancy of her apartment a secret, must keep part of his true identity hidden. </b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The apartment building Trelkovsky now calls home can be summed up by a term coined in Woody Allen’s <i>Manhattan Murder Mystery</i>; a neurotic’s jackpot. Almost immediately after moving in, Trelkovsky begins to suspect every tenant of being a furtive, inhospitable oddball who, when not lodging noise complaints about his every move; monitoring his comings and goings; or staring into his apartment from windows across the courtyard, is working in concert in a plot to get him to somehow <i>become </i>Simon Choule and give an encore performance of her dramatically gravitational exit.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div>But after an incident at Simone's funeral (where his sexual guilt turns a eulogy into a fire and brimstone lambaste), it's apparent Trelkovsky isn't what you'd call a reliable narrator. </div><div><br /></div><div>Thus, <i>The Tenant </i>builds suspense by sustaining a disconcertingly ambiguous tone throughout. One is never quite sure whether Trelkovsky's horrors are psychological (a mental breakdown), sociological (xenophobia), or supernatural (anyone for a mummy’s curse?)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWfr3YOM7vKtV1pujNbBmKetgdb5BJm3kuZkeo8tUtGOSZ-Z82mzI0vsZ1TPa1Z8PijBLoYFX2Hrd_Ju7FLU-BQLoC0aCncdF_gdi2XyruADU3H-GcpJnfPzOjc30LEUaWavdBx4lrUrnU6-N6msch2rkR0mWiVZ5DzTDykSIMvHhJNc1VbuXOepey/s2000/Roman-Polanski-The_Tenant-1976-Egyptology-Mummy-Roland-Topor.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1124" data-original-width="2000" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWfr3YOM7vKtV1pujNbBmKetgdb5BJm3kuZkeo8tUtGOSZ-Z82mzI0vsZ1TPa1Z8PijBLoYFX2Hrd_Ju7FLU-BQLoC0aCncdF_gdi2XyruADU3H-GcpJnfPzOjc30LEUaWavdBx4lrUrnU6-N6msch2rkR0mWiVZ5DzTDykSIMvHhJNc1VbuXOepey/w422-h238/Roman-Polanski-The_Tenant-1976-Egyptology-Mummy-Roland-Topor.jpg" width="422" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Trelkovsky: Tomb Raider</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">Clockwise from top left: 1. The mummified Simone Choule. 2. Trelkovsky receives a postcard of an Egyptian sarcophagus. 3. In a hallucinative state, Trelkovsky sees Egyptian hieroglyphs on the building’s communal bathroom wall. 4. Trelkovsky is given one of Simone's books, <i>The Romance of a Mummy </i>by Théophile Gautier (1858). </div><span style="text-align: left;"></span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Simone being an Egyptologist, rather than merely being a bit of backstory info about the former renter, becomes a prominent theme underscoring the somewhat paranormal shift <i>The Tenant</i> takes in its second act. The fact that so many of Simone Choule’s left-behind items (books, drawings, sculpture) reflect her interest and immersion in the culture of ancient Egypt makes Trelkovsky’s swift occupancy of her apartment feel as though he’s somehow disturbing the resting space of the deceased. Similarly, the Egyptian belief in immortality, with its attendant burial rituals devoted to preserving the body and the soul's rebirth, finds its queasy contemporary correlative in Simone Choule’s medical mummification. Swathed in bandages, Simone and her staring eye and missing tooth horrifically reference the Egyptian “opening of the mouth” ceremony; a rite performed to return the human senses to the soul in the afterlife.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxUULwYMgkSKh_m-Yl-od4qUgHqRKlcZRX-Rwz5N8aBOHJanY4081juU8k9hL0Z83eeTaiyFU0oYCRL2n7RRvrNgTbkMS4AgZkbwm-3IAeEe0Ztw3PyL_2vcq8sfFTBkfKLjaVncwRMGS0nHuQf5o_cjXipAY6VVgrJf10f3uO-4M3b_3rT0CB0Ks5/s1724/The-Tenant-Roman-Polanski-Trelkovsky-Simone-Choule-1976.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1724" data-original-width="1540" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxUULwYMgkSKh_m-Yl-od4qUgHqRKlcZRX-Rwz5N8aBOHJanY4081juU8k9hL0Z83eeTaiyFU0oYCRL2n7RRvrNgTbkMS4AgZkbwm-3IAeEe0Ztw3PyL_2vcq8sfFTBkfKLjaVncwRMGS0nHuQf5o_cjXipAY6VVgrJf10f3uO-4M3b_3rT0CB0Ks5/w358-h400/The-Tenant-Roman-Polanski-Trelkovsky-Simone-Choule-1976.jpg" width="358" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Self-Alienation / Fragmented Identity</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">Trelkovsky’s “possession” by Simone is entirely superficial (he gains absolutely no insight into the woman’s self) signaling his metamorphosis is more a self-generated delusion than an act of actually "becoming" Choule. Amounting to little more than the appropriation of only the most external signifiers of Simone's identity—clothes, makeup, cigarettes, hot chocolate, books—Trelkovsky turning into Simone feels less like <i>The Tenant</i> seeking to explore the flexible quadrants of gender and more like surrealists Topor and Polanski merely attaching existential theory to the question "Do clothes make the (wo)man?"</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirDhhLkz2S9HulMR_syhAXKwrGUy83ePDJ6Uzb6hHgFqCR1oc5nx7EuLAHuxqBESHvmaPAg2KoG3ikpuvFFOuoKm3p31KD_SCAmXIzm44gNCv5DfuomrHr2u3AUymfWECRsGSo-Cup5AIW7TnU-hnRM4wSOzCcz178B7DJtk4X_NHlbZ2bNKlJ6-um/s1920/Jacques-Narcy-Roman-Polanski-The-Tenant-1976.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirDhhLkz2S9HulMR_syhAXKwrGUy83ePDJ6Uzb6hHgFqCR1oc5nx7EuLAHuxqBESHvmaPAg2KoG3ikpuvFFOuoKm3p31KD_SCAmXIzm44gNCv5DfuomrHr2u3AUymfWECRsGSo-Cup5AIW7TnU-hnRM4wSOzCcz178B7DJtk4X_NHlbZ2bNKlJ6-um/w400-h225/Jacques-Narcy-Roman-Polanski-The-Tenant-1976.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Trelkovsky's one success at making human contact. <br />Unable to prevent his own suicide, Trelkovsky intervenes in the possible suicide of Simone's unrequited suitor George Bedar (played by Jacques Narcy). Bedar's romantic misdirection (he was apparently unaware of Simone's disinterest in men) mirrors Trelkovsky's inert sexuality</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">In <i>Rosemary’s Baby,</i> Polanski toyed with the notion of ancient evil (pagan witchcraft and Satan worship) surviving into the 20th century. A similar vein is mined in <i>The Tenant</i>’s paralleling of Egyptian mythology (immortality and the dominance of the soul in determining self) with the dissociative aspects of modern urban life (the separate-yet-together existence of apartment-dwelling) that prioritize the individual. I.e., a civilization that values holed-up privacy, solitude, keeping to oneself, and minding one’s own business can foster relativism and the solipsistic view that the mind alone is sovereign of the self.</div><div style="text-align: left;">But if the mind is the sole determiner of self, is each person then ruled by their own individual perception of reality?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Heads, attached and disembodied, figure as a motif in <i>The Tenant</i>. Ceramic busts appear in the apartments of Trelkovsky (Egyptian, of course) and Mr. Zy. Trelkovsky has a hallucination that his neighbors are playing football with a human head (Simone's or his own) in the courtyard</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHwjGcPZcoCvMjsfefj2GUpGivpZtmZ2QXJHRNzN4js8gcEv681vJ7bpfOFrqjBcFdQr-_YNEtE5nZqL4PUjWlFTAjIS84sS4UH2cTbQ1I3s8BnA8Aw6WmTfvddfTWTzgqGkqHncyZKfeXnFX9U7FmJG246_QtCBIByYGsZ29QxG3WPslQ0EbMthkJ/s1920/the-Tenant-Roman-Polanski-Trelkovsky-1976.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHwjGcPZcoCvMjsfefj2GUpGivpZtmZ2QXJHRNzN4js8gcEv681vJ7bpfOFrqjBcFdQr-_YNEtE5nZqL4PUjWlFTAjIS84sS4UH2cTbQ1I3s8BnA8Aw6WmTfvddfTWTzgqGkqHncyZKfeXnFX9U7FmJG246_QtCBIByYGsZ29QxG3WPslQ0EbMthkJ/w400-h225/the-Tenant-Roman-Polanski-Trelkovsky-1976.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>A drunk Trelkovsky ponders the philosophical, metaphysical, <br />and mythical concepts of "self"</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><i>The Tenant </i>premiered at The Regency Theater in San Francisco in the summer of 1976, and I was beyond excited to see it. Expectations were high, as it had been two years since the release of <a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2021/05/chinatown-1974.html" style="font-style: italic;" target="_blank">Chinatown</a>. The<i> Tenant</i>’s chilling <a href="https://youtu.be/XMpRckM8Ruw" rel="nofollow">teaser trailer</a> (with the soon-to-be-unfortunate tagline <i>“No one does it to you like Roman Polanski”</i>) promised a welcome return to type from the director who scared the hell out of me when I was eleven with what was then...and still remains...my #1 favorite motion picture of all time: <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/09/rosemarys-baby-1968.html" target="_blank">Rosemary’s Baby</a></i>.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR6h5fUTJXdHs2_w4fLPc01wBqpPpL0UKABuJIEq7DRxUodbm0ytccHcNREp6Mgt8HqfFdmUeFGxOlEG5mxjnc50zvrkl7keOgIGIbYwudkWky0CM-JvsODS2KNYVuzPlYWSmvaquWQNuSEyfzaXnDRKlbWkDCmjGIoePUXiQyyj4bGentbl2no08c/s1993/Polanski-Peephole-Shot-Repulsion-Rosemary's-Baby-The-Tenant.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1993" data-original-width="1160" height="489" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR6h5fUTJXdHs2_w4fLPc01wBqpPpL0UKABuJIEq7DRxUodbm0ytccHcNREp6Mgt8HqfFdmUeFGxOlEG5mxjnc50zvrkl7keOgIGIbYwudkWky0CM-JvsODS2KNYVuzPlYWSmvaquWQNuSEyfzaXnDRKlbWkDCmjGIoePUXiQyyj4bGentbl2no08c/w285-h489/Polanski-Peephole-Shot-Repulsion-Rosemary's-Baby-The-Tenant.jpg" width="285" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The Wide-Angle Distorted Perception Peephole Shot<br /><i>Repulsion -</i> <i>Rosemary's Baby - The Tenant</i></b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b> WHAT I LOVE ABOUT THIS FILM </b></div><div>It's not overstatement when I say <i>The Tenant</i> had me from the jump (pun possibly intended). After the sun-baked Southern California vistas of <i>Chinatown</i>, I was delighted with Polanski’s return to creepily claustrophobic interiors, menacing old people, and his lived-in, off-kilter brand of psychological horror. A movie that hits the ground running—with a dizzying, voyeuristic panning shot of apartment windows, revealing shifting glimpses of both Trelkovsky and Simone Choule staring through curtains at “the real(?)” Trelkovsky entering the courtyard to inquire about the availability of the apartment he already appears to be occupying—<i>The Tenant</i> is a film that wears its weirdness on its sleeve. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxcf-x4b3cdixvc7vdAQdtrYL_Oaz4zG8Ky_zUBDycSn-0EykZh1aQbOkg5pXqk7DMTePRQLlTzBck2aiClUczAdEhaRJEmpzIIZwu54Gj3CwR-4JR8fvEehyi4DVyOl5Bg--zgh2D5wjP2CMHsgG3XWAoWA4apnVpaUX9p2wqm8_tx7Fqe1B4MNhb/s1920/Isabelle-Adjani-Roman-Polanski-Philippe-Sarde-The%20Tenant-1976%20.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxcf-x4b3cdixvc7vdAQdtrYL_Oaz4zG8Ky_zUBDycSn-0EykZh1aQbOkg5pXqk7DMTePRQLlTzBck2aiClUczAdEhaRJEmpzIIZwu54Gj3CwR-4JR8fvEehyi4DVyOl5Bg--zgh2D5wjP2CMHsgG3XWAoWA4apnVpaUX9p2wqm8_tx7Fqe1B4MNhb/w400-h225/Isabelle-Adjani-Roman-Polanski-Philippe-Sarde-The%20Tenant-1976%20.png" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>That's the film's composer Philippe Sarde as the theater patron who prefers<br />watching Trelkovsky and Stella to watching the movie screen. It's a running paradox<br />in <i>The Tenant</i> that Trelkovsky's privacy decreases as his alienation increases.</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>Given invaluable, atmospheric assist by Swedish cinematographer Sven Nykvist and French composer Philippe Sarde, Polanski, in adapting Roland Topor’s novel, proves, as he did with Ira Levin’s <i>Rosemary’s Baby</i>, he's adept at making someone else's nightmares seem as though they originated out of his own well-stocked store of personal demons and obsessions. Sharing Topor’s outsider's eye for finding the ominous in the ordinary (both are Paris-born sons of Polish-Jewish immigrant parents), the close-quarters dictates of <i>The Tenant</i>'s setting allow Polanski to indulge his trademark canniness in turning living environments into starkly-rendered extensions of a character’s inner dread. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAFhI0dxn24JXbqd9r2_822cCKXGryXnBGs2M4MxdBUI0hNHw5dOqgC7sEUbYWpTWuhqygBbJLvzh1HPGP1Lqgk_VCHlyK3O-g33SoQ17AjO3LQEd1RtY__CiZ_Z_pruTM6CpAp1BhvSPxgopT_JRC3ju8IeIu7JK65z9un-wV5MpExM4T3Vvag0HL/s1719/Nosferatu-the-Vampyre-Klaus-Kinski-Roland-Topor-1979%20(1).png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="958" data-original-width="1719" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAFhI0dxn24JXbqd9r2_822cCKXGryXnBGs2M4MxdBUI0hNHw5dOqgC7sEUbYWpTWuhqygBbJLvzh1HPGP1Lqgk_VCHlyK3O-g33SoQ17AjO3LQEd1RtY__CiZ_Z_pruTM6CpAp1BhvSPxgopT_JRC3ju8IeIu7JK65z9un-wV5MpExM4T3Vvag0HL/w400-h223/Nosferatu-the-Vampyre-Klaus-Kinski-Roland-Topor-1979%20(1).png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Roland Topor, the surrealist artist, novelist, and playwright behind <i>The Tenant</i>, played<br /> Renfield opposite Klaus Kinski in Werner Herzog's <i>Nosferatu</i> (1979). Topor's scatological preoccupations, dark humor, and absurdist worldview find their aesthetic twin in Polanski.</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><b>THE STUFF OF DREAMS</b></div><div>Psychological thrillers about personality theft, duality, and the fluidity of identity have fascinated me…forever. Especially when they spill over into possible supernatural/horror territory. Growing up the only boy of five children, parents divorced/mom remarries, Catholic school, gay, shy, and the only Black family in an all-white neighborhood gave me a leg-up in the “Who the fuck am I?” adolescent identity sweepstakes. So, films were my retreat, and movies that (melo)dramatized the puzzle of self: <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2012/03/vertigo-1958.html" target="_blank">Vertigo</a></i> (1958), <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2019/05/the-servant-1963.html" target="_blank">The Servant</a></i> (1963), <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2013/11/secret-ceremony-1968.html" target="_blank">Secret Ceremony</a></i> (1968), <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2020/03/performance-1970.html" target="_blank">Performance </a></i>(1970), <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2013/09/images-1972.html" target="_blank">Images</a> </i>(1972), <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2017/04/obsession-1976.html" target="_blank">Obsession</a></i> (1976), <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2009/11/3-women-1977.html" target="_blank">3 Women</a></i> (1977), <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2018/07/fedora-1978.html" target="_blank">Fedora</a></i> (1978), <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2013/06/dead-ringers-1988.html" target="_blank">Dead Ringers</a></i> (1988), <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2018/03/single-white-female-1992.html" target="_blank">Single White Female</a></i> (1992), and <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/04/black-swan-2010.html" target="_blank">Black Swan</a></i> (2010)—were my catharsis.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMNZcOSWkRv7z08YWa4aOCqKH6pUZbV37-eRTjelc1JUfLXsvafMvsDPSATenErS4T7-KDYK0sM0QjOlYvOR-k0FcCyNKoCSfN3cYZrFzEQAo3tVyACeJ-S5X41NOAsN7z1-fGtQlVrI_iufsf3sodiC7zUGVkvFy1Tx3iN9vp2athyi4K7oa-xsK5/s1920/Roman-Polanski-The-Tenant-1976%20(18).png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMNZcOSWkRv7z08YWa4aOCqKH6pUZbV37-eRTjelc1JUfLXsvafMvsDPSATenErS4T7-KDYK0sM0QjOlYvOR-k0FcCyNKoCSfN3cYZrFzEQAo3tVyACeJ-S5X41NOAsN7z1-fGtQlVrI_iufsf3sodiC7zUGVkvFy1Tx3iN9vp2athyi4K7oa-xsK5/w400-h225/Roman-Polanski-The-Tenant-1976%20(18).png" width="400" /></a></div>My recently having had the opportunity to read the novel prompted my partner and me to watch <i>The Tenant</i> last Halloween. My first time seeing the film in several years. This time out, I was struck by how many of the persecutory torments pushing Trelkovsky to the brink of madness (being persistently watched, always having his behavior monitored, instantly being branded a target of suspicion, prejudicially profiled, having his experience invalidated) is kinda like an average day for a Black person living in America. <div>The terrorism of racism and "Living While Black" has always resulted in feelings of alienation, isolation, and anxiety among Black people, and movies like <i>The Tenant</i> have been a means of accessing those fears in a broad, generalized context. However, it wasn't until the release of 1995's <i>Tales from the Hood</i> by Rusty Cundieff, and Jordan Peele's <i>Get Out</i> (2017) that I ever saw a director illuminate the anxieties particular to racism and unique to the Black Experience in this country in the form and context of the horror genre.</div><div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhslwwR5keEfDv_gYNKnP97ujsNb81m5WlUlv1aZXJGNVafTId-tvgjevSR8n5OJVFIsmuyWrlkE_PmtGJzdVYhUHxMN5yRTuRbGEY-npsv8Dx--r_awHWrqKHFLS_9AwAY3q92FiE30zFKuKguMZWE0o45uEnLMMyTsnvnVN2-46qzM2zFIYwtaomm/s1920/jo-Van-Fleet-Shelley-Winters-Melvyn-Douglas-The_tenent-1976.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhslwwR5keEfDv_gYNKnP97ujsNb81m5WlUlv1aZXJGNVafTId-tvgjevSR8n5OJVFIsmuyWrlkE_PmtGJzdVYhUHxMN5yRTuRbGEY-npsv8Dx--r_awHWrqKHFLS_9AwAY3q92FiE30zFKuKguMZWE0o45uEnLMMyTsnvnVN2-46qzM2zFIYwtaomm/w400-h225/jo-Van-Fleet-Shelley-Winters-Melvyn-Douglas-The_tenent-1976.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The American cast members of <i>The Tenant</i></b></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><b>PERFORMANCES</b></div><div style="text-align: left;">Polanski started out as an actor (and never stopped, if all those behind-the-scenes photos of him “directing by demonstrating” tell the tale), so I wasn’t really surprised by how effective he is in the role of Trelkovsky. Casting himself very much to type, Polanski essentially IS the Trelkovsky of Topor’s novel...there being the shadow of something unsavory about him even at his most vulnerable. And he's particularly persuasive in conveying the anxiety and jumpy self-absorption that accompanies his character’s intensifying psychotic delusions. </div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqL7KGgxPCkSk9I0BaiLvaJ21D9SZZvOwCcZwCb_gVgFQrLx_37HL6DMGNOAgGuCahfGsjMw_05cUvEpfney5R1KSewvShlCkO_n7DtR0ZuN6Ouit1SmEpIpWOCSsZ1beqOBbfkGMQ7c4VrRVe1wKNatFkeLPaNMJ29HchdQPUCaeE_mbAbPPw6QVn/s1920/Roman-Polanski-The-TGenant-1976.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqL7KGgxPCkSk9I0BaiLvaJ21D9SZZvOwCcZwCb_gVgFQrLx_37HL6DMGNOAgGuCahfGsjMw_05cUvEpfney5R1KSewvShlCkO_n7DtR0ZuN6Ouit1SmEpIpWOCSsZ1beqOBbfkGMQ7c4VrRVe1wKNatFkeLPaNMJ29HchdQPUCaeE_mbAbPPw6QVn/w400-h225/Roman-Polanski-The-TGenant-1976.png" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">I've no idea what motivated Polanski to cast so many American actors in major roles in this Paris-set thriller (likely financial in origin, to secure American distribution or wide release). But the overall effect is so discordant it actually feels intentional. The clashing of Trelkovsky’s faint Polish accent against all those flat Yankee diphthongs dramatically emphasizes his "otherness.". At the same time, the incongruousness of the glaringly non-Gallic Shelly Winters, Jo Van Fleet, and Melvyn Douglas only seem to add another layer of wacko to <i>The Tenant</i>’s existing Theater of the Absurd vision of Paris. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_-qgzhEzXE7zIiPntl0_XUsR25d3l3h4IQmVOXEEIyEt0yGPpR5dS6QBIhOGZfzlLOF7-gaJ0xgNXi9gJ83QVGad4GnjwgXuiz9XgOIF9NQU_PVTQmoUlYgLgM4S4j2RzYEm3mCFj2BCQCwtewhvdjiWh_OQFc6wuydEJG3UCqBu3-7VD5WgxZ495/s1920/Louba-Guertchikoff-Claude-Dauphin-The-Tenant-1976%20(2).png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_-qgzhEzXE7zIiPntl0_XUsR25d3l3h4IQmVOXEEIyEt0yGPpR5dS6QBIhOGZfzlLOF7-gaJ0xgNXi9gJ83QVGad4GnjwgXuiz9XgOIF9NQU_PVTQmoUlYgLgM4S4j2RzYEm3mCFj2BCQCwtewhvdjiWh_OQFc6wuydEJG3UCqBu3-7VD5WgxZ495/w400-h225/Louba-Guertchikoff-Claude-Dauphin-The-Tenant-1976%20(2).png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>French cinema icon Claude Daupin makes a brief appearance (with Louba Guertchikoff)<br /> but his mellifluous accent is dubbed over with an affectless American voice </b></td></tr></tbody></table>Unfortunately, a similar decision to have many members of the film's French supporting cast dubbed (poorly) by American actors doesn't fare nearly as well. Certainly, a case could be made that those braying American voices coming out of the mouths of Trelkovsky's boorish friends is a reflection of how he sees them, but I only found it distracting. Polanski's eye for casting people with unusual and characterful faces is as sharp as ever, but hearing those commonplace voices coming out of those unorthodox faces was like having ice water thrown in my face. It jolts me out of the atmospheric dream world I'd rather be immersed in. </div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5UXcTHd5ilg_8hoIjBXeuASj8pLRLGK8RyqRJnQECM38pv5sYnL-IbdTozJVVnbVg71-q6JOcKpQkRDXd9LXJ0SYsSargtmIiITDilBw87a7LS1ubK5UIrzJV24J9l7rzcXlfG2Xcxkj_ww7Utr1lwRKCCcv31uuDLEXXohPiC49Zdsm0eVzhAY89/s1920/The-Great-Gatsby-Sam-Waterston-Kathryn-Leigh-Scott-!974%20.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5UXcTHd5ilg_8hoIjBXeuASj8pLRLGK8RyqRJnQECM38pv5sYnL-IbdTozJVVnbVg71-q6JOcKpQkRDXd9LXJ0SYsSargtmIiITDilBw87a7LS1ubK5UIrzJV24J9l7rzcXlfG2Xcxkj_ww7Utr1lwRKCCcv31uuDLEXXohPiC49Zdsm0eVzhAY89/w400-h225/The-Great-Gatsby-Sam-Waterston-Kathryn-Leigh-Scott-!974%20.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Although sorely underutilized, I adore Isabelle Adjani in <i>The Tenant</i>. I only recently learned that Adjani's voice was dubbed by <i>Dark Shadows</i> actress Kathryn Leigh Scott. Seen here with Sam Waterston in 1974's <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2013/02/the-great-gatsby-1974.html" target="_blank">The Great Gatsby</a></i></b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>THE STUFF OF FANTASY</b></div><div>Polanski films are always rich in visual motifs, and <i>The Tenant</i> is no exception. The aforementioned Egyptian details, mummification references, and emphasis on all things cranial. Present, too, are his amplified ticking clocks and distorted perception shots of hallways and rooms (in particular, a fabulous fever dream sequence where Trelkovsky is dwarfed by the furniture in his room).</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjioITXNqIWXGt2_jisKEqaOrXiKcYV1tgMKPVK9YICksiIr_XtRB5l36qCHWon69NnJpqMnroO3zd2O_GYCUf6dp8PLfZfSozHQF_NTUno1bWNHpjH1ZpipV-RFu7bf_XzIBDMai7Jc0Rnr7Wc9Ux--VrAiu-tVyPJ1PxVv2KQcPyy0jGSPKOUkRHi/s1920/The-Tenant-Roman-Polanski-La-Painter%20Lure-1976.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjioITXNqIWXGt2_jisKEqaOrXiKcYV1tgMKPVK9YICksiIr_XtRB5l36qCHWon69NnJpqMnroO3zd2O_GYCUf6dp8PLfZfSozHQF_NTUno1bWNHpjH1ZpipV-RFu7bf_XzIBDMai7Jc0Rnr7Wc9Ux--VrAiu-tVyPJ1PxVv2KQcPyy0jGSPKOUkRHi/w400-h225/The-Tenant-Roman-Polanski-La-Painter%20Lure-1976.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>La Peinture Lure</i> (Hello, Google Translate)<br />It seems Polanski hired Roland Topor to paint this mystifying poster <br />that appears frequently and enigmatically throughout the film</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">But in a film about paranoia, it's simply genius to have so many characters sporting those ginormous spectacles that were so popular in the '70s. They're like portable windows with magnified eyes staring out at Trelkovsky. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH77oCUwqxVtjasHXEJloFgrkx8MyBGtZNE3wjgl42PVsms1ZTG0SvHscP7tJpodyzHBOMs1hiJbCHi6KdZ2NIFm2SzuemG-jM3VTh8i24eohdNPY847etyDNq42gNXofnTSQA5VPT2Tuv40ZBty5atVOyx2EVsyNDkSF31-8qFWVkrJ5qPqGcQFyP/s1544/The-Tenant-IsabelleAdjani-Romain%20Bouteille-Josiane-Balasko-Roman-Polanski-1976.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1544" data-original-width="1495" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH77oCUwqxVtjasHXEJloFgrkx8MyBGtZNE3wjgl42PVsms1ZTG0SvHscP7tJpodyzHBOMs1hiJbCHi6KdZ2NIFm2SzuemG-jM3VTh8i24eohdNPY847etyDNq42gNXofnTSQA5VPT2Tuv40ZBty5atVOyx2EVsyNDkSF31-8qFWVkrJ5qPqGcQFyP/w388-h400/The-Tenant-IsabelleAdjani-Romain%20Bouteille-Josiane-Balasko-Roman-Polanski-1976.jpg" width="388" /></a></div></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>The Tenant</i> is one of my top five favorite Roman Polanski films. It's an intriguing puzzle that yields a different solution every time I watch it.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>BONUS MATERIAL</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>The First-Time Tenant</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEKjSfrXkahG5jMUZgdWm36G1ojXnhsslky7L8FgtGZCRLvKgefET6Pgj_ta8lVq-TWn86n3OnnMJ3XV8mbUrB_haAkivG9YXWJ2aZIIgDQcp-sypargt1p6OZMXOm9Uqc2_YkaLbZanJGkITkBaIBQBi5ufKUVVCaG2pA_Hv61-SAQQRdeLK4QBJQ/s1542/1978-Newspaper-Ad-%20Villa-Elaine-Apartments-1245%20Vine%20St-Hollywood-Los_Angeles_Times_Sun__Jun_4__1978_.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1269" data-original-width="1542" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEKjSfrXkahG5jMUZgdWm36G1ojXnhsslky7L8FgtGZCRLvKgefET6Pgj_ta8lVq-TWn86n3OnnMJ3XV8mbUrB_haAkivG9YXWJ2aZIIgDQcp-sypargt1p6OZMXOm9Uqc2_YkaLbZanJGkITkBaIBQBi5ufKUVVCaG2pA_Hv61-SAQQRdeLK4QBJQ/w320-h263/1978-Newspaper-Ad-%20Villa-Elaine-Apartments-1245%20Vine%20St-Hollywood-Los_Angeles_Times_Sun__Jun_4__1978_.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: center;">I moved to Los Angeles in 1978, and my very first apartment was </span><span style="text-align: center;">a small furnished single o</span><span style="text-align: center;">n the second floor of The Villa Elaine Apartments in Hollywood. I was 20 years old, my first time away from home, and I couldn’t believe I was living within walking distance of THE Hollywood and Vine. The rent was</span><span style="text-align: center;"> $160 a month</span><span style="text-align: center;">, including utilities, and I was in absolute heaven. Built in 1925, The Villa Elaine has since been declared a historical landmark. My old apartment now goes for $1650.</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWB5GcSrrPWS28FGPVgQVvPvEoqXV5pAegwhqUdPvv0xCPeQC5gyv1RkhUQhNKlNNS5mq9uxH0VNnTgx6xFQNEOu4tdgatFqZvKaVITWGK3olOgQOIQ3H-RHITxxz73NNUzVXSzq3UGF6vRBU4GZQ6B0R1fJ17PreVAAb8h9YAR0oyHjvmDk65_jpd/s958/My-First-Apartment-The-Villa-Elaine-Vine-Street-Hollywood-1980.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="663" data-original-width="958" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWB5GcSrrPWS28FGPVgQVvPvEoqXV5pAegwhqUdPvv0xCPeQC5gyv1RkhUQhNKlNNS5mq9uxH0VNnTgx6xFQNEOu4tdgatFqZvKaVITWGK3olOgQOIQ3H-RHITxxz73NNUzVXSzq3UGF6vRBU4GZQ6B0R1fJ17PreVAAb8h9YAR0oyHjvmDk65_jpd/w400-h276/My-First-Apartment-The-Villa-Elaine-Vine-Street-Hollywood-1980.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>My Apartment Is In Here Somewhere<br />I lived in the Villa Elaine until 1981, moving to a courtyard-view apartment in 1979 that afforded a <i>Rear Window</i> panorama of my neighbors. Note the poster for <i>The Tenant </i>at bottom left</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><div>The day I moved into The Villa Elaine was Sunday, June 4, 1978. A date whose significance was compounded by what happened after I’d settled in and kissed my parents (who’d driven me and my blue storage trunk down from Berkeley for a weekend of whirlwind apartment-hunting) goodbye.</div><div>To exercise my freedom, I went out to look at my "new neighborhood." My walk took me to Hollywood Blvd., where the movie <i>Grease</i> was having its World Premiere at Mann's Chinese Theater. In those days, onlookers could stand and star-gaze in relative close proximity behind a velvet rope, so I was overjoyed at experiencing a real-life <i>The Day of the Locust</i> moment (minus the apocalyptic carnage) and screamed along with the rest when Olivia Newton-John and John Travolta arrived in a vintage car.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhffSOeeVqNq3WrpacWT2IRHuT3ymny2aQfvUn_KORVMo3cL-9MMmlTKXimu1GRroKtdNv0-bxxvH2RmlNjvkut6Xdt4vqEtCn5qwH7UkFEw9mstH3JOKqzBki8dpsdrYBL4K7Xorl0wVDzpkoRzK2a3tFQnUt9LAa0jrVX--jt1xJXB8o6cG8oHiQS/s1285/1978-June-4-Grease-Pemiere-Mann's-Chinese-Theater-Hollywood.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1285" data-original-width="1003" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhffSOeeVqNq3WrpacWT2IRHuT3ymny2aQfvUn_KORVMo3cL-9MMmlTKXimu1GRroKtdNv0-bxxvH2RmlNjvkut6Xdt4vqEtCn5qwH7UkFEw9mstH3JOKqzBki8dpsdrYBL4K7Xorl0wVDzpkoRzK2a3tFQnUt9LAa0jrVX--jt1xJXB8o6cG8oHiQS/s320/1978-June-4-Grease-Pemiere-Mann's-Chinese-Theater-Hollywood.jpg" width="250" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">As I walked back to my apartment, the 1977 Rufus & Chaka Khan song “Hollywood” playing on a loop in my head; I was thoroughly over the moon. I couldn’t believe my first night in LA had serendipitously yielded such a quintessential, only-in-Hollywood experience. All of which I, of course, took as an omen that I had found my new home. And I guess it was; June 4th of 2023 will mark my 45th Anniversary as an LA resident.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6d8xC5EInMv0P6oNFG5CbjPp0W0FD6qDg20DjVrofqaUx6GbRiBRdhSQgnXvVNQeb6AbseRcRgKN02pzCNQqGhvKycfw9EXDbYkCPItiE20QwNZ7fQ3sgWe-RbmJUpntGNVUiBxcKj1ZCcYI9bv3qRdhougFhCWKXWMRWpK4NoNVpjTvRkNGg1UmV/s1303/The-Villa-Elaine-Vine-St-Hollywood.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1211" data-original-width="1303" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6d8xC5EInMv0P6oNFG5CbjPp0W0FD6qDg20DjVrofqaUx6GbRiBRdhSQgnXvVNQeb6AbseRcRgKN02pzCNQqGhvKycfw9EXDbYkCPItiE20QwNZ7fQ3sgWe-RbmJUpntGNVUiBxcKj1ZCcYI9bv3qRdhougFhCWKXWMRWpK4NoNVpjTvRkNGg1UmV/s320/The-Villa-Elaine-Vine-St-Hollywood.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The Villa Elaine courtyard as it looks today</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">I’ve lived in many apartments over the years, and I'm happy to say I've never had an experience even remotely similar to what’s in <i>The Tenant</i>.</div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVIxx4aX1iVRqSAkM_sqW5jO99Pep_Ey0VKZ9CXRs7A8kCNdZIew0XFDDD6Gn41m7koEWeRLI8-cvdzJyjDkGvaxcH0dumOBPc7cgjvlGKhXUaw9V2zL0x8IHn08-R5QFL7jPMy3R6rSRKOi8PXIRt3MRb_dqrtVrQ7oVDm6vybB6iZ5Gnlyp3w1aX/s1761/Roman-Polansski-The-Tenant-1976-Logo.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1205" data-original-width="1761" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVIxx4aX1iVRqSAkM_sqW5jO99Pep_Ey0VKZ9CXRs7A8kCNdZIew0XFDDD6Gn41m7koEWeRLI8-cvdzJyjDkGvaxcH0dumOBPc7cgjvlGKhXUaw9V2zL0x8IHn08-R5QFL7jPMy3R6rSRKOi8PXIRt3MRb_dqrtVrQ7oVDm6vybB6iZ5Gnlyp3w1aX/s320/Roman-Polansski-The-Tenant-1976-Logo.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div>Copyright © Ken Anderson 2009 - 2023<br /></div></div></div>Ken Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04940648971296673233noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2627032459273165000.post-40564130901258900072022-12-18T11:04:00.011-08:002023-02-15T01:59:00.655-08:00WEST SIDE STORY 2021<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwVn0yprGYTzWBP9DTn84k_qTrKUmTZzQCoOmzfwx5QP-ijX3F_QoJIsCfDiLKFjfUhLtrY3kMmcRQnwSBgXOVm0tz5j0omg-K6rzGHFT0fLaDJ24TS1O1tcEgax3eKfBz8v-Z5L7J-oTvenf5aEG3cNt89MYWqmxaFRyu-OKzUWB2T3QLHF-qII2I/s1920/West-Side-Story-Steven-Spielberg-2021.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1920" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwVn0yprGYTzWBP9DTn84k_qTrKUmTZzQCoOmzfwx5QP-ijX3F_QoJIsCfDiLKFjfUhLtrY3kMmcRQnwSBgXOVm0tz5j0omg-K6rzGHFT0fLaDJ24TS1O1tcEgax3eKfBz8v-Z5L7J-oTvenf5aEG3cNt89MYWqmxaFRyu-OKzUWB2T3QLHF-qII2I/w400-h166/West-Side-Story-Steven-Spielberg-2021.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>At age 76, multi-Oscar-winning director Steven Spielberg is a full 11 years my senior. But when it comes to our mutual, lifelong love affair/obsession with <i>West Side Story</i>, he's practically my twin.</div><div><br /></div><div>Both of us were introduced to <i>West Side Story</i> at roughly the same impressionable age: Spielberg, when he was 10, via the original 1957 Broadway cast album his father brought home one day (Spielberg dedicates this film to his late father); me, at age 11, by way of the 1967 theatrical re-release of the 1961 Robert Wise/Jerome Robbins movie (<a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2021/12/west-side-story-1961.html" target="_blank">detailed in an earlier post</a>). The indelible impression this ingeniously urbanized, musicalized retelling of Shakespeare's <i>Romeo & Juliet </i>made on our young imaginations—book by Arthur Laurents, music by Leonard Bernstein, lyrics by Stephen Sondheim, original stage production conceived, choreographed, and directed by Jerome Robbins—easily branded <i>West Side Story</i> as the first musical crush for us both. </div><div><br /></div><div>And while I never got in trouble for singing "Gee, Officer Krupke" at the dinner table like Spielberg, I can certainly attest to having immersed myself in <i>West Side Story</i>'s OST Lp with equally matched zeal and fervor. At 11-years-old, I may not have been able to memorize Joyce Kilmer's "Trees," but should anyone have asked, I could have easily recited the lyrics to every song from <i>West Side Story</i>. </div><div><i></i></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieokwphp0tZ6dyZk7ySZfnYAcoZahc4-WoJrmQEgLleEI8Q6eWF3cDLjUQULAWSPsFoVXWyyBSDrCZOvuQfp3aIDTQaP6WX6pV2B07wAcBRxZlAxvdhlu4okpg65oSDFNZmepEBlHk8UlkAVHJ4hup3qAbxnR5TqpnAvOAVHrNadGCqCgpBiYPcwqi/s2000/West-Side-Story-Playbill-1957-Sight-and-Sound-Magazine-1961.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1316" data-original-width="2000" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieokwphp0tZ6dyZk7ySZfnYAcoZahc4-WoJrmQEgLleEI8Q6eWF3cDLjUQULAWSPsFoVXWyyBSDrCZOvuQfp3aIDTQaP6WX6pV2B07wAcBRxZlAxvdhlu4okpg65oSDFNZmepEBlHk8UlkAVHJ4hup3qAbxnR5TqpnAvOAVHrNadGCqCgpBiYPcwqi/w400-h264/West-Side-Story-Playbill-1957-Sight-and-Sound-Magazine-1961.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">1957 1961</span></b></td></tr></tbody></table><div>Surprisingly, this awareness of a shared reverence for <i>West Side Story </i>did absolutely nothing to mollify the host of misgivings flooding my brain when word came out that Spielberg would be cutting his musical teeth by directing a new screen adaptation of <i>West Side Story</i>. With each new press release cagily sidestepping the dreaded R-word: "remake” in favor of the PR-friendly: “reimaging,”; I could feel the muscles in my neck coiling tighter and tighter. The thought of anyone tinkering with my beloved <i>West Side Story</i> immediately sent me spiraling off into something akin to a film geek's version of bling Elisabeth Kübler-Ross’ “Five Stages of Grief”:</div><div><br /></div><div>1. <b>Denial</b> – I reminded myself there’d been fruitless talk about remaking <i>West Side Story</i> for decades. Nothing ever came of them, and this time would be no different.</div><div>2. <b>Anger</b> – I railed at the Hollywood machine and its remake/franchise addiction. Who the hell asked for a remake of <i>West Side Story</i>? With all the absolutely dreadful musicals in need of remaking, they choose one of the few that got it right? And what about all those great shows that have yet to make it to the screen? Better they should make a film version of Sondheim's <i>Follies</i> or help get Glenn Close that long-deserved Oscar by making of movie of Andrew Lloyd Webber's <i>Sunset Boulevard</i>.</div><div>3. <b>Bargaining </b>– Well, I reasoned…if <i>West Side Story</i> HAS to be remade, at least it’ll be by a talented, seasoned old pro like Steven Spielberg. A man who truly loves the material and knows how to tell a story. I kept reminding myself that it could just as easily have been Rob Marshall (<i>Nine</i>), Susan Strohman (<i>The Producers</i>), Tom Hooper (<i>Cats</i>), or Phyllida Lloyd (<i>Mamma Mia!</i>) at the helm. Yikes!</div><div>4. <b>Depression</b> – The first leaked photo of the new cast of WSS was underwhelming, to say the least. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6rldv-xaydydrKKkeB9f5pgkIQj5He-C9VTjTcBV27-_Pldj2XJV2AfgFAV8IrKAx5SgsNHGB93KUNCNw3fhf4gxIb79GLlCZ7fBFgfYqJ9MqkxVbc-jXo5N1x2qE5Dq1AlZX1UWeaT9p59KUW3wi49Y8CqA1teeV32-9DsgjziMkDBuS9AjnaQnZ/s1669/Cast-West-Side-Story-Promo-2020%20(2).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="939" data-original-width="1669" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6rldv-xaydydrKKkeB9f5pgkIQj5He-C9VTjTcBV27-_Pldj2XJV2AfgFAV8IrKAx5SgsNHGB93KUNCNw3fhf4gxIb79GLlCZ7fBFgfYqJ9MqkxVbc-jXo5N1x2qE5Dq1AlZX1UWeaT9p59KUW3wi49Y8CqA1teeV32-9DsgjziMkDBuS9AjnaQnZ/w400-h225/Cast-West-Side-Story-Promo-2020%20(2).jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>They say a picture is worth a thousand words. But this one left me with just one: "Uh-oh!"</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">Though I've since had to eat my words, my first thought when I saw this cast photo (with its weird cut-and-paste look that turns everyone into floating Colorforms® figures) was that it reminded me of something I'm always happy to forget: an Abercrombie & Fitch ad. The new Maria looked ideal, but the rest of the cast called forth nightmare visions of <i>Newsies</i> (1992) or worse...Richard Attenborough's <i>A Chorus Line</i> (1985).</div><div style="text-align: left;">5. <b>Acceptance</b> – Every single argument of resistance I'd held regarding the wrong-headed inadvisability of what I'd come to regard as "Spielberg's Folly" crumbled into an irrelevant heap at my feet when I got my first glimpse of <i>West Side Story</i> via the premiere of its <a href="https://youtu.be/CbUM27qw6a8" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">teaser trailer</a> during the 93rd Academy Awards telecast on Sunday, April 25, 2021. I wasn't ready. </div><div style="text-align: left;">Apparently, all the seized-up muscles in my neck needed to get them to relax was for me to hear that tritone "Jets whistle" again. And all that was necessary to uproot my firmly dug-down heels was to see a mere 90 seconds of montage heralding Spielberg's vision. The trailer gave me instant goosebumps AND waterworks, and suddenly the movie I'd scoffed at for well over a year had become the movie I absolutely <i>had </i>to see. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM_0wLciU_4QofQAal97t45CgoKATx37_U7Ru1Mb1ek-LIgu2KVxxYHMuuqEm8LVj5NVqgWmRyCBkwWUPGSs5Lw2pbx6jCGPyMWEwR_7byrr9DpnZm5IY1_NKMCUAv6E-bFvK_K9klTSx9xP7TwRz5DYr75obgUxEFwvOumFReukkXFrLh-e4TFG-R/s1999/Sharks-West-Side-Story-2021.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="832" data-original-width="1999" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM_0wLciU_4QofQAal97t45CgoKATx37_U7Ru1Mb1ek-LIgu2KVxxYHMuuqEm8LVj5NVqgWmRyCBkwWUPGSs5Lw2pbx6jCGPyMWEwR_7byrr9DpnZm5IY1_NKMCUAv6E-bFvK_K9klTSx9xP7TwRz5DYr75obgUxEFwvOumFReukkXFrLh-e4TFG-R/w400-h166/Sharks-West-Side-Story-2021.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The Sharks <span style="font-size: x-small;">(click image to enlarge)</span></b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">Once I stopped resisting the idea of a new <i>West Side Story</i> (i.e., focusing on the innumerable, highly probable ways it could be a disaster) my mind began entertaining the tantalizing possibilities a new adaptation posed. For example, I had not considered how thrilling it might be to hear new, full-scale arrangements of all my favorite <i>West Side Story</i> songs. Auguring particularly well for Spielberg's adaptation was the fact that there was to be none of that desperate "Oscar Bait" business of adding a new song to the score...one composed "Especially for the movie!"</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjdL_bhhCSLn_hhXk2T-tC-nKPKBGdMGsatyyul8tb9A2Mx13L-FkOwDsihvyWf2TQYJfPnW45UmN32qVkx-A98k9Uw5RvO8frgPSYBXqTN4yx-evoPwZhTTfcghkUM5R_cfq-6SBQPfVmUsjqZVG_UM3C0s5AgkQ0Bv-5Lh5g211vABE6wPBOS380/s1999/Jets-West-Side-Story-2021%20(2).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="826" data-original-width="1999" height="165" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjdL_bhhCSLn_hhXk2T-tC-nKPKBGdMGsatyyul8tb9A2Mx13L-FkOwDsihvyWf2TQYJfPnW45UmN32qVkx-A98k9Uw5RvO8frgPSYBXqTN4yx-evoPwZhTTfcghkUM5R_cfq-6SBQPfVmUsjqZVG_UM3C0s5AgkQ0Bv-5Lh5g211vABE6wPBOS380/w400-h165/Jets-West-Side-Story-2021%20(2).jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The Jets <span style="font-size: x-small;">(click image to enlarge)</span></b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><i>West Side Story</i>’s groundbreaking use of dance is such a significant part of its legacy and appeal, I couldn’t wait to see what this version had up its sleeve in terms of tackling the one aspect of the show many fans consider to be sacrosanct; Jerome Robbins’ iconic original choreography. Here again, I was encouraged by Spielberg's instincts. Fearful that he was going to select a flavor-of-the-month choreographer from music videos or pop concerts, my heart leapt when I learned that the film's dances would be created by Justin Peck, Tony Award winner and resident choreographer for the New York City Ballet. Now, you're talking! — <i>¡Ponle fuego, vamos! </i> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHcjwK2TCZ93yY7FK8Ygfpp5mdcpDX9wtqH9BmWffMJKo9A-WKAC8-kQNbAr5A2cd3DvXgI975zZGKZWA5IEiIAOKLv0R3n7TKJoP67-EYWMPf5OqrwSv3S7icwr8SsdzHzG69lcbQkTBtqRpWkCnRjen_lbHEIz2P3W8l4h5CSQmEJdIsN1UHEv8j/s1920/Mike-Faist-Paloma-Garcia-Lee-Mike-Iveson-Ariana-DeBose-David-Alvarez-West-Side-Story.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1920" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHcjwK2TCZ93yY7FK8Ygfpp5mdcpDX9wtqH9BmWffMJKo9A-WKAC8-kQNbAr5A2cd3DvXgI975zZGKZWA5IEiIAOKLv0R3n7TKJoP67-EYWMPf5OqrwSv3S7icwr8SsdzHzG69lcbQkTBtqRpWkCnRjen_lbHEIz2P3W8l4h5CSQmEJdIsN1UHEv8j/w400-h166/Mike-Faist-Paloma-Garcia-Lee-Mike-Iveson-Ariana-DeBose-David-Alvarez-West-Side-Story.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">But standing head and shoulders above everything else (eclipsing even my elation at finding out that James Corden hadn't been cast in any role) was my hope for this new <i>West Side Story</i> to offer, at last, a “cringe-free” viewing experience. My love for the classic 1961 version (and its stars, Natalie Wood, Richard Beymer, Rita Moreno, George Chakiris, and Russ Tamblyn) has never waned in all this time. But with each passing year—what with contemporary America rolling out the welcome mat to old-school racism, and the advent of HD Blu-ray rendering all those actors in brownface makeup with a clarity as jarring as it is embarrassing—it has grown more difficult for me to minimize and look beyond the wince-inducing whitewash casting and the stereotyped depiction of its Puerto Rican characters. The chance for a more ethnically-authentic <i>West Side Story</i> was exhilarating in its potential. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8J06kLyH7oM5ymV2evkqQOjNHkEmqDZYvuQFKF_6lSB8XEqjjS7srYD992mlZ2xqRyGSwJRu3mjYX03HGHv5MgrhrxoN3YOIGlvnj-f4XnTDI1Vo2yTER558QeB54vxYY2GK1_2ukCnZ8qYr2fgEm6eFvhYL4hdewgHvOcG1HIpSE2BMpJ0EOF3Z8/s1920/Rachel-Zegler-West-Side-Story-2021%20(3).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1920" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8J06kLyH7oM5ymV2evkqQOjNHkEmqDZYvuQFKF_6lSB8XEqjjS7srYD992mlZ2xqRyGSwJRu3mjYX03HGHv5MgrhrxoN3YOIGlvnj-f4XnTDI1Vo2yTER558QeB54vxYY2GK1_2ukCnZ8qYr2fgEm6eFvhYL4hdewgHvOcG1HIpSE2BMpJ0EOF3Z8/w400-h166/Rachel-Zegler-West-Side-Story-2021%20(3).jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rachel Zegler as Maria Vasquez</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ-wDG-1oEmEk-kOF-vZdEHl3iS0IrJ-E80SHqPJDAS-_AJphtNQihx_VMMec63r95u_a4yT0OvNlFvTgsP8eT8YbTPiOf9KnWtiH1Lr_9WTgJgKpaEawhqg0IaPkAJwIAhwwCPQN1Ka3h2C7kKrqG78DvnW9POYxdZ8kd7MFYI2oDppDxeTSTK-oV/s1920/Ansel-Elgort-West-Side-Story-2021%20(5).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1920" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ-wDG-1oEmEk-kOF-vZdEHl3iS0IrJ-E80SHqPJDAS-_AJphtNQihx_VMMec63r95u_a4yT0OvNlFvTgsP8eT8YbTPiOf9KnWtiH1Lr_9WTgJgKpaEawhqg0IaPkAJwIAhwwCPQN1Ka3h2C7kKrqG78DvnW9POYxdZ8kd7MFYI2oDppDxeTSTK-oV/w400-h166/Ansel-Elgort-West-Side-Story-2021%20(5).jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anson Elgor as Anton (Tony) Wyzek</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiykPfuSBEK87ci9ZiMTPuE04nqhvRADFPPT9dfH4zM-Yb288bUOHE7BxP0noAW5qOLIpgCdW8P4mKyIlZtNEE4sssTSRfr_N6TFlr43hWpacIkMY2ILaKXVn5QCQjhsY-2oTpKch8eEAb1CyT2FjRrzv4aHozW2engTlnk-GwS9m0lN2cfUTYAg8L8/s1920/Ariana-DeBose-West-Side-Story-2021%20%20%20(3).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1920" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiykPfuSBEK87ci9ZiMTPuE04nqhvRADFPPT9dfH4zM-Yb288bUOHE7BxP0noAW5qOLIpgCdW8P4mKyIlZtNEE4sssTSRfr_N6TFlr43hWpacIkMY2ILaKXVn5QCQjhsY-2oTpKch8eEAb1CyT2FjRrzv4aHozW2engTlnk-GwS9m0lN2cfUTYAg8L8/w400-h166/Ariana-DeBose-West-Side-Story-2021%20%20%20(3).jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ariana DeBose as Anita Palacio</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEips_AMs8BRBIA_7qEfl_Zi2r6Xvct2uaMQLw41gOaJvOYHkX4b8pJrAEHvczHPCYRALF1lhnqMVBG5RW3QRTMGpGgby2Wj5_vQ4TjxIbHx08UFF2aRDTT3n_y1jdkLU-fMNdo5vmL_f8RZyOv3mWFnmoxxl2Zt1k9solnnw41of24UtqSkjiASvsBO/s1920/David-Alvarez-West-Side-Story-2021%20%20%20(2).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1920" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEips_AMs8BRBIA_7qEfl_Zi2r6Xvct2uaMQLw41gOaJvOYHkX4b8pJrAEHvczHPCYRALF1lhnqMVBG5RW3QRTMGpGgby2Wj5_vQ4TjxIbHx08UFF2aRDTT3n_y1jdkLU-fMNdo5vmL_f8RZyOv3mWFnmoxxl2Zt1k9solnnw41of24UtqSkjiASvsBO/w400-h166/David-Alvarez-West-Side-Story-2021%20%20%20(2).jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">David Alvarez as Bernardo Vasquez</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEJxM36tfQ0tPpIrvwlqGT-PWZeIfpbAmq4WLuEbbcYgBRmAO5VDXcsjE9AHW3ayEaKqzjVMgpei4ZS0AYtoAkamxPywJH8nOA_IOn9yOz5TAVk3MwSpcdTAqzg10JVyu-T0FyN9lxt1R6p9YP2Xc614lnMJbu30BlG_FXypj1DtmOKtIuVK2QohUb/s1920/Mike-Faist-West-Side-Story-2021%20(2).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1920" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEJxM36tfQ0tPpIrvwlqGT-PWZeIfpbAmq4WLuEbbcYgBRmAO5VDXcsjE9AHW3ayEaKqzjVMgpei4ZS0AYtoAkamxPywJH8nOA_IOn9yOz5TAVk3MwSpcdTAqzg10JVyu-T0FyN9lxt1R6p9YP2Xc614lnMJbu30BlG_FXypj1DtmOKtIuVK2QohUb/w400-h166/Mike-Faist-West-Side-Story-2021%20(2).jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mike Faist as Riff Lorton</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFZWt5mMqqkN9ZCzi5539McJhx30xxknVVDDOK_ZbpcObgL-aVmyoMDjLqFI1wjC3KW-jA2hn_npSFKZdHQoW04E9j4_fAdUM3J_s1EJYKhLHdl4ektELDvUf-fZnV2GCEpg0u9QPKZh8-IBz4MYbQT-1PghUgLxLGmJlmPUGP8lDGI7_GGDwxtI5n/s1920/Rita-Moreno-Ansel-Elgort-%20West-Side-Story-2021.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1920" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFZWt5mMqqkN9ZCzi5539McJhx30xxknVVDDOK_ZbpcObgL-aVmyoMDjLqFI1wjC3KW-jA2hn_npSFKZdHQoW04E9j4_fAdUM3J_s1EJYKhLHdl4ektELDvUf-fZnV2GCEpg0u9QPKZh8-IBz4MYbQT-1PghUgLxLGmJlmPUGP8lDGI7_GGDwxtI5n/w400-h166/Rita-Moreno-Ansel-Elgort-%20West-Side-Story-2021.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rita Moreno as Valentina</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Although I desperately wanted to see <i>West Side Story </i>when it opened at the El Capitan Theater in Hollywood on Friday, December 10, 2021, a post-Thanksgiving surge in local COVID cases gave pause to my enthusiasm. Therefore, diligently avoiding reviews and spoilers in the interim (easier than you'd think), I finally got to see <i>West Side Story </i>a rather swift-passing four months later when my partner alerted me of it being streamed online in HD for free to AARP members (ka-ching!) as part of its “Movies for Grown-Ups” series. (I think AARP understood the target demographic for this <i>West Side Story </i>better than Spielberg or 20th Century Fox.) </div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg350gDp8WuU918SlPHNMgxfPzxnXXGPZ96IA3vSZuROGq-LIagvTCBi6_uJn_jaeQrka8Sdnbp7O4dvCitEP_mOYH8YUlohPOUZ95BjKR9KeqbBEN4SepASx8P6C0JEqsCcsZO5y4F1xvnW1KwEZWqfFiFuLABTQctTQtyLs7Z0fiIdIz9gCErtJdn/s1920/Josh-Andres-Rivera-West-Side-Story-2022%20(2).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1920" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg350gDp8WuU918SlPHNMgxfPzxnXXGPZ96IA3vSZuROGq-LIagvTCBi6_uJn_jaeQrka8Sdnbp7O4dvCitEP_mOYH8YUlohPOUZ95BjKR9KeqbBEN4SepASx8P6C0JEqsCcsZO5y4F1xvnW1KwEZWqfFiFuLABTQctTQtyLs7Z0fiIdIz9gCErtJdn/w400-h166/Josh-Andres-Rivera-West-Side-Story-2022%20(2).jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Josh Andres Rivera as Chino Martin</b><br />character change: now a thicc snack</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKqKXph9lDFaFpti_ZQ8N5_6Pp-aZkzNY47fD46d5qo2TF0sYK-I45B41IT2eItRyb8MEoEmGLYjmrjjjumqjxxAziL2QUsv1K3amYSi2nZx7QX9W1kYi_yDjGwHuad8aTobTlkJsf32OdLjP39p_KntZkKpFlJDOud6GbXxZVJrKBLOoH0dq9xmLD/s1920/iris-menas-West-Side-Story-2021.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1920" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKqKXph9lDFaFpti_ZQ8N5_6Pp-aZkzNY47fD46d5qo2TF0sYK-I45B41IT2eItRyb8MEoEmGLYjmrjjjumqjxxAziL2QUsv1K3amYSi2nZx7QX9W1kYi_yDjGwHuad8aTobTlkJsf32OdLjP39p_KntZkKpFlJDOud6GbXxZVJrKBLOoH0dq9xmLD/w400-h166/iris-menas-West-Side-Story-2021.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>iris menas as Anybodys</b><br />character change: now a transmasculine teen and first-rate ass-kicker </td></tr></tbody></table>Jump ahead in time: Me in front of the TV screen, surrounded by junk food, watching the stunning time-lapse end credits (by Drew Geraci) play out over a stirringly lush medley of Leonard Bernstein's beautiful music. The red-eyed, runny-nosed, blubbering mess I’d been reduced to at the end of 2 ½ hours only confirming what I’d already known after five minutes...as far as this lifelong fan of <i>West Side Story</i> was concerned, Steven Spielberg’s masterwork adaptation had caught the moon. One-handed catch. I loved it.<div><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0376z-lepBsFTLjMmjFEZS_obBiLjyhBXxMgf-o3MbTGkHB4owste3inZbA_16LiCsKAY_fO9F-RsDIpP6xu4g0LeQfiSuxtuHnTqef1Zrx1TWEPfxAK4wRLiPZOKsFi7jDtKYmLg_BIbCE7BAumG1cLkBEyqBIg5uK_SOz46eUaa3OcVZtzNyLUI/s2559/David-Alvarez-Brian-d'Arcy-James-Corey-Stoll-West-Side-Story-2021%20.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1071" data-original-width="2559" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0376z-lepBsFTLjMmjFEZS_obBiLjyhBXxMgf-o3MbTGkHB4owste3inZbA_16LiCsKAY_fO9F-RsDIpP6xu4g0LeQfiSuxtuHnTqef1Zrx1TWEPfxAK4wRLiPZOKsFi7jDtKYmLg_BIbCE7BAumG1cLkBEyqBIg5uK_SOz46eUaa3OcVZtzNyLUI/w400-h168/David-Alvarez-Brian-d'Arcy-James-Corey-Stoll-West-Side-Story-2021%20.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Brian d'Arcy James as Sergeant Krupke / Corey Stoll as Lieutenant Schrank<br /></b></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div>Hats off to any film that can--at my age--reignite that childlike awe I've always held for the way movies can create entire worlds of the believably impossible within a tiny, rectangular frame. Watching <i>West Side Story</i> turned out to be one of the most enlivening movie-watching experiences I’ve had in too long a while. Not to put too much on the shoulders of Spielberg & Co., but who knew that a good, old-fashioned movie musical…magnificently realized…was just the joyous, hopeful glimpse of light I needed to reaffirm my sense of life beginning to emerge from under the dark cloak of Hellscape: America post-2016?</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6w89X-Tm36OHX8vfIwxu_L6LWl44ZapBrCUS7DMozqKul1cEY4ZsM6PVCbMaMoZoidGE5PyAdK7EB_WWsuryKSO7354snhh03_kbu_umdBdNOvo-Gs3tyHiXoXOOiRCq2xxIFvDoJg_Qu68ejyQW0w3-EagtNy3TYRj5ZX3lrvcPzB9hi0JfCMsNI/s1920/David-Alvarez-Ariana-DeBose-West-Side-Story-2021.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1920" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6w89X-Tm36OHX8vfIwxu_L6LWl44ZapBrCUS7DMozqKul1cEY4ZsM6PVCbMaMoZoidGE5PyAdK7EB_WWsuryKSO7354snhh03_kbu_umdBdNOvo-Gs3tyHiXoXOOiRCq2xxIFvDoJg_Qu68ejyQW0w3-EagtNy3TYRj5ZX3lrvcPzB9hi0JfCMsNI/w400-h166/David-Alvarez-Ariana-DeBose-West-Side-Story-2021.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>I like Spielberg's decision not to subtitle the Spanish dialogue. <br />The screenplay is available online, and one of the many sharp conversations I translated is <br />Anita's challenge to Bernardo that he hasn't married her because she's Black</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;">I’ve read pieces characterizing the changes to <i>West Side Story </i>by Tony Kushner (who wrote the screenplays for Spielberg’s <i>Munich</i>-2005, <i>Lincoln</i>-2012, and <i>The Fabelmans</i>-2022) as additions. To me, the work of the Tony and Pulitzer Prize-winning writer feel more like extractions. He extracts the era-defined racial myopia of both the stage and movie adaptations to make the material resonate as truer, not newer.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div>The pleasure of Spielberg's <i>West Side Story </i>is that I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to see a movie musical that actually feels like a genuine movie. By that, I mean a movie musical that isn't ironic, apologetic, a pastiche, a cartoon, a music video on steroids, or one of those depressingly sterile <i>Glee</i>/<i>High School Musical </i>things that mistake garish hyperactivity for the stuff of dreams. <i>West Side Story</i>, with its unabashed romanticism and playful surrender to the conventions of the genre, feels like an old-fashioned movie musical in the very best sense of the word. Evidence, perhaps, that a…ahem, mature, traditionalist director like Spielberg was just the person for the job.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiThYkA7zQ0Nn6AjRaStkdi8KXORpP9FUeJWvH2R5zUYyH9arD_04R6sVwRzBp1NU9bd-S-3ZlAk9DiZAvNhHoc9nqNGpK3wHpjJ6OiSYn3glb6qkxsyrVVvzmb7gwYXeQqimOzfYqU2nA46Hki0gvl-eQ_cqqC1imJLMV6SrH-LgrvVKJHyVMBORf7/s1920/Rachel-Zegler-Ansel-Elgort-West-Side-Story-Cha-Cha-2021.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1920" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiThYkA7zQ0Nn6AjRaStkdi8KXORpP9FUeJWvH2R5zUYyH9arD_04R6sVwRzBp1NU9bd-S-3ZlAk9DiZAvNhHoc9nqNGpK3wHpjJ6OiSYn3glb6qkxsyrVVvzmb7gwYXeQqimOzfYqU2nA46Hki0gvl-eQ_cqqC1imJLMV6SrH-LgrvVKJHyVMBORf7/w400-h166/Rachel-Zegler-Ansel-Elgort-West-Side-Story-Cha-Cha-2021.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghVU0yHN4Ieo3Sao0Mq8n7Tz6zhSWjtNRD0OgIUB0d9tEfVe1Uq2vx6APvQjbUjd7R3DeYxOHvcHu5zza-57nsajVhEUgcCr-hu9HOkemVu_9X01O1NTIDuwW59J0qBhnfR0dHAeFN7Xu0ZLSjxvywJP2cOafmo26VDP1NqfxMTfjvgw6k1J61m3QF/s1920/West-Side-Story-Mike-Faist-David-Alvarez-Rumble-2021.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1920" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghVU0yHN4Ieo3Sao0Mq8n7Tz6zhSWjtNRD0OgIUB0d9tEfVe1Uq2vx6APvQjbUjd7R3DeYxOHvcHu5zza-57nsajVhEUgcCr-hu9HOkemVu_9X01O1NTIDuwW59J0qBhnfR0dHAeFN7Xu0ZLSjxvywJP2cOafmo26VDP1NqfxMTfjvgw6k1J61m3QF/w400-h166/West-Side-Story-Mike-Faist-David-Alvarez-Rumble-2021.png" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">My favorite thing about the glorious cinematography by Oscar-winner and longtime Spielberg collaborator Janusz Kaminski (<i>Schindler’s List</i>-1993, <i>Saving Private Ryan</i>- 1998, <i>A.I.</i>-2001, <i>Lincoln</i>-2012) is the use of backlight flare and reflective bursts of light and color to create the glamour of dreamy romance or the flashpoint tension of violence. </div></div><div> <div>As much as I respect his talent and have enjoyed several of his movies (<i>Jaws</i>, <i>The Color Purple</i>), Steven Spielberg has never been one of my favorite directors (I compiled a list once, and he doesn’t even make the top 30). Part of this is due to how often he works in genres that never much interested me (action, adventure, war movies, historical dramas). But I also find in his films and directing style a tendency to lapse into mawkish sentimentality or boyish whimsy that in many instances feels misplaced, or contributes to undermining moments of genuine emotion.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>But personal tastes aside, I don’t think anyone who knows anything about filmmaking would argue that Spielberg is not a gifted visual storyteller, skilled craftsman, and well-versed in the vocabulary of cinema. The marvelous thing revealed in seeing Spielberg apply his particular brand of “Great Entertainer” genius to a musical, is that the dominant traits of the genre: exuberance, nostalgia, romanticism, dreamy fantasy, broad strokes characterizations, oversized emotions, amplified sentiment…play specifically to Spielberg’s strengths, flatter his flaws, and turn even his most irksome vices into virtues.</div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnSqA6VVuS9RVcjUpmz_ZZBoCdtLn9iMlj9qf2ekhAAwhlF2TxgOo49g1p0oj-hoXBnZ-BOpK_NXNbL2nBLLA2peakGt4dx5cb02GKJMV6K_kpRXEPwQ4_BiQWmE__b_USuCI-_ssdw00txrcGAckgEO55plWPHQqox2ZMjcV9XVvRDZGKjf0F6_hR/s1920/Ilda-Mason-Luz-Ana%20Isabelle-West-Side-Story-2021%20.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1920" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnSqA6VVuS9RVcjUpmz_ZZBoCdtLn9iMlj9qf2ekhAAwhlF2TxgOo49g1p0oj-hoXBnZ-BOpK_NXNbL2nBLLA2peakGt4dx5cb02GKJMV6K_kpRXEPwQ4_BiQWmE__b_USuCI-_ssdw00txrcGAckgEO55plWPHQqox2ZMjcV9XVvRDZGKjf0F6_hR/w400-h166/Ilda-Mason-Luz-Ana%20Isabelle-West-Side-Story-2021%20.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Ilda Mason as Luz / Ana Isabelle as Rosalia</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div><b>WHAT I LOVE ABOUT THIS FILM</b></div><div>What ultimately cooled my “How dare they tamper with a classic!” indignation over <i>West Side Story</i> was the degree to which every square inch of every frame stood testament to Spielberg's evident care and affection for the material. His palpable desire to do right by the story, music, and dances gives the film an irresistible exuberance that imbues the now 65-year-old musical with an urgency and freshness I honestly hadn't thought possible. Even as I think about it now, I'm so impressed by the way Spielberg’s <i>West Side Story</i> manages to be respectfully faithful to the theatrical production, honor the film version, yet still leave its mark as a boldly distinctive and personal adaptation.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-R0KrrBKz4pg_xBQ-MOpKBHp9gigCjus49GirCY7PY-8MtVwiKy7pgd9NubCkyMFxWCbvf5WpDsYyVVO4Py3stSatYkSwFVNC1ywgIDT9y2nFcHSX28V9eyT2VQXte1pxNvhB5AVJ8-DKHKNF0bdjRuwOp5IfPwnzh22hWpmuC3Bu4ZZHR_lE7iHv/s1920/West-Side-Story-Prolog-2021.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1920" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-R0KrrBKz4pg_xBQ-MOpKBHp9gigCjus49GirCY7PY-8MtVwiKy7pgd9NubCkyMFxWCbvf5WpDsYyVVO4Py3stSatYkSwFVNC1ywgIDT9y2nFcHSX28V9eyT2VQXte1pxNvhB5AVJ8-DKHKNF0bdjRuwOp5IfPwnzh22hWpmuC3Bu4ZZHR_lE7iHv/w400-h166/West-Side-Story-Prolog-2021.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><b>THE STUFF OF FANTASY </b></div><div>For a movie musical to really get to me, there's usually a sequence or image that captures my imagination and etches itself in my mind as emblematic of the moment my heart was lost. Like a dream portal…it’s not anything I consciously select, but rather, some kind of internal Polaroid snapshot taken during that elusive and spontaneous “goosebump moment.” In Ken Russell's <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/05/the-boy-friend-1971.html" target="_blank">The Boy Friend</a></i>, it was when two dancers became Art Deco figurines on a giant gramophone. In <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2015/07/cabaret-1972.html" target="_blank">Cabaret</a></i> it was Liza Minnelli draped like a Dali painting over the back of a chair singing "Mein Herr." And in <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/09/jesus-christ-superstar-1973.html" target="_blank">Jesus Christ Superstar</a></i> it was when Judas emerges from the catacombs of an ancient arena in a Vegas-fringed bodysuit, flanked by a trio of angels with glowing white afros. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGkX4UGwp9OjrnDSnrKV2k-2qro8S77lQ29WeyMT_lVQojV2tLOh_oAWKRPGzvBi8SZOTcUpTo_RrTl0iPxIemH33tT-SH_UudmlEdMWYOESqvlXk0q5Ezs9TD58Eb8f5vkQPMuAYh5bR8msABDSEoPXE14mVsBf4O0SWPn1sKQZJUx9f9kLOzF1M9/s1920/West-Side-Story-America-Ariana-DeBose-2022.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1920" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGkX4UGwp9OjrnDSnrKV2k-2qro8S77lQ29WeyMT_lVQojV2tLOh_oAWKRPGzvBi8SZOTcUpTo_RrTl0iPxIemH33tT-SH_UudmlEdMWYOESqvlXk0q5Ezs9TD58Eb8f5vkQPMuAYh5bR8msABDSEoPXE14mVsBf4O0SWPn1sKQZJUx9f9kLOzF1M9/w400-h166/West-Side-Story-America-Ariana-DeBose-2022.png" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">My <i>West Side Story</i> goosebump moment, which has already taken root in my mind as the apex instant of the entire film, is that phenomenal low-angle tracking shot of Anita and a squad of women racing down the middle of the street...full throttle in heels, capris, and twirly skirts a-flipping…in the “America” number. John Ford would understand why this shot is so effective (<i>"When the horizon is at the top, it's interesting. When it's at the bottom, it's interesting. When it's in the middle it's boring as shit!"</i>), but add the combination of music, movement, and jubilant playfulness of the dancers, and you've got a scene that made me gasp as my heart hit the ceiling. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOoC0bcnzIHbhmRraWQECsxcFbzWc2nPvouD5HkOYpDlrtMCCUA2JpsitSpuLR6pNjbz25TnQ6L2mzM1BluVI-8-5A4VLXGL3q4Qs4XIxMVoCceG-a6Stw8d028U1hOoGOZbfTvANy3LfcaIPoj_1XZGlkYrFKpOzUYolksU467eRr1WmcyeQL5ZTg/s1920/Rita-Moreno-Somewhere-West-Side-Story-2021.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1920" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOoC0bcnzIHbhmRraWQECsxcFbzWc2nPvouD5HkOYpDlrtMCCUA2JpsitSpuLR6pNjbz25TnQ6L2mzM1BluVI-8-5A4VLXGL3q4Qs4XIxMVoCceG-a6Stw8d028U1hOoGOZbfTvANy3LfcaIPoj_1XZGlkYrFKpOzUYolksU467eRr1WmcyeQL5ZTg/w400-h166/Rita-Moreno-Somewhere-West-Side-Story-2021.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">I love that Rita Moreno, 1961 <i>West Side Story</i>'s Oscar-winning Anita, is a co-producer on this film and appears in a substantial supporting role created for the film. She's wonderful as you'd expect, and if she didn't get nominated for an Oscar again (she didn't) it wasn't for lack of trying. Her rendition of "Somewhere" is a heartbreaker, and Spielberg practically crafts her role as a series of ready-made Oscar preview clips. All the odds seemed in her favor, but perhaps Natalie Wood was looking down and exacted a little Awards Season karma.</div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><b>PERFORMANCES</b></div><div style="text-align: left;">The Golden Age movie musicals I watched on TV as a kid (original vehicles designed to showcase the talents of a particular star) conditioned me not to expect too much in the way of acting from musicals. In my teens, when the economic demands of adapting Broadway hits for the screen necessitated the casting of bankable names, films like <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2018/02/camelot-1967.html" target="_blank">Camelot</a></i>, <i>Paint Your Wagon</i>, and <i>Man of La Mancha</i> all seemed to come with mutually-exclusive ultimatums: <i>“Do you want movie stars who can actually act, or do you want song & dance talent with the screen charisma of Spam? Take your pick, ‘cause you can't have both.”</i> <br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitt5mLrhsl_t8HxPbxpN7Fqxunw81flcr75E_foQXekiUZpEMcbkwb4VO5TsasGVV8N6DqXJZeodUTHgFtwUi4QQKz3_DJt-N2Hq3NmPjCPNzdRd1kOjCYX0y-pbl-eSgntBb_NHqmBxBPaY4RQaDzUGVy7MKyJxU8XR4oF_ImdEHqgjrszszZlaak/s2000/West-Side-Story-Mike-Faist-Ariana-DeBose-David-Alvarez-2021.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="928" data-original-width="2000" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitt5mLrhsl_t8HxPbxpN7Fqxunw81flcr75E_foQXekiUZpEMcbkwb4VO5TsasGVV8N6DqXJZeodUTHgFtwUi4QQKz3_DJt-N2Hq3NmPjCPNzdRd1kOjCYX0y-pbl-eSgntBb_NHqmBxBPaY4RQaDzUGVy7MKyJxU8XR4oF_ImdEHqgjrszszZlaak/w400-h185/West-Side-Story-Mike-Faist-Ariana-DeBose-David-Alvarez-2021.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Everyone shines in <i>West Side Story</i> (hands down the best-acted<i> WSS </i>I've ever seen), but Ariana DeBose (Oscar winner), Mike Faist, & David Alvarez are particularly effective in their roles.</b> </td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">So, I’ve nothing but admiration for Spielberg using his industry clout (the most financially successful director of all time) and fame (he, in essence, is the film’s bankable star)’s the film’s sole bankable name) to make <i>West Side Story</i> the right way: with an extraordinary ensemble cast of young Broadway-trained. (And hallelujah! No one from the world of pop music!)</div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>THE STUFF OF DREAMS</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Understandably, many will still find <i>West Side Story</i> inherently problematic no matter how many issues are addressed, but personally, I'm overjoyed that Steven Spielberg made a <i>West Side Story</i> I can embrace fully, rather than love at arm's-length. And now, a few parting shots in appreciative recognition of Steven Spielberg, the visual storyteller.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>Prologue / Jet Song</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3kMuKOYwIEf4zIML4pa0YS090rHJUJypR1jgQRvBnvWJtsBLM8v8pIwOxzCLlVnEsDvstSRshx7xMICJPELmlvO6xscHtziN1IsHuiZab0YlTmRAHLFZWcB33iIOQ7tIKZieyniKnuT4L3WiFGZAt2ih5s23QDdbUi_vuqVJlJH3i9OIDiM56d0qM/s2560/West-Side-Story-Jet=Song-2021.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1073" data-original-width="2560" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3kMuKOYwIEf4zIML4pa0YS090rHJUJypR1jgQRvBnvWJtsBLM8v8pIwOxzCLlVnEsDvstSRshx7xMICJPELmlvO6xscHtziN1IsHuiZab0YlTmRAHLFZWcB33iIOQ7tIKZieyniKnuT4L3WiFGZAt2ih5s23QDdbUi_vuqVJlJH3i9OIDiM56d0qM/w400-h168/West-Side-Story-Jet=Song-2021.JPG" width="400" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>Something's Coming</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhziqolBsBqNC6VLIOJgdL_QHc_mgNIiKJBVD131KXhluDK-OAps0vbDUk8qQ-K8OZPLahnT-e02Iw7FdLKsG9fxYjPTNv9E8nyUWOkwpgmXIFnQFpYT38mMmKIkUsOg-gVY1IGLyHAHWXdl27sRQl4b1wGN1vnN60uszgKwIyluqViH-EDU4mblbkG/s1920/Ansel-Elgort-Rita-Moreno-Something's-Coming-West-Side-Story-2021.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1920" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhziqolBsBqNC6VLIOJgdL_QHc_mgNIiKJBVD131KXhluDK-OAps0vbDUk8qQ-K8OZPLahnT-e02Iw7FdLKsG9fxYjPTNv9E8nyUWOkwpgmXIFnQFpYT38mMmKIkUsOg-gVY1IGLyHAHWXdl27sRQl4b1wGN1vnN60uszgKwIyluqViH-EDU4mblbkG/w400-h166/Ansel-Elgort-Rita-Moreno-Something's-Coming-West-Side-Story-2021.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><b>The Dance at the Gym</b><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvTCfjYJ8eo4HHtDHW_HOKQEYEV-g1wI33ZWBow2DTbLFPHiE-tNQwFAKydZlIx2Y9GbVVvzK4kCuNl-EqWOsxmTPWeY1nFbZ8mJtNJrGS7XDxflOxiDQSNFih8zsv8g-nh03Ki5Z74urK5QnT-t9vGRTyEhV4l3lo4AHiztk9J7kZKHlk3DjTKgNj/s1920/West-Side-Story-Dance-at-the-Gym-Mambo-2021.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1920" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvTCfjYJ8eo4HHtDHW_HOKQEYEV-g1wI33ZWBow2DTbLFPHiE-tNQwFAKydZlIx2Y9GbVVvzK4kCuNl-EqWOsxmTPWeY1nFbZ8mJtNJrGS7XDxflOxiDQSNFih8zsv8g-nh03Ki5Z74urK5QnT-t9vGRTyEhV4l3lo4AHiztk9J7kZKHlk3DjTKgNj/w400-h166/West-Side-Story-Dance-at-the-Gym-Mambo-2021.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><b>Maria</b><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4ZBVjNqePEj3iJrNEhmOTAPm3sKwLUFtBR4F9t-7xtB0KulZKVi7PZSl2FfJCsDNIRqgOqMQfo7O0C9bgHBEfi7aCoFJNDXUCuMSWtr0XgkXf0D6Y6FvCl3nLG4Pi0HCaegWVndOXpXjB_9iOMG15TU9-F7N3FoPO4KUOR3q3Ky_d45gfmSDYPqUC/s1920/Ansel-Elgort-Maria-West-Side-Story-2021.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1920" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4ZBVjNqePEj3iJrNEhmOTAPm3sKwLUFtBR4F9t-7xtB0KulZKVi7PZSl2FfJCsDNIRqgOqMQfo7O0C9bgHBEfi7aCoFJNDXUCuMSWtr0XgkXf0D6Y6FvCl3nLG4Pi0HCaegWVndOXpXjB_9iOMG15TU9-F7N3FoPO4KUOR3q3Ky_d45gfmSDYPqUC/w400-h166/Ansel-Elgort-Maria-West-Side-Story-2021.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><b>Balcony Scene (Tonight)</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvnyhFwHfdx9_kKeywKsPYBca570jIUGw7XFvIL8oHPi4gAM2FG6Wd8mB_yb-NSRlMmaTTeTLTOOze3FFJEiW3vEW0R2l6B-Sc5flUYb3QlabmyjPyDEpNfgPy9GTBsIAZkKDh9TJ8T1zmJSXjD8e9CWT-P9_4u7Wgsm6SQBM4hEHEBJaEmdPlNKjW/s1920/Rachel-Zegler-Ansel-Elgort--Tonight-Balcony-2021.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1920" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvnyhFwHfdx9_kKeywKsPYBca570jIUGw7XFvIL8oHPi4gAM2FG6Wd8mB_yb-NSRlMmaTTeTLTOOze3FFJEiW3vEW0R2l6B-Sc5flUYb3QlabmyjPyDEpNfgPy9GTBsIAZkKDh9TJ8T1zmJSXjD8e9CWT-P9_4u7Wgsm6SQBM4hEHEBJaEmdPlNKjW/w400-h166/Rachel-Zegler-Ansel-Elgort--Tonight-Balcony-2021.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><b>America</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-YtYj40gbmNFh3rjLewUUYDiIKjCD4zLTxGI11CzLxOUp4Ulmx_sNhvGzZf5vJmcIEJV_3wELuIlqsmM1Y-e7RJy5OjnEX6pyNbjWsbJvsbTGi9D4zYwYWVHsmSzsFTMcFNVKltPgCdb5A5rL5vobj7U1279OnMzmu-D3Cj1NqIEvUqhlp-UWny1s/s1920/West-Side-Story-Ariana-DeBose-David-Alvarez-America-2021.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1920" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-YtYj40gbmNFh3rjLewUUYDiIKjCD4zLTxGI11CzLxOUp4Ulmx_sNhvGzZf5vJmcIEJV_3wELuIlqsmM1Y-e7RJy5OjnEX6pyNbjWsbJvsbTGi9D4zYwYWVHsmSzsFTMcFNVKltPgCdb5A5rL5vobj7U1279OnMzmu-D3Cj1NqIEvUqhlp-UWny1s/w400-h166/West-Side-Story-Ariana-DeBose-David-Alvarez-America-2021.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><b>Gee, Officer Krupke</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWU4bjrnhOvNGeAw2g5wET5x062_DMPhyQpmYcPcRym668odYCTPLP5Y_6NHlGc7MvrElRfqX2waklLxPUnfkddEz5O8zbummDjVbNJ_nVKiSN3gquEVSyZ_K-8vT0dRLpWTKY4Z8-bPX6X8NG5jzFKo7BS6XLq5jnGiDwTJTWetPwpllQeIneQNSa/s1920/West-Side-Stoy-Officer-Krupke-2021.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1920" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWU4bjrnhOvNGeAw2g5wET5x062_DMPhyQpmYcPcRym668odYCTPLP5Y_6NHlGc7MvrElRfqX2waklLxPUnfkddEz5O8zbummDjVbNJ_nVKiSN3gquEVSyZ_K-8vT0dRLpWTKY4Z8-bPX6X8NG5jzFKo7BS6XLq5jnGiDwTJTWetPwpllQeIneQNSa/w400-h166/West-Side-Stoy-Officer-Krupke-2021.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>One Hand, One Heart</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0RpHq7SIlYR27JtGGvFiFl7Cvwfuic7plik9_R6uENa8fzorPHoz-iF2W2WTv6ahKQ_e58Pr4o8ZS3XybaFc5wKAUZnE51xatLMAs5T3BLf_j0i_YzbFmOmX_6X5Wd9F1AeSIE7u-4uIQ7tVcSQPukm-tcv_iSxuXQeUOv2nzz6gd1khWRVjLlST-/s1920/Rachel-Zegler-Ansel-Elgort-One-Hand-One-Heart-West-Side-Story.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1920" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0RpHq7SIlYR27JtGGvFiFl7Cvwfuic7plik9_R6uENa8fzorPHoz-iF2W2WTv6ahKQ_e58Pr4o8ZS3XybaFc5wKAUZnE51xatLMAs5T3BLf_j0i_YzbFmOmX_6X5Wd9F1AeSIE7u-4uIQ7tVcSQPukm-tcv_iSxuXQeUOv2nzz6gd1khWRVjLlST-/w400-h166/Rachel-Zegler-Ansel-Elgort-One-Hand-One-Heart-West-Side-Story.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><b>Cool</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFKusR94FkflRnV1U8vRg27d6GXciAoUBPFq4Exr-sefg404yCAQVl8Hn-iodO66cB28KXZ-zkuo2basxS5EfYT-QrjnMzRViQEpMnsVs9WBL_8XDDMmEqifaGm23RqXOrKR7kdGLCK5FqfoL-p9Qnzc2a-p76YMjJA9J05_SqFT6z5LibWsHKVmzI/s1920/West-Side-Story-Cool-2021.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1920" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFKusR94FkflRnV1U8vRg27d6GXciAoUBPFq4Exr-sefg404yCAQVl8Hn-iodO66cB28KXZ-zkuo2basxS5EfYT-QrjnMzRViQEpMnsVs9WBL_8XDDMmEqifaGm23RqXOrKR7kdGLCK5FqfoL-p9Qnzc2a-p76YMjJA9J05_SqFT6z5LibWsHKVmzI/w400-h166/West-Side-Story-Cool-2021.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><b>Tonight Quintet</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd-ZH7m-2gke57WEeOzf8FUfgG2Dw-2eHwg1w80cbmeQBEdREV4Eq79roDmftq3pLqqB8o6j0jy1HE-67MLqUzseRmddjmrQnakSq4E5BFJjqn-KPuaROvTYbVE8eWlxwIKqHLCHCdI1ydsGx5i2Af3z4W2NsSXnk3LWyRoUIctyob8Szp9V3HaVbC/s1920/West-Side-Story-Tonight-Quintet-2021.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1920" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd-ZH7m-2gke57WEeOzf8FUfgG2Dw-2eHwg1w80cbmeQBEdREV4Eq79roDmftq3pLqqB8o6j0jy1HE-67MLqUzseRmddjmrQnakSq4E5BFJjqn-KPuaROvTYbVE8eWlxwIKqHLCHCdI1ydsGx5i2Af3z4W2NsSXnk3LWyRoUIctyob8Szp9V3HaVbC/w400-h166/West-Side-Story-Tonight-Quintet-2021.png" width="400" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>I Feel Pretty</b></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKneTdut8Oy3cBOa6-7hDq0nVYpdOe5fB2MJq8WxplcG3NTHIA7KvRQ0ixG3KIb9Ok4Hf46uOa9wzMNr33j6tMf6PwwiQ57cHDCh1I22BpE5to5lpWMsN3XO3C15oDQNFvQz39UqHLkFTSnq2VrrKwa4zv6e9GHWxyLw9xFV4gFaGEsBgD9aq-RkL1/s1920/Rachel-Zegler-I-Feel_pretty-West-Side-Story-2021.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1920" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKneTdut8Oy3cBOa6-7hDq0nVYpdOe5fB2MJq8WxplcG3NTHIA7KvRQ0ixG3KIb9Ok4Hf46uOa9wzMNr33j6tMf6PwwiQ57cHDCh1I22BpE5to5lpWMsN3XO3C15oDQNFvQz39UqHLkFTSnq2VrrKwa4zv6e9GHWxyLw9xFV4gFaGEsBgD9aq-RkL1/w400-h166/Rachel-Zegler-I-Feel_pretty-West-Side-Story-2021.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">As best I could, I’ve tried to keep comparisons between the two <i>West Side Story</i> films to a minimum. The reason why can be found in Stephen Sondheim’s 2010 memoir <i>Finishing the Hat</i>. In it, he relates an anecdote about nervously inviting Swedish film director Ingmar Bergman to see his 1973 Broadway musical <i>A Little Night Music</i>, which Sondheim & Hugh Wheeler had adapted from Bergman’s 1955 film <i>Smiles of a Summer Night</i>. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">At the end of the show, Sondheim was quick to apologize to the filmmaker for the liberties taken, whereupon Bergman calmed his fears with a perceptive observation: <i>“No, no, Mr. Sondheim, I enjoyed the evening very much. Your piece has nothing to do with my movie, it merely has the same story.” </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">That's how I feel about <i>West Side Story</i> 1961 and 2021. The world can accommodate both magnificent musicals. One doesn't have to replace or cancel out the other. And as I have fallen in love with each, there's no need for me to have to choose between them. They're both superb, entirely different movies. They merely share the same story.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9_Wpl7LX5CWlnZ23ctlEJtjgC7UWfeEEz3Ra5Hni6pQyoBgN0Cv80qwQO8DmPku4gxs7jj5sUh4JXJP50zEc1OjECDntuX3mgJ7E8R0iPZqKJqDpKgTdpSH9RVoaMsbd6vDimDNK8P8s912yxYvhAUas2FaeGzfgwanDeKVw19GvWNPfRE5tMxaZL/s2560/Rita-Moreno-Natalie-Wood-West-Side-Story-1961.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1171" data-original-width="2560" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9_Wpl7LX5CWlnZ23ctlEJtjgC7UWfeEEz3Ra5Hni6pQyoBgN0Cv80qwQO8DmPku4gxs7jj5sUh4JXJP50zEc1OjECDntuX3mgJ7E8R0iPZqKJqDpKgTdpSH9RVoaMsbd6vDimDNK8P8s912yxYvhAUas2FaeGzfgwanDeKVw19GvWNPfRE5tMxaZL/w400-h183/Rita-Moreno-Natalie-Wood-West-Side-Story-1961.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLXTd-c2iCkIjHu3bPIW-ZG3Zl1HWd4HhFA0XB7U10YtfvDWppg1q87tBSZZdYilaXYXguaE4V_87yF1_NPjQ8TuKhkPYPuHRnWZDCekWUiy6DmQNg1c-N6_HsrxNheUEvpDUV3q_0SOEimO1gFxLQgnAWP97Idhzh00s1ZwAiJFxXkgWQ8uIgtIRE/s1920/Ariana-DeBose-Rachel-Zegler-West-Side-Story-2021.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1920" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLXTd-c2iCkIjHu3bPIW-ZG3Zl1HWd4HhFA0XB7U10YtfvDWppg1q87tBSZZdYilaXYXguaE4V_87yF1_NPjQ8TuKhkPYPuHRnWZDCekWUiy6DmQNg1c-N6_HsrxNheUEvpDUV3q_0SOEimO1gFxLQgnAWP97Idhzh00s1ZwAiJFxXkgWQ8uIgtIRE/w400-h166/Ariana-DeBose-Rachel-Zegler-West-Side-Story-2021.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></div><div><b>BONUS MATERIAL</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Not His First Time at the Rodeo</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><i>West Side Story</i> may be Steven Spielberg's first full-scale musical, but clearly, the genre has always fascinated him. Musical sequences appear in several of his films (<i>1941</i>, <i>The Color Purple</i>). 1991's <i>Hook was </i>actually conceived and partially shot as a musical (songs by John Williams & Leslie Bricusse). And sometime in the early '80s a musical titled <i>Reel to Reel</i> was planned but scrapped.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Controversially, Spielberg's <i>Indiana Jones & the Temple of Doom </i>(1984)<i> </i>credits sequence is an elaborate production number of Cole Porter's "Anything Goes" choreographed by Danny Daniels (<i>Pennies from Heaven</i> - 1981).</div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6guQcqSjRAbMoEsbbcmMdqrTcp_OF1Qm8q7fqe3UZXrkU2jWM22QBoC4OCxqsX4js_rFyg0uNwTuNpRiZnrQRm8ns9RH-Sm2l7EOtOP-DYFcq6CpupnwwD7HQjtXnDNHbSLzDVFAazXzhd3bP7hyw8cNGGvy48lKGNd6A1pAidfh4YjX2RDWHcYil/s1664/Anything-Goes-Kate-Capshow-Indiana-Jones-and-theTemple-of-Doom-Danny-Daniels-Michael-Powell-Cole-Porter-Steven-Spielberg-1984.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="695" data-original-width="1664" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6guQcqSjRAbMoEsbbcmMdqrTcp_OF1Qm8q7fqe3UZXrkU2jWM22QBoC4OCxqsX4js_rFyg0uNwTuNpRiZnrQRm8ns9RH-Sm2l7EOtOP-DYFcq6CpupnwwD7HQjtXnDNHbSLzDVFAazXzhd3bP7hyw8cNGGvy48lKGNd6A1pAidfh4YjX2RDWHcYil/w400-h168/Anything-Goes-Kate-Capshow-Indiana-Jones-and-theTemple-of-Doom-Danny-Daniels-Michael-Powell-Cole-Porter-Steven-Spielberg-1984.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Kate Capshaw sings to her future husband while modeling what appear<br />to be sequined gardening gloves in <i>Indiana Jones & the Temple of Doom</i> </b><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx4V8QXd2irBSu8wrs404ffqa7NFIjxRJwF4k0HFziQB-WBdlASXGlT-hAcYE2yF1TWq4nQiU_irjOEAzIG9O53DiL4YEgZJL26c1y7wdd_qGppGCVIpKbz1XoEPNynnO0kxxTpORyb1-7ABhXMfVpmgdfLq70kD5e4RmjD2cCBbLaWnc5owikZgh5/s1599/Life-Magazine-June-1999-Steven-Spielberg-Arnold-Spielberg.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1599" data-original-width="1353" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx4V8QXd2irBSu8wrs404ffqa7NFIjxRJwF4k0HFziQB-WBdlASXGlT-hAcYE2yF1TWq4nQiU_irjOEAzIG9O53DiL4YEgZJL26c1y7wdd_qGppGCVIpKbz1XoEPNynnO0kxxTpORyb1-7ABhXMfVpmgdfLq70kD5e4RmjD2cCBbLaWnc5owikZgh5/s320/Life-Magazine-June-1999-Steven-Spielberg-Arnold-Spielberg.jpg" width="271" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Steven with his father Arnold Spielberg - June 1999</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Copyright © Ken Anderson 2009 - 2022</div></div></div></div>Ken Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04940648971296673233noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2627032459273165000.post-13680515497252779642022-10-08T14:31:00.014-07:002022-11-01T01:18:19.127-07:00MILDRED PIERCE 1945<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi87r8UQ8IbFKg_kprphvR5zgPrCU5dqGhgrNDIXeZTJ9uQiXFCiXsh2uT-P8qbDrrjLMcVsazqiYoqa-ggQhZMTlF-L9WRCmBsZ1Vcxq9Qe8RE0okViNzsav4byes3vYekvoQm3g_D_otxGS_Y2KdFoJEapyQQRkVr1Uym1jkvegvue-iqfj-13ptk/s1800/Mildred-Pierce-1945-Michael-Curtiz.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1299" data-original-width="1800" height="289" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi87r8UQ8IbFKg_kprphvR5zgPrCU5dqGhgrNDIXeZTJ9uQiXFCiXsh2uT-P8qbDrrjLMcVsazqiYoqa-ggQhZMTlF-L9WRCmBsZ1Vcxq9Qe8RE0okViNzsav4byes3vYekvoQm3g_D_otxGS_Y2KdFoJEapyQQRkVr1Uym1jkvegvue-iqfj-13ptk/w400-h289/Mildred-Pierce-1945-Michael-Curtiz.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: x-small;"><b>Spoiler Alert: Crucial plot points are revealed in the interest of critical analysis and discussion</b></span></div><div><br /></div><div>For me, <i>Mildred Pierce</i> has always been the most watchable and quotable of Joan Crawford’s movies. Which is really saying something with gold-plated doozies like <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2014/04/strait-jacket-1964.html" target="_blank">Strait-Jacket</a></i>, <i>Torch Song</i>, <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2016/07/berserk-1967.html" target="_blank">Berserk!</a></i>, <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2013/03/queen-bee-1955.html" target="_blank">Queen Bee</a></i>, and <i>Flamingo Road</i> staring me in the face. </div><div>This film that won Crawford her first Oscar nomination and only win (she would be nominated two more times) ranks so high on my list of favorite movies that, by rights, I should have written about it long before now. But like many classic-era films that also enjoy broad popularity, <i>Mildred Pierce </i>is a movie that's been talked about, written about, analyzed, remade, lampooned, and borrowed from for so long, it simply felt as though I had nothing new to add to the conversation.</div><div><br /></div><div>That's probably still the case. But the occasion of having recently read, back-to-back, the 1941 James M. Cain novel (upon which the film is based) and a terrific 1980 scholarly volume by film historian Albert J. LaValley devoted to the academic discussion of <i>Mildred Pierce</i> (!) complete with the published screenplay – left me with so much Mildred on my mind, the time felt right to commit my personal thoughts on this long-beloved film, to this, my internet film diary. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_JjkEjll7nY3R0pGWxjXoFAUUt0HTiua4Wpbbf76wsnvtGcZanbjByxf0G4bQ1uRyuzSfg0T2GHwwJGBOIni18eHMk1yA9BQawfGqSLl17WPlhMJ3no9Ah9Kr1wLVRNKpKizHRi_sCN-uXJYYyFNjphgw0Y_fAHmQ4_MmC8rZVeHDg_0QJsI-QfuN/s1479/Mildred-Pierce-Joan-Crawford-1945%20(3).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1075" data-original-width="1479" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_JjkEjll7nY3R0pGWxjXoFAUUt0HTiua4Wpbbf76wsnvtGcZanbjByxf0G4bQ1uRyuzSfg0T2GHwwJGBOIni18eHMk1yA9BQawfGqSLl17WPlhMJ3no9Ah9Kr1wLVRNKpKizHRi_sCN-uXJYYyFNjphgw0Y_fAHmQ4_MmC8rZVeHDg_0QJsI-QfuN/w400-h291/Mildred-Pierce-Joan-Crawford-1945%20(3).jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Joan Crawford as Mildred Pierce</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKWaoEX7IfYVyuiffJBlKehU1Ehuz2Lpei_Niq7TDl84qVymuuAzP5NKow4YLellAYirH8HqLmNK_R9SnGim45mJLikCU5cEMYUOAk50d71Y4LDnJZ6gr_ugWBsOLWkL47khgLirzxQPb98vFLwIHFOgrq3mySsogO3bCaCcNb0vzCuMfFuNyK6x-N/s1447/Mildred-Pierce-Jack-Carson-1945%20(1).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1078" data-original-width="1447" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKWaoEX7IfYVyuiffJBlKehU1Ehuz2Lpei_Niq7TDl84qVymuuAzP5NKow4YLellAYirH8HqLmNK_R9SnGim45mJLikCU5cEMYUOAk50d71Y4LDnJZ6gr_ugWBsOLWkL47khgLirzxQPb98vFLwIHFOgrq3mySsogO3bCaCcNb0vzCuMfFuNyK6x-N/w400-h297/Mildred-Pierce-Jack-Carson-1945%20(1).jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jack Carson as Wally Fay</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqGjOBlaCyBeMw-JDBnTWCJ1J3-7vkj2gPo54eU5O33l-jBzmFQZqA3W2lagqhr6JXb3LrDcrofKk1M40eZCJfn1kGAbqLfClk3FCg9qT3JqrjmN8Tgp3aK5aZzg7TgHtxt0mIdTHL7MFlgZcT48cffCCburu_GzWWgEP_NbL4vc0OMboP3phasSpU/s1468/Mildred-Pierce-Ann-Blyth-1945.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1079" data-original-width="1468" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqGjOBlaCyBeMw-JDBnTWCJ1J3-7vkj2gPo54eU5O33l-jBzmFQZqA3W2lagqhr6JXb3LrDcrofKk1M40eZCJfn1kGAbqLfClk3FCg9qT3JqrjmN8Tgp3aK5aZzg7TgHtxt0mIdTHL7MFlgZcT48cffCCburu_GzWWgEP_NbL4vc0OMboP3phasSpU/w400-h294/Mildred-Pierce-Ann-Blyth-1945.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ann Blyth as Veda Pierce</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhDnt_9Ae8uiKr91xYJtKRz7p3PxzX6SfN5hAFF0Oy7BOy0xCHZB5hzHkWbjUvlAuCxkkGkhuv3-7pVZa-Oi7InnrjRS7rC4QBg2_rPZmSEFKZ7BvGQGQGWmFMCM_WoH-nsWMtukjicm09NE0ngIMqPp_wXTQwhy15AtL_8cw-gchcjHsf36ZJvihL/s1479/Mildred-Pierce-Zachary-Scott-1945.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1479" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhDnt_9Ae8uiKr91xYJtKRz7p3PxzX6SfN5hAFF0Oy7BOy0xCHZB5hzHkWbjUvlAuCxkkGkhuv3-7pVZa-Oi7InnrjRS7rC4QBg2_rPZmSEFKZ7BvGQGQGWmFMCM_WoH-nsWMtukjicm09NE0ngIMqPp_wXTQwhy15AtL_8cw-gchcjHsf36ZJvihL/w400-h293/Mildred-Pierce-Zachary-Scott-1945.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zachary Scott as Monte Beragon</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilHXXMnv0-dJqZxYtPrrlamfVFx7OzegKM4ertC8i9_Af59AUQDhBBWFrf3SMx_YOiKpckwZy4xRzzoSgp-uuMgsHv_KQTC2ha40UN8MgIBAg0nBsLD46rh3Gq74Xp0029HGR_fThU6c8HpSFydqy_t32k7I71BC2YSSXCt_48F0uNKgfL-GIWvz1w/s1474/Mildred-Pierce-%20Eve-Arden-1945.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1474" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilHXXMnv0-dJqZxYtPrrlamfVFx7OzegKM4ertC8i9_Af59AUQDhBBWFrf3SMx_YOiKpckwZy4xRzzoSgp-uuMgsHv_KQTC2ha40UN8MgIBAg0nBsLD46rh3Gq74Xp0029HGR_fThU6c8HpSFydqy_t32k7I71BC2YSSXCt_48F0uNKgfL-GIWvz1w/w400-h293/Mildred-Pierce-%20Eve-Arden-1945.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eve Arden as Ida Corwin</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>The romanticized <i>Stella Dallas </i>myth—embracing the nobility of maternal love that sacrifices everything to secure the financial and social success of one’s child—gets a severe upending in<i> Mildred Pierce</i>. This surprisingly still-potent melodrama casts Crawford as a working-class divorcee and mother of two (the titular Mildred) whose obsessive/neurotic love for her serpent-toothed eldest, Veda (Blyth), provides the grist that fuels a determined ambition to build a sweeping financial empire on fluffy pie crusts. The drama of this tale is that the same mother-daughter bond…whose dynamics are entrenched in emotional and psychological dysfunction (with a scoop of the Electra complex on top)… figures just as significantly in bringing about Mildred’s personal and professional ruin.</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP25eBaAJxgPqpyGibA0bIWIaenwxs8EFGbNLT487vwPTI5ZDcWp_hg_l8XKpzW0waggf94X4rrJ1RdKaDdHacXpeu5owUYWA5S7A4PNiHu2hsOZqUnSacUEEJYMyPe72aDCm_7vAjKtE76d3-dp0Aul-H6EtxUT6Yn8ZUa0HbFMmovZIGQ4M0pcB0/s1467/Mildred-Pierce-Butterfly-McQueen-1945.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1078" data-original-width="1467" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP25eBaAJxgPqpyGibA0bIWIaenwxs8EFGbNLT487vwPTI5ZDcWp_hg_l8XKpzW0waggf94X4rrJ1RdKaDdHacXpeu5owUYWA5S7A4PNiHu2hsOZqUnSacUEEJYMyPe72aDCm_7vAjKtE76d3-dp0Aul-H6EtxUT6Yn8ZUa0HbFMmovZIGQ4M0pcB0/w400-h294/Mildred-Pierce-Butterfly-McQueen-1945.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Butterfly McQueen as Lottie</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;">Ms. McQueen made her uncredited film debut in 1939 appearing alongside Joan Crawford in George Cukor's <i>The Women</i>. By 1945 she'd appeared in such high-profile films as <i>Gone with the Wind</i>, <i>Cabin in the Sky</i>, and <i>Since You Went Away. </i>Yet despite the size and memorability of her role in <i>Mildred Pierce</i>, her name doesn't appear in the credits. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div>For all the talk of this being the film to reverse Crawford’s fortunes, helping to erase the stigma of boxoffice poison that dogged her following her so-called amicable ouster from MGM; <i>Mildred Pierce</i>, oddly,<i> </i>represents less a departure from type than some of her other roles. Indeed, in many ways, <i>Mildred Pierce</i> serves up an à la carte menu of everything that first comes to mind when I think about Joan Crawford’s screen persona. </div><div>If I’m guilty of harboring a mental image of The Crawford Mystique as: the inevitable ankle strap shoes, always brandishing a gun, invariably slapping somebody, suffering nobly in shoulder-padded mink, photographed through impossible shadow formations highlighting her eyes, and playing characters disposed of a steely self-determinism…then, <i>Mildred Pierce</i> does not disappoint. It's all here. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSXNeonbJBs5cbh75iKfDB-JgUVDL5Ytsm3ZIf4DZ38oaN4Ii7o965dWP6Vbx7PJ3uofI5CrOLs1gzWknWPJGVYZ-Htar7GgRzSoERQffP8jh365AP53hxp6ZmfjoY0urBJmmFyH4sO2uQXweeMvK5XYGh-K7dlUfp5enx8RnhiBlDyi7weGErTy-B/s1471/Joan_Crawford_Mildred_Pierce-1945.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1078" data-original-width="1471" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSXNeonbJBs5cbh75iKfDB-JgUVDL5Ytsm3ZIf4DZ38oaN4Ii7o965dWP6Vbx7PJ3uofI5CrOLs1gzWknWPJGVYZ-Htar7GgRzSoERQffP8jh365AP53hxp6ZmfjoY0urBJmmFyH4sO2uQXweeMvK5XYGh-K7dlUfp5enx8RnhiBlDyi7weGErTy-B/w400-h294/Joan_Crawford_Mildred_Pierce-1945.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Me and My Shadows</b><br />Few stars got as much use out of the "floating shadow" as Joan Crawford</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>As movie characters go, the been-around-the-block maturity of “common frump” Mildred Pierce-Beragon is ideally-suited to both the gifts and limitations of then-38-year-old Crawford. Playing what is essentially just a more lived-in variation of her usual stock-in-trade: “…t<i>he shop girl who fought her way to the top, made a great success”</i> (God help me, I’m quoting <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/12/mommie-dearest-1981.html" target="_blank">Mommie Dearest</a></i>). An image established as early as 1930's <i>Our Blushing Brides</i>--one of Crawford's earliest post-silent era features--<i>Mildred Pierce</i> is a challenging role that nevertheless remains comfortably within Crawford’s tried-and-true wheelhouse. And to give credit where credit is due, Crawford, clearly recognizing the sharp script, showcase role, and atypically noirish milieu of <i>Mildred Pierce</i> for the rare opportunity it is, gives her performance everything she’s got.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6kDSKHPxTkZRpOYHJpoQ2we3_Fk1JQTMpRmPG0FXplTc8GF1ICZBs1BnswWV14OO_QYuOIFKvqUQ1dqGFu5FYv2hivekbCVZe_3kmS5mIaySUnk3l5oELylGGnkfA59Fbs7lTayNRUR4TC6mlwHvPS-2QX0OKBQHgPLj1iXc3Hyix95JgB2amBzo4/s1741/Joan-Crawford-It's-a-Great-Feeling-Dennis-Morgan-Jack-Carson-1949.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1298" data-original-width="1741" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6kDSKHPxTkZRpOYHJpoQ2we3_Fk1JQTMpRmPG0FXplTc8GF1ICZBs1BnswWV14OO_QYuOIFKvqUQ1dqGFu5FYv2hivekbCVZe_3kmS5mIaySUnk3l5oELylGGnkfA59Fbs7lTayNRUR4TC6mlwHvPS-2QX0OKBQHgPLj1iXc3Hyix95JgB2amBzo4/w400-h299/Joan-Crawford-It's-a-Great-Feeling-Dennis-Morgan-Jack-Carson-1949.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><i>Mildred Pierce </i>didn't introduce the classic Joan Crawford persona, but it certainly solidified it. When Crawford good-naturedly spoofs her image and herself in the Warner Bros musical comedy <i>It's a Great Feeling </i>(1949), the dialogue and gestures she uses (capped with <i>"I do that in all my pictures!"</i>) are from <i>Mildred Pierce</i>. <br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div>It’s safe to say that virtually the entire Joan Crawford arsenal is trotted out in <i>Mildred Pierce</i>. But somehow, in this instance, thanks to the overall classy production values, tight script, and unusually strong supporting cast (and maybe because Crawford worked extra hard to impress a director who made no secret of Barbara Stanwyck being his first choice), many of those familiar Crawford-ism notes are struck with a considerably lighter touch.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho0hrw8WWhv0OfNIs2yCLCEYOCUdCr-ZKnKr4m8tsKGFQXPxXmzavWl_YOwPEq1MopbwWQIl6JUaqJUOOwLi2tT8EEdNJxburIbItJB6U1RdHeAMjpySfKWstGgkHZB2AErcx3zG9M8R9ZEYuZmSAU1xOsflugQMxVIiUk2OpkJETYhwOlZqCLJgD8/s1467/Mildred-Pierce-Joan-Crawford-Ann-Blyth-1945.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1078" data-original-width="1467" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho0hrw8WWhv0OfNIs2yCLCEYOCUdCr-ZKnKr4m8tsKGFQXPxXmzavWl_YOwPEq1MopbwWQIl6JUaqJUOOwLi2tT8EEdNJxburIbItJB6U1RdHeAMjpySfKWstGgkHZB2AErcx3zG9M8R9ZEYuZmSAU1xOsflugQMxVIiUk2OpkJETYhwOlZqCLJgD8/w400-h294/Mildred-Pierce-Joan-Crawford-Ann-Blyth-1945.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>I think Joan Crawford is a wonderful...if not exactly accessible...actress. No matter how intensely a scene is played, Crawford always comes across to me as being at a slight remove from the real emotions involved. Never allowing herself to be exposed in the ways Stanwyck, Davis, and even Jennifer Jones can. When it comes to character engagement, Crawford doesn't let you in so much as invite you to have a seat and watch her suffer photogenically from a distance</b>. </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>WHAT I LOVE ABOUT THIS MOVIE</b></div><div><div>The end-product of at least 8 screenplay drafts by nearly as many writers, <i>Mildred Pierce</i> is a film-noir - crossed with a domestic drama - crossed with a postwar woman’s film. The postwar designation denoting the newly-determined genre trend in having the female-driven narratives end on a note of “normalcy” restored…i.e., a return to traditional gender roles. Thus, in the screen ending that’s a tad kinder to Mildred than Cain’s novel (which ends flatly with Mildred standing by helplessly as she’s made a fool of, two times over), Mildred is financially ruined and loses her business empire, but walks off into the L.A. sunrise, arms linked with her recently redeemed, now-steadily employed, likely ex-ex-husband.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidtC6ku6GHIAS8e6asWXedxyDVuU6GtWkAF43B9Ov0AGMtOkrqR6XffCJrOvva7U08R29PwuK0ImV1eRFiK3hZv3s8bKsNgnSVy2-RfKKi3OyfKm-Lj_2OiOYxEvj01htdPRoDjGc0T-0kz8LFeq72NEycd-qo5zhZr6YQVwsm2laoA_4PY4sX_uzG/s1468/Mildred-Pierce-Bruce-Bennett-1945%20(2).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1078" data-original-width="1468" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidtC6ku6GHIAS8e6asWXedxyDVuU6GtWkAF43B9Ov0AGMtOkrqR6XffCJrOvva7U08R29PwuK0ImV1eRFiK3hZv3s8bKsNgnSVy2-RfKKi3OyfKm-Lj_2OiOYxEvj01htdPRoDjGc0T-0kz8LFeq72NEycd-qo5zhZr6YQVwsm2laoA_4PY4sX_uzG/w400-h294/Mildred-Pierce-Bruce-Bennett-1945%20(2).jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Bruce Bennett as Albert "Bert" Pierce</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>The seamless manner in which <i>Mildred Pierce</i> blends these different genres (doing credit to each and with a considerable amount of humor nowhere to be found in Cain’s novel) is precisely why it endures as one of those movies that, despite owning the DVD, I can’t help watching…no matter how far along into the story…whenever it pops up on TV. It’s old-fashioned Hollywood filmmaking at its captivating best.</div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc-Oi4ZqlcAj4wte5BF5zjtcLXygFcTne-GMZxM8XjJ6D9irT42-aXzznK8IrBsRTON3JI40Qkulxe0XFlvDIYhI1xuVj5oDR9o6Z1UMscIaZlG3tDcj8LM1Uu0BiTrFkalODMKx8vEodtdkfyJPvyl4tScy1ArZpeWEyveppLmO9GTgz_Tc8k22EU/s1281/Mildred-Pierce-Joan-Crawford-Newspaper-Ad-Los_Angeles_Times_Fri__Oct_12__1945.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1281" data-original-width="1036" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc-Oi4ZqlcAj4wte5BF5zjtcLXygFcTne-GMZxM8XjJ6D9irT42-aXzznK8IrBsRTON3JI40Qkulxe0XFlvDIYhI1xuVj5oDR9o6Z1UMscIaZlG3tDcj8LM1Uu0BiTrFkalODMKx8vEodtdkfyJPvyl4tScy1ArZpeWEyveppLmO9GTgz_Tc8k22EU/w324-h400/Mildred-Pierce-Joan-Crawford-Newspaper-Ad-Los_Angeles_Times_Fri__Oct_12__1945.jpg" width="324" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Released October 12, 1945<br />Early marketing misleadingly depicted Mildred as a noir femme fatale. <br />The whole "Don't Tell Anyone What She Did!" promotional tease extended<br /> to exhibitors being encouraged not to seat anyone during the film's last 7 minutes</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>It's said that Paramount's success with Cain's <i>Double Indemnity</i> (1944) is what inspired Warners to update (from the '30s to 'mid-'40s) and insert a murder into Cain's <i>Mildred Pierce,</i> which is essentially a character study and Depression-era commentary on class struggle. Cain was less than happy about his book being turned into a film noir, but I think the changes give <i>Mildred Pierce</i> a focus and economy lacking in the book. I thoroughly enjoyed and was very impressed by the faithful-to-the-letter 2011 Kate Winslet <i>Mildred Pierce </i>miniseries. But the narrative fidelity and Winslet's more human-scaled performance amplified what the Crawford film moves too quickly for me to have noticed: Mildred's blind-spot where the unremittingly awful Veda is concerned paints her more of a dope than devoted. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcOr2KO-RerSSyIz439_jKZrGmBkb0CyCb0KdpCvHajiGxxbbhYXPGxuhuhrLLmZhu-c7HpsfLlH3fTDuZWEvt01EbxjSMd_9_FmVDh9nFsx5E1aZBXjijY-Vbqz5JV1QIVwxuWA3xtfTvxcQ279utgnW5mk57adYYH709wOM2bih22odg1Bp-h3Hs/s1471/Mildred-Pierce_Joan-Crawford-Zachary-Scott_1945.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1077" data-original-width="1471" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcOr2KO-RerSSyIz439_jKZrGmBkb0CyCb0KdpCvHajiGxxbbhYXPGxuhuhrLLmZhu-c7HpsfLlH3fTDuZWEvt01EbxjSMd_9_FmVDh9nFsx5E1aZBXjijY-Vbqz5JV1QIVwxuWA3xtfTvxcQ279utgnW5mk57adYYH709wOM2bih22odg1Bp-h3Hs/w400-h293/Mildred-Pierce_Joan-Crawford-Zachary-Scott_1945.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>"That would have been dreadfully recherché, n’est-ce pas?"</i><br />Mildred and Monte share a look in response to Veda being Veda</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;">The character of Mildred Pierce isn’t granted much in the way of self-awareness, but it's a nice touch (one preventing her from appearing to be stupid) for the script to allow for a couple of scenes that show Mildred to both aware and condescendingly tolerant of Veda's airs and pretensions. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div>The idea of Mildred as a resourceful but not very insightful woman (the novel cites her flaw as a tendency towards literal-mindedness) might have occurred to me before had 1945's <i>Mildred Pierce</i> been cast with any other actress. In anyone else's hands, the scene where Mildred sells Monte a third of her hard-earned business to get him to marry her just so she can re-welcome Veda-the-Viper back into the fold, would have audiences wanting to haul off and slap Mildred themselves.</div><div>But in the hands of Joan Crawford—self-mastery personified—those actions seem more determinedly willful than pathetic. An act of noble self-sacrifice of the sort that has been Crawford’s stock-in-trade for years.</div><div><br /></div><div>And therein lies the key to one of the major reasons why <i>Mildred Pierce </i>is such an enjoyable film for me: It’s a movie that “gets” that the only way to soften Crawford’s image, making her brittle countenance even remotely sympathetic, is to have nearly every character in the film heap abuse on her head. From the first frames of the film to the last, Mildred places the needs of others above her own (and the one time she goes off to have some fun for herself, fate rewards her with the almost Biblically retributional sacrifice of a child) and is rarely thanked or praised for it. Even after defying the odds and achieving the near-impossible feat of becoming a wealthy businesswoman, building a mini-empire from the ground up (and developing a drinking problem for her trouble), any faint praise offered by others is usually followed by a crack about her smelling of chicken grease.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjl2zF7C7OAbQFpMztWFvndJzykZ9EEMk7kpCqCltVyd-edkIc-otVXEejnRPFa61pkmvO7390t80Vox15FH2SN8z7XYUKt5TDsrAedxRsJnAvpes2XtQQ0PuNpq8YWU0c385yXDq-NWF-YyHRgYtL2lKFgeV8zN1wrl19yTMCo4vtmYS-V3W6S47Q/s1476/Mildred-Pierce-Joan-Crawford_1945.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1476" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjl2zF7C7OAbQFpMztWFvndJzykZ9EEMk7kpCqCltVyd-edkIc-otVXEejnRPFa61pkmvO7390t80Vox15FH2SN8z7XYUKt5TDsrAedxRsJnAvpes2XtQQ0PuNpq8YWU0c385yXDq-NWF-YyHRgYtL2lKFgeV8zN1wrl19yTMCo4vtmYS-V3W6S47Q/w400-h293/Mildred-Pierce-Joan-Crawford_1945.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Joan Crawford at her happiest. Cleaning something.</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><b>THE STUFF OF DREAMS</b></div><div>I think I devote so much space here reiterating how much I’m entertained by <i>Mildred Pierce</i> because, for all its glossy appeal and the perversity of its plot (Veda is a pretty active girl considering she only celebrates her 18th birthday at the END of the movie), it's a movie that's never really engaged me on any kind of emotional level. Which is perhaps not anything I’d otherwise be looking for in a genre film (film noir in particular tends to traffic in the cynical and jaded) except that when I read the novel I was surprised by how moving and sad I found <i>Mildred Pierce</i> to be. Two things I've never felt in all the times I've watched the movie. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8L---d7ISLhtNbuyxoXbgiLsWdMMViYiyLwe8DDM2VJgLk_18U0iQc1zXh5199VMgqOFqDdQbppY5R0PqtGGAJnBKz_0htVV5WS86LYVOoiFbT5dB9f2g9SPR4pV5eIcW2mx7MlOeP4qWb9VzgGmrU0zcrjsXaey6jtUbtnnsMd6i7dfcktzOTRja/s1474/Mildred-Pierce-Jo-Ann-Marlowe-Ann-Blyth-1945.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1078" data-original-width="1474" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8L---d7ISLhtNbuyxoXbgiLsWdMMViYiyLwe8DDM2VJgLk_18U0iQc1zXh5199VMgqOFqDdQbppY5R0PqtGGAJnBKz_0htVV5WS86LYVOoiFbT5dB9f2g9SPR4pV5eIcW2mx7MlOeP4qWb9VzgGmrU0zcrjsXaey6jtUbtnnsMd6i7dfcktzOTRja/w400-h293/Mildred-Pierce-Jo-Ann-Marlowe-Ann-Blyth-1945.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Jo Ann Marlowe as Kay Pierce<br />One of the more eye-opening disclosures in the novel is Mildred's guilty self-admission <br />that if one of her children had to die, she's grateful it wasn't Veda.</b> </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;">As an example of Hollywood studio system “product” from the days when the main objective of movies was to provide escapism and sell popcorn, <i>Mildred Pierce</i> is every bit as efficient as its titular character. It’s classically structured: character/goals/conflict/ resolution; market-friendly: it’s got drama, romance, glamour, & comedy; and streamlined to a noirish-T: gunplay, double-dealing, and the question of “Who shot Monte?” keep audiences in their seats. If the slick restructuring of Cain's character-study novel into a crime film perhaps excised some of its relatable humanity, at least the Oscar-nominated screenplay by Ranald MacDougall retains enough of the book's subtextual themes (gender disparity, class struggle, sexual competition, single motherhood, etc.) to make repeat visits to <i>Mildred Pierce</i> worthwhile.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgikRUt0c5ZQzbtEl-91BR6Ggze1UlGDElgxqLIr6VRRqneCUXV9kX-GtQkmIJcl22f0ggc4Z_6pOVyxsyG3vo451AalusO10UNQuuyyhTs91Yus7ggok3lji-t22Unj6C1lXEOxfAr83lF4ZriCoXyOL9FHww1tHGAAL8F2-RNtx9EDZXTGdYLxrDe/s1476/Mildred-Pierce-Zachary-Scott-Joan-Crawford-1945.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1476" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgikRUt0c5ZQzbtEl-91BR6Ggze1UlGDElgxqLIr6VRRqneCUXV9kX-GtQkmIJcl22f0ggc4Z_6pOVyxsyG3vo451AalusO10UNQuuyyhTs91Yus7ggok3lji-t22Unj6C1lXEOxfAr83lF4ZriCoXyOL9FHww1tHGAAL8F2-RNtx9EDZXTGdYLxrDe/w400-h293/Mildred-Pierce-Zachary-Scott-Joan-Crawford-1945.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Emancipated Woman</b></td></tr></tbody></table>A somewhat underdeveloped theme, shunted aside by the dictates of the noir narrative, relates to all that lies within Mildred that never would have had the opportunity to develop had Bert not left her. The woman who introduced herself with the words <i>"I felt as though I was born in a kitchen and lived there all my life,"</i> positively thrives when not exclusively assuming the roles of wife, mother, and homemaker; domestic roles '40s America held up as the pinnacles of feminine achievement. Mildred reveals herself to be quite the businesswoman: smart, ambitious, hard-working, and resourceful, she's infinitely more capable and successful than any of the men in her life. And there's even the suggestion (coded by the degree of guilt she must shoulder for not being there for her ailing daughter) that in Monte, Mildred's sexual side is awakened as well.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf2pfIkdQuHJrArIzMwdVdLBSaPGAj6QXiaIG-jYhIR4S5Jlb3SiRXAq0Tr6WZSJCqnVfSbAO-WN8Yv7PATuNLgh9Qm4gVPRlno2ZxGsm0nnf-bFnndmzIAR0GZfUF-4wTwdmXnJcMJtAQm-XTZSUdUxndW8N3L7aHjDhx3MoZpBOZWlwU19V9KmTX/s1480/Mildred-Pierce-Eve-Arden-Kack-Carson-1945.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1480" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf2pfIkdQuHJrArIzMwdVdLBSaPGAj6QXiaIG-jYhIR4S5Jlb3SiRXAq0Tr6WZSJCqnVfSbAO-WN8Yv7PATuNLgh9Qm4gVPRlno2ZxGsm0nnf-bFnndmzIAR0GZfUF-4wTwdmXnJcMJtAQm-XTZSUdUxndW8N3L7aHjDhx3MoZpBOZWlwU19V9KmTX/w400-h293/Mildred-Pierce-Eve-Arden-Kack-Carson-1945.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Eve Arden and Jack Carson lighten and enliven <i>Mildred Pierce</i></b></td></tr></tbody></table><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>PERFORMANCES</b></div><div><div>The talent and chemistry of the cast of <i>Mildred Pierce</i> is yet another factor contributing to its irresistible watchability. Everyone but 16-year-old Ann Blyth is cast to type (she, heretofore only appearing in light comedies) and each is at the top of their game. Crawford is held in restraint (for Crawford), Eve Arden is on-the-money with her trademark mordant wisecracks, and Blyth’s strong performance (better every time I see it) is deserving of the Best Supporting Actress Oscar nomination it garnered.</div><div>But for me, <i>Mildred Pierce</i>'s Most Valuable Player--after Joan--is Jack Carson. Has there ever been a movie that isn’t made better by his casting? The earthy naturalness of his fast-talking Wally Fay not only takes the starch out of the humorless Mildred, but lends each of his scenes a bull-in-a-china-shop air of unpredictability. He shifts effortlessly from comic figure to force-to-be-reckoned-with, and I don’t think the film would be nearly as lively without him.</div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih8E_9SmceE7EH0CEDfNxfITpUxy_WZ20-NS5Es_0cvnzt-Eg9PhnjKDdzVrSXgjwFrRZMXm8L4dgtVqEHF0-vnfokKiSRmf0t15kq4ErwKWtRGv42QvpMtJKB5d1eK_xD-cghhIV9PRse15-VQTdYiPdUvhBbT9JvnXjadk11cVWmScjLI1kke1FN/s1805/Mildred-Pierce-Ann-Blyth-1945-Oceana-Roll.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1305" data-original-width="1805" height="289" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih8E_9SmceE7EH0CEDfNxfITpUxy_WZ20-NS5Es_0cvnzt-Eg9PhnjKDdzVrSXgjwFrRZMXm8L4dgtVqEHF0-vnfokKiSRmf0t15kq4ErwKWtRGv42QvpMtJKB5d1eK_xD-cghhIV9PRse15-VQTdYiPdUvhBbT9JvnXjadk11cVWmScjLI1kke1FN/w400-h289/Mildred-Pierce-Ann-Blyth-1945-Oceana-Roll.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Veda's brief and ignominious stint as an entertainer is a personal high point of <i>Mildred Pierce</i>. Especially for my partner, who unfailingly breaks into peals of laughter at Veda's a-moving-target's-hard-to-hit choreography and scarf-flailing, bow-out exit. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>THE STUFF OF FANTASY</b></div><div style="text-align: left;">From writing this blog I've learned that many families and couples have favorite movies that become in-house quotable staples over time. A phenomenon wherein repeated lines of dialogue or references to certain scenes have morphed into shared running gags.</div><div style="text-align: left;">In the 27 years my partner and I have been together, there are still only a handful of movies that have risen to those hallowed ranks. <a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/08/andy-warhols-bad-1977.html" target="_blank">Andy Warhol's BAD</a> is one of them (<i>"O'Reilly O'Crapface."</i>), <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/08/all-about-eve-1950.html" target="_blank">All About Eve</a></i> is another (Birdie - describing the wardrobe mistress: <i>"She's</i> <i>got two things to do: carry clothes and press 'em wrong. And don't let anybody try to muscle in.</i>"). But <i>Mildred Pierce </i>is one of our most frequent go-to's for quotes and phrases repeated out of context that have become inside jokes. Quotes attributed to Veda proving to be a tad overrepresented. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIClXu-F0L2cxFeehxdDRQRUWKh-qPvY8U9AI1omQMK5lTEWDfSCL8gbhoRiIw5VJ_Sesysc7sGkOxkVt7BreIF6H6wOo2EYKvMjntZTCLkIfwasTnzJX3zQjPtKkvX1rYONtM2lpFuM4b0DImJqCfQweKcpO7gqWHPR2R0fVCSLUgu6e5qc70rPRc/s1471/Veda-Ann-Blyth-Mildred-Pierce-1945.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1078" data-original-width="1471" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIClXu-F0L2cxFeehxdDRQRUWKh-qPvY8U9AI1omQMK5lTEWDfSCL8gbhoRiIw5VJ_Sesysc7sGkOxkVt7BreIF6H6wOo2EYKvMjntZTCLkIfwasTnzJX3zQjPtKkvX1rYONtM2lpFuM4b0DImJqCfQweKcpO7gqWHPR2R0fVCSLUgu6e5qc70rPRc/w400-h294/Veda-Ann-Blyth-Mildred-Pierce-1945.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Bert Pierce: <i>"She plays piano like I shoot pool."</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHP80w0Np-OTjOuKKDo3NGtSIY0hvENOdinIQ4FQFnb5y5_QxWrjPqwLJgN8qPvFmGTrKDv-O3VcFIpB1cIxW6D6XBvExA2b99L4apyVMQUfjrtj2jvVn8paMUqQUL1jTw4tiY3Szm8J_UisxA8RDKUIQF4zza5GuURBViKOeVi0YE2o2SXOp_bsL5/s1787/Veda-Ann-Blyth-Mildred-Pierce-1945%20(3).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1302" data-original-width="1787" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHP80w0Np-OTjOuKKDo3NGtSIY0hvENOdinIQ4FQFnb5y5_QxWrjPqwLJgN8qPvFmGTrKDv-O3VcFIpB1cIxW6D6XBvExA2b99L4apyVMQUfjrtj2jvVn8paMUqQUL1jTw4tiY3Szm8J_UisxA8RDKUIQF4zza5GuURBViKOeVi0YE2o2SXOp_bsL5/w400-h291/Veda-Ann-Blyth-Mildred-Pierce-1945%20(3).JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Mildred Pierce: <i>"I took tips and was glad to get them."</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwU2o-xXKAshITLfEzNmnGMMUvUlLV6Joqd1YUSpVpgGImKfqLOk80sGY-z4D6ieUm4zvPSFLdxUFbwpmH6vlWREzgO2SfBaDke9SD-F6yTRFnJ-TPFQ-XiZW6aV2-Ox27-_QGWOQTF-CgbrmSsqDxqz1z-0gQKOrDf6I17WYTqooRCizTI1kN-PPU/s982/Veda-Ann-Blyth-Mildred-Pierce-1945%20(3).png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="719" data-original-width="982" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwU2o-xXKAshITLfEzNmnGMMUvUlLV6Joqd1YUSpVpgGImKfqLOk80sGY-z4D6ieUm4zvPSFLdxUFbwpmH6vlWREzgO2SfBaDke9SD-F6yTRFnJ-TPFQ-XiZW6aV2-Ox27-_QGWOQTF-CgbrmSsqDxqz1z-0gQKOrDf6I17WYTqooRCizTI1kN-PPU/w400-h293/Veda-Ann-Blyth-Mildred-Pierce-1945%20(3).png" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Ida Corwin: <i>"Personally, Veda's convinced me that alligators have the right idea. They eat their young."</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpA3Z22s01MtbjcN655BxD8gd-NAH1ixeJAej0gR3TLOwOzPfhV8W1eTcTHLjeL_uI3fcrPqhV6eadv0oh_PL_WjgWn_IhqErIxPZItQI7x6TpAFdmIOjxEua9MzeozoDppKGPSBt4UJEai3PK6tMCFYqCkp1akW1QZfXHXrTuH42sqmnjgX9vTDdB/s985/Veda-Ann-Blyth-Mildred-Pierce-1945.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="718" data-original-width="985" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpA3Z22s01MtbjcN655BxD8gd-NAH1ixeJAej0gR3TLOwOzPfhV8W1eTcTHLjeL_uI3fcrPqhV6eadv0oh_PL_WjgWn_IhqErIxPZItQI7x6TpAFdmIOjxEua9MzeozoDppKGPSBt4UJEai3PK6tMCFYqCkp1akW1QZfXHXrTuH42sqmnjgX9vTDdB/w400-h291/Veda-Ann-Blyth-Mildred-Pierce-1945.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Mildred Pierce: <i>"I know you romantic guys. One crack about the beautiful moon and you're off to the races."</i></div></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Mildred Pierce</i> may not be as dark or thought-provoking as many of the films that captured my adolescent imagination in the late-'60s, and '70s. </div><div style="text-align: center;">But when I'm in the mood for a good "comfort food movie," <i>Mildred Piece</i> delivers.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmcrGPQQH_fUqj2RkQrCgx5pdqwi9qLwZFlqguTEf_6wIU4rde06yO6QnCQE6YJMAebqKu4nyZxVv7CXNBmoSvT2Blx2mwhCvZ861fnnefEvXzvFwGJvClpptMbItbfFy2wRqez3xQig98hXL__guhFi25eXeMV52Z3wzorv9WvvRa5selYwYBDE95/s1549/Joan-Crawford-Mildred-Pierce-1945-%20Eyes.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1165" data-original-width="1549" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmcrGPQQH_fUqj2RkQrCgx5pdqwi9qLwZFlqguTEf_6wIU4rde06yO6QnCQE6YJMAebqKu4nyZxVv7CXNBmoSvT2Blx2mwhCvZ861fnnefEvXzvFwGJvClpptMbItbfFy2wRqez3xQig98hXL__guhFi25eXeMV52Z3wzorv9WvvRa5selYwYBDE95/w400-h301/Joan-Crawford-Mildred-Pierce-1945-%20Eyes.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>BONUS MATERIAL</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLVUvmii9x9NCxeacJaSDXmjRmt2IA5nqGxwAn1EOQyZnVGY9DPOuEYLabImYQ5AYVaFcWsBaKfFGHXgFQlGy5WzwrK0hTn6wjtXts7TX5F5fPBp-9E4HCZiuNLrthPaGi4cwYESJN8_nDBvMFxXzUcv__itmlH-0zGO6Ou_6YrfsMgmMqJ1BeO80w/s2254/Mildred-Pierce-Evan-Rachel-Wood-Kate-Winslet-2011.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1284" data-original-width="2254" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLVUvmii9x9NCxeacJaSDXmjRmt2IA5nqGxwAn1EOQyZnVGY9DPOuEYLabImYQ5AYVaFcWsBaKfFGHXgFQlGy5WzwrK0hTn6wjtXts7TX5F5fPBp-9E4HCZiuNLrthPaGi4cwYESJN8_nDBvMFxXzUcv__itmlH-0zGO6Ou_6YrfsMgmMqJ1BeO80w/w400-h228/Mildred-Pierce-Evan-Rachel-Wood-Kate-Winslet-2011.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Evan Rachel Wood as Veda and Kate Winslet as Mildred</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;">In 2011, HBO premiered a five-part, five Emmy Award-winning miniseries</div><div style="text-align: center;">adaptation of <i>Mildred Pierce </i>that's so faithful to James M. Cain's novel</div><div style="text-align: center;"> and so different from the 1945 film, there's no need to draw comparisons.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4iw8c8Z-U02QyNK_j5Lj4xsq6XL4DgQNf5aqGraDgRR-Qm0U0YejOjl8LbuG3IHtnViPVmrpTsR-ZewF1Hj7yk-bGZC4Z25xhZqTxXc5fjEkvqihDYP4e2nLvZJFaSWFhCllWuY28bRBao6FA4eBKcVpitLx9U38-UlQ_mGJ9_noX_Hre3sG9HSIh/s1474/Mildred-Pierce-Zachary-Scott-1945-Mrs.%20Skeffington-1944.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1474" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4iw8c8Z-U02QyNK_j5Lj4xsq6XL4DgQNf5aqGraDgRR-Qm0U0YejOjl8LbuG3IHtnViPVmrpTsR-ZewF1Hj7yk-bGZC4Z25xhZqTxXc5fjEkvqihDYP4e2nLvZJFaSWFhCllWuY28bRBao6FA4eBKcVpitLx9U38-UlQ_mGJ9_noX_Hre3sG9HSIh/w400-h293/Mildred-Pierce-Zachary-Scott-1945-Mrs.%20Skeffington-1944.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Bette Davis and Joan Crawford are forever linked in the pop-cultural consciousness, and moments like this don't help. A movie theater across the street from Mildred's Glendale eatery is showing the Bette Davis film <i>Mrs. Skeffington </i>(1944). Prior to this scene, when Mildred is seduced by Monte at his beach house, the music theme playing in the background is "It Can't Be Wrong" the Max Steiner/Kim Gannon melody composed for Bette Davis' <i>Now Voyager </i>(1942)</div><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaOTkDR5WPiJT9cP5zoilm8pa6EMJslCIzyqwWIaSFoOW5WvnKvpHYWgigWy5XQvOb1DCjFjeP_kD6nb1PZXJXkpzeCHRKxP0oZ4pGPt5QQLCMzRsgEWYA3_95I2-Exo9esuHh9TDfIj3iLFXDqpyfwTpOl5ZNBV8-Fcv8Qf-3s1sPwL6nti8OcdF1/s1962/Dead-Ringer-Perry-Blackwell-Bette-Davis-1964-Mildred-Pierce-Eve-Arden-Butterfly-McQueen-1945.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1962" data-original-width="1531" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaOTkDR5WPiJT9cP5zoilm8pa6EMJslCIzyqwWIaSFoOW5WvnKvpHYWgigWy5XQvOb1DCjFjeP_kD6nb1PZXJXkpzeCHRKxP0oZ4pGPt5QQLCMzRsgEWYA3_95I2-Exo9esuHh9TDfIj3iLFXDqpyfwTpOl5ZNBV8-Fcv8Qf-3s1sPwL6nti8OcdF1/w313-h400/Dead-Ringer-Perry-Blackwell-Bette-Davis-1964-Mildred-Pierce-Eve-Arden-Butterfly-McQueen-1945.jpg" width="313" /></a></div>The Davis/Crawford connection continues with that slinky striped number Eve Arden's Ida wears to Veda's 18th birthday party, showing up 19 years later in the Bette-Davis-as-twins-again (<i>A Stolen Life</i> -1946) melodrama <i>Dead Ringer </i>(1964)...that's Bette in the phone booth. It's worn...sans shoulder pads...by jazz legend, pianist-vocalist, Perry Blackwell, who, as of this writing, recently celebrated her 97th birthday. Her granddaughter informed me that Ms. Blackwell was gifted the top by Eve Arden herself and that she recalls seeing it among her grandmother's performance costumes until she was about ten years old. Thanks to reader Richard Lloreda for bringing this costume rerun to my attention.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Rx8rXdKj4Og6HzBVSMPKT8fM1a2ArlIrewNpm4s4sOMv7YZjaQ5c6a6BqSGvsV0RUSh5e_qGlKxKRaVdPZ12Yi24ScB3H-HnPa7EH0I1IWcP7bKR_bpbiS_oksGng13-tF73-jOo7eYdQ3ctVmmtSBaMntX4s_A0NEmouS5mqq6e2HvHMGi-KPyi/s1504/Joan-Crawford-Mildred-Pierce-1945-Carol-Burnett-Mildred-Fierce-Vicki-Lawrence-Harvey-Korman-1976.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1128" data-original-width="1504" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Rx8rXdKj4Og6HzBVSMPKT8fM1a2ArlIrewNpm4s4sOMv7YZjaQ5c6a6BqSGvsV0RUSh5e_qGlKxKRaVdPZ12Yi24ScB3H-HnPa7EH0I1IWcP7bKR_bpbiS_oksGng13-tF73-jOo7eYdQ3ctVmmtSBaMntX4s_A0NEmouS5mqq6e2HvHMGi-KPyi/w400-h300/Joan-Crawford-Mildred-Pierce-1945-Carol-Burnett-Mildred-Fierce-Vicki-Lawrence-Harvey-Korman-1976.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Mildred Pierce - Mildred Fierce</b></td></tr></tbody></table>I saw "Mildred Fierce" - the hilariously spot-in Carol Burnett spoof of <i>Mildred Pierce</i> (The Carol Burnett Show - broadcast November 19, 1976) - many years before I saw the genuine article. When I did finally get around to watching Crawford's film, the Burnett skit had grown so familiar, and its similarities so acute, it took a while for it to sink in that the movie was NOT, in fact, a parody of the Carol Burnett skit!<div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOzWhTi1QBZvIVrZ5mNjiN9WHakTZgucXunwSv7XyscWYFYafw0D1evLLuLxJk9WKAvL8dvX2BvhgemB8ppxjs1F_7xa4DOSOtJyKZVfhjqEetJpQMFWvGwkkmWG921derEWEAHRNVAZUaE6YELOb9x_VnYNsqwHN-RZTg-PdP2T6P4QmASaP3Ofsi/s1802/Mildred-Pierce-Fine-Dining-Joan-Crawford-1945-a.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1300" data-original-width="1802" height="289" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOzWhTi1QBZvIVrZ5mNjiN9WHakTZgucXunwSv7XyscWYFYafw0D1evLLuLxJk9WKAvL8dvX2BvhgemB8ppxjs1F_7xa4DOSOtJyKZVfhjqEetJpQMFWvGwkkmWG921derEWEAHRNVAZUaE6YELOb9x_VnYNsqwHN-RZTg-PdP2T6P4QmASaP3Ofsi/w400-h289/Mildred-Pierce-Fine-Dining-Joan-Crawford-1945-a.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><br /></p></div>Copyright © Ken Anderson 2009 - 2022</div></div>Ken Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04940648971296673233noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2627032459273165000.post-41710629476809184522022-08-22T17:42:00.066-07:002022-08-28T15:22:04.098-07:00THE HONEYMOON KILLERS 1970<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmIFI1cxsd--xzil3swMaPcmvaO52L8sK8nUgaRl9YmXSLS0RjEduTCZgBMyf03VvMANM9eioRDIUJdftGsKS_exR7NmVN5gGosUKV4sTDKHDo3ScEuQ-_elACJ1M8FRPqzoUxgPS5rdB1taloLQxn8REAHGHxry-y-AizPpRyUeqztojcYMERvg63/s2397/Honeymoon-Killers-Leonard-Kastle-1970.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1284" data-original-width="2397" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmIFI1cxsd--xzil3swMaPcmvaO52L8sK8nUgaRl9YmXSLS0RjEduTCZgBMyf03VvMANM9eioRDIUJdftGsKS_exR7NmVN5gGosUKV4sTDKHDo3ScEuQ-_elACJ1M8FRPqzoUxgPS5rdB1taloLQxn8REAHGHxry-y-AizPpRyUeqztojcYMERvg63/w400-h214/Honeymoon-Killers-Leonard-Kastle-1970.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: red; font-size: x-small;"><b>Spoiler Alert: Crucial plot points are revealed </b></span><b style="background-color: white; color: red; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">in the interest of critical analysis and discussion</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>“My Favorite American film.”</i> François Truffaut</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>“One of the purest movies I’ve ever seen.” </i>Michelangelo Antonioni</div><div style="text-align: center;">The Criterion Collection release #200 – DVD in 2003. Blu-ray in 2015.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div>I’m pleased <i>The Honeymoon Killers</i> has finally acquired the kind of mainstream critical acceptance and highbrow cineaste cachet it has always deserved. Precisely the kind of rep that should prevent the future unfamiliar and uninitiated from being scared away--as I was in 1970--by that Drive-In exploitation flick title. Sounding then to me like a movie that belonged on a double-bill with <i>Werewolf in a Girl's Dormitory</i>, I avoided <i>The Honeymoon Killers</i> for years, only finally getting around to seeing it when TCM aired it sometime in the early 2000s.</div><div><br /></div><div>Originally to be titled either <i>Dear Martha </i>or <i>The Lonely Hearts Killers</i> when slated for 1969 release by low-budget independent distributor American International Pictures (of biker and <i>Beach Party </i>movie infamy). When that deal proved short-lived, the small film (lensed in 1968 for $200,000) acquired the grindhouse-friendly title of <i>The Honeymoon Killers</i> and was picked up for 1970 release by the somewhat more upscale Cinerama Releasing; an independent distributor specializing in handling high-profile niche-market films and arty genre movies (<i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/06/they-shoot-horses-dont-they-1969.html" target="_blank">They Shoot Horses, Don’t They?</a></i>, <i>The Killing of Sister George</i>). </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlAxH3zjlgXWjEEPPmb9gI4BqXS_LWmCwdH-Z7aijUcWlLsy3eHGlmucs5uk5vLIrBvFNJ9mY4yfQ9_l0ovERckhxNP2nJ9Q8duSFjiHeSj458gT1wOmF_AOM1oH2bihEsOvEU4Reu8OTIm04UNR4FodoEW3CrHmi3T89Vo5kAp8wrVNwrrVk_bJWj/s1322/Honeymoon-Killers-Newspaper-Ad-Los_Angeles_Times_Sun__Mar_8__1970.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1322" data-original-width="1132" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlAxH3zjlgXWjEEPPmb9gI4BqXS_LWmCwdH-Z7aijUcWlLsy3eHGlmucs5uk5vLIrBvFNJ9mY4yfQ9_l0ovERckhxNP2nJ9Q8duSFjiHeSj458gT1wOmF_AOM1oH2bihEsOvEU4Reu8OTIm04UNR4FodoEW3CrHmi3T89Vo5kAp8wrVNwrrVk_bJWj/w343-h400/Honeymoon-Killers-Newspaper-Ad-Los_Angeles_Times_Sun__Mar_8__1970.jpg" width="343" /></a></div><i><div style="text-align: center;"><i>The Honeymoon Killers</i> opened in Hollywood on Wednesday, March 11, 1970, at the Fox Theater on Hollywood Blvd. Actress Shirley Stoler was in attendance on opening night to judge a "Fat is Beautiful" contest. </div></i><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div>Released in many markets just before Valentine’s Day, <i>The Honeymoon Killers</i>, despite its "Creature Features" title and grisly ad campaign, was surprisingly well-received by critics at the time. But due perhaps to the limited marketing resources of Cinerama Releasing or the film’s overall grim subject matter, it proved to be only a modest success at the boxoffice and quickly disappeared. It did well overseas, and in 1992 was briefly rereleased to art and revival houses in the US where more- appreciative reappraisals still failed to result in a significantly higher profile. Well-regarded and ranked by both of its lead actors as their career favorite film, <i>The Honeymoon Killers</i> never achieved the kind of mainstream recognition its widespread critical acclaim augured, but over the years it has built a steady and devoted cult following, becoming a marquee mainstay at revival theaters and midnight screenings. Today, it’s hailed as a modern classic of gritty realism by first-time director/screenwriter Leonard Kastle, a one-hit wonder who never made another film. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl2yyt1bBigiC3uk7gx3Bz_g3IH1nRp0ccIFOLqEGXHtuXzfobcAkGMCRSiI74YVo8c3MBi32UyuwmBjfrB7OTYSHmHZFFAXCqa0MZieq7KcRut4qqMOwFFEI7jmCfPHD-YRrMSmhbe8G9RLksuyBj7Z7_BhIOYUt5hn5ffIGY-clWm_U6ka5Mt3gP/s2240/Honeymoon-Killers-Shirley-Stoler-1970.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1204" data-original-width="2240" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl2yyt1bBigiC3uk7gx3Bz_g3IH1nRp0ccIFOLqEGXHtuXzfobcAkGMCRSiI74YVo8c3MBi32UyuwmBjfrB7OTYSHmHZFFAXCqa0MZieq7KcRut4qqMOwFFEI7jmCfPHD-YRrMSmhbe8G9RLksuyBj7Z7_BhIOYUt5hn5ffIGY-clWm_U6ka5Mt3gP/w400-h215/Honeymoon-Killers-Shirley-Stoler-1970.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shirley Stoler as Martha Beck</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2FW9b7U0NwM0PWJPXbcLShRTmqToNlnWvC6IRiA484-TYTaomm0VWp-pQHeyX7QQ7Bax7MqaR8eAkxppO4Mb88eiWwltgAFxYUJq_hN8iY-Sr-LqSwY0qmueWXWqf7lpMOtH9zZOoiHEckWCPKId6E91s_peWC7lt5akEMfATUwRi2hzUcu2GZKwP/s1920/Honeymoon-Killers-Tony-Lo-Bianco_1970.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1032" data-original-width="1920" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2FW9b7U0NwM0PWJPXbcLShRTmqToNlnWvC6IRiA484-TYTaomm0VWp-pQHeyX7QQ7Bax7MqaR8eAkxppO4Mb88eiWwltgAFxYUJq_hN8iY-Sr-LqSwY0qmueWXWqf7lpMOtH9zZOoiHEckWCPKId6E91s_peWC7lt5akEMfATUwRi2hzUcu2GZKwP/w400-h215/Honeymoon-Killers-Tony-Lo-Bianco_1970.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tony Lo Bianco as Raymond Fernandez</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvcFdwruWyf5v4hhnSskxHAHDkQ0Px94gzTtaPwi_h0RaNNxNBIxiwzjkdcvdQs91c3WIqfJGKFATbO0HkSj6s4HQi_JX4vmIa3_9LbiuK0p4acAR2qoCZV2zEYTewWGOTQVJTTgwEhCHtPBnhpf16vFjZ8BSTZ-_3mOYxUJgBiXuWjKXnoAYQJrPM/s1920/Doris-Roberts-The-Honeymoon-Killers-1970%20(2).JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1032" data-original-width="1920" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvcFdwruWyf5v4hhnSskxHAHDkQ0Px94gzTtaPwi_h0RaNNxNBIxiwzjkdcvdQs91c3WIqfJGKFATbO0HkSj6s4HQi_JX4vmIa3_9LbiuK0p4acAR2qoCZV2zEYTewWGOTQVJTTgwEhCHtPBnhpf16vFjZ8BSTZ-_3mOYxUJgBiXuWjKXnoAYQJrPM/w400-h215/Doris-Roberts-The-Honeymoon-Killers-1970%20(2).JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Doris Roberts as Bunny</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><i>The Honeymoon Killers</i> is based on one of those stranger-than-fiction true crime cases so bizarre that it has to be toned down just to register as even remotely credible on the screen. An unlikely pair—surly nurse Martha Beck and unctuous con-man Raymond Fernandez—meet through a Lonely Hearts Club, fall in love, and embark on a larcenous, ultimately murderous, partnership swindling lonely widows out of their savings…and doing away with the ones who give them trouble. </div><div>The real-life duo, dubbed the Lonely Hearts Murderers by the press for their practice of finding their victims through meet-by-correspondence Friendship Societies and Lonely Hearts Clubs, embarked on what one journalist referred to as their <i>“Career of lust and murder for profit” </i>in 1947. They were finally arrested for their crimes in 1949, and both executed in 1951.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigZ3OJHXMkhBjDrpOTifwj6dHOlSqpDAUqsr6cyy6Rp9tjRJsfxB_Wb6ef_hWOEzsmNX1a1OjE4c56SPmZmRLmZzTYwAHuuChAGJdMmPE4BLwz3tlJPqY9DJLgh20EhfFQ8uyWwD0RfpY1yaV0mD8cR4gEQiHmVBXYe2S7GvOqsSIPZaS3hgcxUMpj/s2240/Shirley-Stoler-Tony-Lo-Bianco-Honeymoon-Killers-1970.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1204" data-original-width="2240" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigZ3OJHXMkhBjDrpOTifwj6dHOlSqpDAUqsr6cyy6Rp9tjRJsfxB_Wb6ef_hWOEzsmNX1a1OjE4c56SPmZmRLmZzTYwAHuuChAGJdMmPE4BLwz3tlJPqY9DJLgh20EhfFQ8uyWwD0RfpY1yaV0mD8cR4gEQiHmVBXYe2S7GvOqsSIPZaS3hgcxUMpj/w400-h215/Shirley-Stoler-Tony-Lo-Bianco-Honeymoon-Killers-1970.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>To be together as Ray carried out his seduce-and-abandon schemes, the pair posed as brother and sister. In real life, Martha more credibly pretended to be Ray's widowed sister-in-law </b> </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><i>The Honeymoon Killers</i> is bookended by documenting title cards asserting its factual basis. Opening with a printed declaration of the truth of the events to follow, the film closes with a verifying coda citing March 8, 1951, as the date of Martha and Ray’s execution by electric chair in Sing Sing prison. Given all this, what fascinates me is that while the narrative details of the movie hew closely to the facts, absolutely nothing about the film’s appearance…from automobiles to clothing to hairstyles to décor…ever gives the impression of taking place during the years 1947 to 1951. The look is completely late-1960s. In fact, one scene has Martha using a Princess Telephone (invented 9 years after her execution), and another places her in the kitchen with a 1968 wall calendar in view. What fascinates me about all this is that it matters not a whit.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Shu52CJoZB5xkuRBeNp3VUer5eUXkYEZd1-rZArRZORVFImB1KxrhS551_d-f5T06QfpqCzv9L7QwhRxB8E7DEeR9xM9EC4QOSes_GdR4hAnCiuIvqOo_GaekKhYmvQt8_IYeUN8oZcAbNx00fa_CpvQv6gc2WMtrCfbpXMvhLjbiBfrPrrnlkVs/s1548/Honeymoon-Killers-Dortha-Duckworth-Kingston-Trio-Herb-Alpert-James-Michener-1970.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1328" data-original-width="1548" height="344" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Shu52CJoZB5xkuRBeNp3VUer5eUXkYEZd1-rZArRZORVFImB1KxrhS551_d-f5T06QfpqCzv9L7QwhRxB8E7DEeR9xM9EC4QOSes_GdR4hAnCiuIvqOo_GaekKhYmvQt8_IYeUN8oZcAbNx00fa_CpvQv6gc2WMtrCfbpXMvhLjbiBfrPrrnlkVs/w400-h344/Honeymoon-Killers-Dortha-Duckworth-Kingston-Trio-Herb-Alpert-James-Michener-1970.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Martha's mother (played by actress Dortha Duckworth) plays DJ for visiting guest, Ray, the handsome "Latin from Manhattan" who traveled all the way to Alabama to meet (and wheedle money out of) Martha, his most recent Lonely Hearts pen-pal. The LPs lined up for the occasion are several era-specific favorites: The 1958 debut album by The Kingston Trio: Herb Alpert & the Tijuana Brass' ubiquitous 1965 album <i>Whipped Cream & Other Delights,</i> and epic novelist James A. Michener shares his <i>Favorite Music of the South Sea Islands </i>from 1965.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div>Who needs period detail when you have Oliver Wood’s exquisitely grimy, documentary-style B&W cinematography turning every frame into a gritty crime-scene snapshot straight out of a ‘60s issue of True Detective Magazine? I have a hunch that what was perhaps simply a consequence of the film’s prohibitively small budget wound up serendipitously granting <i>The Honeymoon Killers</i> the aura of an intentionally revisionist updating of the traditional ‘40s crime noir. Particularly the nihilistic, gritty, crime noirs like <i>Detour</i> (1945).</div><div><br /></div><div>If it’s true (as historian Ryan Reft suggests in his 2017 essay <i>When Film Noir Reflected an Uneasy America</i>) that ‘40s film noir <i>“…depicted a nation in which the American Dream was treated as a ‘bitter irony,’”</i>; then it's therein that I find in <i>The Honeymoon Killers</i>' '60s look and cynical perspective, a seamless affinity. With its vivid merging of the stark, grainy look of documentary with the impressionistic lighting and stylized framing of film noir, the mood and atmosphere of <i>The Honeymoon Killers</i> resonate with me as reflective of American moral and spiritual ennui during the Vietnam era.</div></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcRSnHaMjT-oAsFFDCJIDDiXg481r3UWdjnxsGL7F3hdJnI1xX_lE26Wv9L_tcypZ2xpElOBcUtWaOYsHIZdldqRhbto1QHq2VDmG-fnOo8Tvi_BDYy6r_OBQAG7oP-qIwxbCI98HFzGcHQh7rbekSzKBqpt7AAR_LyRLF558sONeoqddPEtRREs83/s2240/Honeymoon-Killers-Mary-Jane-Higby-Shirley-Stoler-Tony-LoBianco-1970.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1204" data-original-width="2240" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcRSnHaMjT-oAsFFDCJIDDiXg481r3UWdjnxsGL7F3hdJnI1xX_lE26Wv9L_tcypZ2xpElOBcUtWaOYsHIZdldqRhbto1QHq2VDmG-fnOo8Tvi_BDYy6r_OBQAG7oP-qIwxbCI98HFzGcHQh7rbekSzKBqpt7AAR_LyRLF558sONeoqddPEtRREs83/w400-h215/Honeymoon-Killers-Mary-Jane-Higby-Shirley-Stoler-Tony-LoBianco-1970.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Hungry for Love</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;">Although seen early in the film responding angrily to her mother referring to her as "My little girl," Martha is nonetheless frequently depicted in ways emphasizing her childishness. In scenes shared with Ray and his temporary wives, Martha behaves pretty much like an ill-tempered 200-lb toddler left in their charge. When not complaining, throwing a tantrum, or sulking petulantly, Martha's childlike inability to control her impulses extends to her sexual rapaciousness, her appetite for candy, and her homicidal possessiveness of Ray. A delusionally blinkered devotion fostered by the idealized depiction of adult relationships in her ever-present Romance magazines. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div><div><i>The Honeymoon Killers</i>’ unpleasant characters, blunt violence, and air of austere ugliness is the purposeful attempt on the part of producer Warren Steibel and director-screenwriter Leonard Kastle to rebuke and repudiate the embroidered approach of “based on real events” crime movies like <i>In Cold Blood</i> (1967), <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2012/02/bonnie-clyde-1967.html" target="_blank">Bonnie & Clyde</a></i> (1967), and <i>Butch Cassidy & the Sundance Kid</i> (1969):</div><div><i>“I wanted to do (this film)…in a form that didn’t sentimentalize or romanticize murder. I’ve always thought that the way people like this are represented, in Hollywood especially, is terrible. They are either made too evil, so that they are no longer human, or they are made too sweet, or, sometimes even beautiful.” </i> Leonard Kastle - The News and Observer June 4, 1970</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimZTlws2giqJ4EzVjxXt9gAf4fe7yz35AVy1flGPA5gGpYK9mULRKY1TFgcOTFuOp3lEozM03huwu6Cth9cE8MuK10v13lSMm3pE5B0NZcC8mjImVXdTGBs0_xwgYtnh4XU9vuaDqXLY0pDrwnn5pWM3PvS6xBJs5ZXDtssY1VMpkTiPVsQaiRM74H/s1920/Tony-Lo-Bianco-Shirley-Stoler-The-Honeymoon-Killers-1970.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1032" data-original-width="1920" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimZTlws2giqJ4EzVjxXt9gAf4fe7yz35AVy1flGPA5gGpYK9mULRKY1TFgcOTFuOp3lEozM03huwu6Cth9cE8MuK10v13lSMm3pE5B0NZcC8mjImVXdTGBs0_xwgYtnh4XU9vuaDqXLY0pDrwnn5pWM3PvS6xBJs5ZXDtssY1VMpkTiPVsQaiRM74H/w400-h215/Tony-Lo-Bianco-Shirley-Stoler-The-Honeymoon-Killers-1970.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>The Honeymoon Killers</i> has much to recommend it and is one of those films that feels like it's far more violent than it actually is because of its bleak tone and pervasive air of dread. With each new Lonely Hearts encounter, I found my jaw clenching tighter and tighter. The assured performances of Shirley Stoler and Tony Lo Bianco are compellingly raw in their total disinterest in coming across as sympathetic or likable. I can't say enough good things about the intensely evocative cinematography, and I love the ingenious use of the music of Gustav Mahler on the soundtrack (goosebump-inducing!). </div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div>But had true crime exposé and sensationalism been the only things on the film’s mind, I’m not sure the movie would have held much appeal for me beyond morbid curiosity. But <i>The Honeymoon Killers </i>is anything but your typical crime film (a police presence is nowhere to be seen). A minor masterpiece of the macabre, it’s a contextually rich and narratively provocative film whose dire themes offer a trunkload of things to unpack.</div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4ngeyYle_zBQLiJ7F0QVMZHWnAoe0gJ7U0NOyUNwijKngyLUSiEMzGqLTmsMXQo4dua4dpC_8D5hzBRxdZ0fau8weXe91WdDCGrjZedLjosKtM2vQg4qzeDbtBEcqkXXSrdWgYfr5RabhQl6_kAzJeMlad7rAu1r9UGpugBFOzoIGKKgYRLMZLpMh/s1920/Honeymoon-Killers-Shirley-Stoler-Tony-Lo-Bianco-Leonard%20-Kastle-1970.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1032" data-original-width="1920" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4ngeyYle_zBQLiJ7F0QVMZHWnAoe0gJ7U0NOyUNwijKngyLUSiEMzGqLTmsMXQo4dua4dpC_8D5hzBRxdZ0fau8weXe91WdDCGrjZedLjosKtM2vQg4qzeDbtBEcqkXXSrdWgYfr5RabhQl6_kAzJeMlad7rAu1r9UGpugBFOzoIGKKgYRLMZLpMh/w400-h215/Honeymoon-Killers-Shirley-Stoler-Tony-Lo-Bianco-Leonard%20-Kastle-1970.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><b>WHAT I LOVE ABOUT THIS FILM</b></div><div>In approaching a film like <i>The Honeymoon Killers</i>, I can’t say that I expected to see anything of myself reflected in the grubby saga of these notorious callous murderers. But I did hope that in its characterizations, I’d find traces of something, if not necessarily sympathetic, then perhaps recognizably human. Kastle's perceptive screenplay and the realized performances of the outstanding cast meet this daunting task with admirable sensitivity and an unexpected degree of psychological and social insight. </div><div>Indeed, one of the more unanticipated twists of <i>The Honeymoon Killers </i>is that in its depiction of the nature and design of the duo’s criminality, a shadow portrait of contemporary American culture is painted, allowing the unsavory case of The Lonely Hearts Killers to assert itself as a uniquely American kind of nightmare. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8WSMzL0-48QIdJoNFrOs8gFg-Ita1k1PpmfxIARr7j7hHrtFeAJwFvhYFs4wAgbJSZKrr1jhS0Krde011lchNLqaarD4IDWYkaciM1isY9FrZ9G12kK444_nL8Gb74Nh0hC2Se35N37vn48pC1tPb8PDUoSKx7bsECsHEYmlg6yAWdZdmC37ypf6x/s2424/Honeymoon_Killers-Tony-Lo-Bianco_1970.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1298" data-original-width="2424" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8WSMzL0-48QIdJoNFrOs8gFg-Ita1k1PpmfxIARr7j7hHrtFeAJwFvhYFs4wAgbJSZKrr1jhS0Krde011lchNLqaarD4IDWYkaciM1isY9FrZ9G12kK444_nL8Gb74Nh0hC2Se35N37vn48pC1tPb8PDUoSKx7bsECsHEYmlg6yAWdZdmC37ypf6x/w400-h214/Honeymoon_Killers-Tony-Lo-Bianco_1970.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The CEO<br />Ray refers to his practice of swindling gullible and lonely<br />old ladies out of their savings as his "business."</b><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Martha Beck and Raymond Fernandez, like the grotesques in Nathanael West’s <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2009/07/the-day-of-locust-1975.html" target="_blank">The Day of The Locust</a></i>, are embittered fantasists whose misdirected discontent with their lives fosters contempt for conventional society. An amoral resentment that fuels the compulsion to strike out at a world they perceive as having somehow shortchanged them.</div><div>Ray, in his picayune ambition and greed, is the American “success ethic” writ small. His so-called business being the heteronormatively “unmanly” occupation of trading on his looks and sexual desirability, Ray buttresses his masculine insecurity (linked also to his hatred of women) by adopting an absurd machismo: (To Martha’s suggestion of returning to nursing to pay their bills) <i>“…no woman’s going to support me!” </i> Of course, that’s all women have ever done for him…granted, either unwittingly or posthumously. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvipSB5KFOWgJ9jn9VPKoW1lq6fmcWS_OyA73yWb4C3fj35HSOS9ppd2ljp1nrekd31hcWXIciobvkk-oBQjHSADGSu-VNyGWzImIgGa3Zb7-wwuy-7BMiqD-ZH74po4zc2soHp9FLGr5WNm1C__tO8S90tPsRFmSDmS2ngJ1LbhovYxInyNTT8MCR/s1600/Honeymoon-Killers-Martha-Beck-Shirley-Stoler-1970.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="860" data-original-width="1600" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvipSB5KFOWgJ9jn9VPKoW1lq6fmcWS_OyA73yWb4C3fj35HSOS9ppd2ljp1nrekd31hcWXIciobvkk-oBQjHSADGSu-VNyGWzImIgGa3Zb7-wwuy-7BMiqD-ZH74po4zc2soHp9FLGr5WNm1C__tO8S90tPsRFmSDmS2ngJ1LbhovYxInyNTT8MCR/w400-h215/Honeymoon-Killers-Martha-Beck-Shirley-Stoler-1970.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Nurse Wretched</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">For her part, Martha clings to the romantic banalities of the distaff side of the American Dream that profess a woman’s greatest happiness is found in marriage and family. But with no maternal instincts to speak of (we see her kicking a child’s wagon out of her way as she walks home) and only her emotionally manipulative mother for company, love’s lack has turned Martha into a clenched fist of bitterness. </div><div>The obvious intimation that Martha’s obesity is the cause of her desperate loneliness is quashed about five minutes into the film when it’s confirmed that Martha’s biggest hurdle to intimacy is her astoundingly lousy personality. Surly, sullen, sneaky, and hostile (and let's not forget anti-Semitic), it’s a perverse irony that her only remotely humanizing traits—her love for Ray and the wish that they might be married and move into a house in the suburbs—are responsible for the unleashing of her darkest, most inhumane self. </div><div><br /></div><div>Spreading my <i>The Day of the Locust </i>analogy even thinner, in West’s novel, LA’s disillusioned are depicted as wholly ineffectual as individuals, yet a destructively violent mob when joined with the embittered like-minded. Separately, Martha Beck and Ray Fernandez were but miserable sociopaths living out their drab lives. </div><div>But when they met (to paraphrase Max's famous intro to TV's <i>Hart to Hart</i>)...</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjslk5-ajN920h-Rd3wnpjltQtMxn_zcxyE5bBluumLK2_wwtrB16yJpQNOovF1Bqx90vkLgkwHTvxG7HrLUaUOOVLd-CCiJH40TEV5BoAGo0XDBfTw5xTGyHD15XfFHReLJHIHvBE8MUghSuxOcgImqihWTlYp-68SvxAeEKMlL81RFxpy2KQUH1bB/s1920/The-Honeymoon-Killers+Shirley-Stoler-Tony-Lo-Bianco--1970.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1032" data-original-width="1920" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjslk5-ajN920h-Rd3wnpjltQtMxn_zcxyE5bBluumLK2_wwtrB16yJpQNOovF1Bqx90vkLgkwHTvxG7HrLUaUOOVLd-CCiJH40TEV5BoAGo0XDBfTw5xTGyHD15XfFHReLJHIHvBE8MUghSuxOcgImqihWTlYp-68SvxAeEKMlL81RFxpy2KQUH1bB/w400-h215/The-Honeymoon-Killers+Shirley-Stoler-Tony-Lo-Bianco--1970.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>...it was murder.</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><b>THE STUFF OF <strike>DREAMS</strike> NIGHTMARES</b></div><div>The most fitting term I’ve heard coined to describe the look and feel of <i>The Honeymoon Killers</i> is American Gothic. Indeed, its low camera angles and deep shadows call to mind gothic horror as readily as film noir. But also, in Ray and Martha’s cynical exploitation of lonely women whose unfiltered, often foolish, belief in the “Happily Ever After” ideals of romantic myth leave them vulnerable to opportunists; <i>The Honeymoon Killers</i> offers mordant commentary on the foundational myths of American culture (marriage, morality, religion, patriotism). A harsh indictment and social critique consistent with late-‘60s zeitgeist cinema expressing disillusionment with the American Dream.</div><div><br /></div><div>Nobody’s dreams are realized in <i>The Honeymoon Killers</i>.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQPyWMFwLdONNnKUfxPRyZEy-NTXHwiunPv2-Q8q2DQB6kCQJQqGKLyLZdxyZRvjz7NtNw3fWvSMYx-oc7vHbKFD4-nUbZo39U_ti4bTAGjbF4yziwZjzJTxMeGOow9bvunLKKt5EneBJOvCkY3h1P5RCZSlBczSIXwfq8mYE2jcQDCOUJlZDA3idb/s2240/Honeymoon-Killers-Shirley-Stoler-Tony-Lo-Bianco-Ann-Harris-1970%20(2).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1204" data-original-width="2240" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQPyWMFwLdONNnKUfxPRyZEy-NTXHwiunPv2-Q8q2DQB6kCQJQqGKLyLZdxyZRvjz7NtNw3fWvSMYx-oc7vHbKFD4-nUbZo39U_ti4bTAGjbF4yziwZjzJTxMeGOow9bvunLKKt5EneBJOvCkY3h1P5RCZSlBczSIXwfq8mYE2jcQDCOUJlZDA3idb/w400-h215/Honeymoon-Killers-Shirley-Stoler-Tony-Lo-Bianco-Ann-Harris-1970%20(2).jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Ann Harris as Doris Acker</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">The blushing bride is a New Jersey schoolteacher for whom Ray's disdain is displayed early on when he accidentally-on-purpose refers to her as a spinster. And most certainly later when he consummates the marriage with his "sister" instead of his wife. Robbed of $2000 and some jewelry, Doris escapes sadder but wiser, the biggest crime committed during that honeymoon being the atonal rendition of “America the Beautiful” she sings in the tub. </div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWvx6uU0WkKrUAJaC6GwIrUBmG9WN7OXd-qNJ-bWYqTqHKwhI4S8t4BXapmWekRFLtVUNmSFLu3b4_DvvO54M3CXfWkP3am7yVPjG371Azcypn5pm4iJBc8CPyP81DFXvdWxc01fCLsg_qA81QAaMTHBYr3H7MY86gH8cSbqy7mqhRFsIkSWk1NBSI/s2240/Honeymoon-Killers-Marilyn-Chris-Tony-Lo-Bianco-1970.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1204" data-original-width="2240" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWvx6uU0WkKrUAJaC6GwIrUBmG9WN7OXd-qNJ-bWYqTqHKwhI4S8t4BXapmWekRFLtVUNmSFLu3b4_DvvO54M3CXfWkP3am7yVPjG371Azcypn5pm4iJBc8CPyP81DFXvdWxc01fCLsg_qA81QAaMTHBYr3H7MY86gH8cSbqy7mqhRFsIkSWk1NBSI/w400-h215/Honeymoon-Killers-Marilyn-Chris-Tony-Lo-Bianco-1970.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Marilyn Chris as Myrtle Young</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">As cons go, Ray’s 2nd marriage is kinda on the up and up. To keep up appearances and stay in good with her wealthy family, Myrtle pays Ray $4000 to marry her so she can have a husband’s name on the birth certificate when she delivers her illegitimate child fathered by <i>“…a certain married sonofabitch”</i> back in Arkansas. Things only begin to go south for the Southern belle when she starts to show some “not in the contract” sexual interest in Ray.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZJ9TtTv04uRfO4IsRmAfPxEm6GO_ZxMabHLpVbWRu7RjUPpOdM1VMkFKKzClE0WDFkzbH4DgT3oSXcEpeWOP_ZQ9TaOQ3cpVoDakNIbnojPaKL6eLwls9F5mhEBpSLJ1oEYXZyPGJmlwPMZ_izcE2tXSlYTAY04EVzheJO_N6ytftOQQFp3rD5kuu/s2240/Tony-Lo-Bianco-Barbara-Cason-Shirley-Stoler-Honeymoon-Killers-1970.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1204" data-original-width="2240" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZJ9TtTv04uRfO4IsRmAfPxEm6GO_ZxMabHLpVbWRu7RjUPpOdM1VMkFKKzClE0WDFkzbH4DgT3oSXcEpeWOP_ZQ9TaOQ3cpVoDakNIbnojPaKL6eLwls9F5mhEBpSLJ1oEYXZyPGJmlwPMZ_izcE2tXSlYTAY04EVzheJO_N6ytftOQQFp3rD5kuu/w400-h215/Tony-Lo-Bianco-Barbara-Cason-Shirley-Stoler-Honeymoon-Killers-1970.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Barbara Cason as Evelyn Long</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">A merciful misfire. A mix-up match-up brought about by Ray mistaking Evelyn's boarding house for a mansion, the union is doomed from the start due to the atypically youngish woman being intelligent, gentle-natured, and athletic. In short, everything Martha is not. In an ironic twist, Martha’s jealousy actually ends up saving Evelyn from harm and heist.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGBEPGz4bZVG_CSzUkswy3n6xnmNNh5l8qCVV5lQiA_UYmxU2ZqCgUqfoymefjaC1zKon0SlyZCWjw_PZKt4V-UAnAeUPqg5cNDGB6BkNJVUELJDpJXqszGeheieDC3XUCzUQOuMoMbrWGnTZ3KZ_QN5nHUzKntIk09uKGoOQE9SxOwT03dNJnoYPj/s1920/Honeymoon-Killers-Mary-Jane-Higby-1970.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1032" data-original-width="1920" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGBEPGz4bZVG_CSzUkswy3n6xnmNNh5l8qCVV5lQiA_UYmxU2ZqCgUqfoymefjaC1zKon0SlyZCWjw_PZKt4V-UAnAeUPqg5cNDGB6BkNJVUELJDpJXqszGeheieDC3XUCzUQOuMoMbrWGnTZ3KZ_QN5nHUzKntIk09uKGoOQE9SxOwT03dNJnoYPj/w400-h215/Honeymoon-Killers-Mary-Jane-Higby-1970.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Mary Jane Higby as Janet Fay</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">The absolute jewel in the crown sequence of <i>The Honeymoon Killers</i>. Higby as Janet Fay--a pious, penny-pinching, amateur hat-maker with one of the most spot-on hilarious speech patterns--would walk away with this virtuoso vignette had not Stoler and Lo Bianco brought out the big guns and so seriously killed it (bad, ill-timed pun) with the drop-dead (sorry, folks) chilling intensity of their performances in this sequence. Walking a delicate tightrope between black comedy and darkly disturbing horror, the film turns a corner with this segment, and Mary Jane Higby gives one of my all-time favorite supporting role performances. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDUlvAUArXjZ0Vrjd5J9rGEXh8Kt7GBLnmHFDX0SwM7i6jlpJ0vekBO1DxKopSoLFkyaNiq9ETFLAXINzLPhBvZOr4Zpc81FT2RfAZj2wRa5vMgmUNYzugwhfKwgRL5S2_Zr-hNh8yyc9-B_EB2PtWVAQPdjn7qCuzo88rE6t9rpxLJQsuKA7Vr8bc/s2240/Honeymoon-Killers-Kip%20McArdle-Mary-Breen-1970.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1204" data-original-width="2240" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDUlvAUArXjZ0Vrjd5J9rGEXh8Kt7GBLnmHFDX0SwM7i6jlpJ0vekBO1DxKopSoLFkyaNiq9ETFLAXINzLPhBvZOr4Zpc81FT2RfAZj2wRa5vMgmUNYzugwhfKwgRL5S2_Zr-hNh8yyc9-B_EB2PtWVAQPdjn7qCuzo88rE6t9rpxLJQsuKA7Vr8bc/w400-h215/Honeymoon-Killers-Kip%20McArdle-Mary-Breen-1970.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Kip McArdle & Mary Breen as Delphine Downing and daughter Rainelle</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">Ray has plans to marry this pleasant military who irks Martha with her youth, avid patriotism (she throws birthday parties for ex-Presidents), and penchant for serving health foods. Things go wrong in a hurry and in a big way when Martha learns that her sweetheart...remember him, the professional liar?...has been (surprise!) lying to her. </div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYZmk00GWSTJlciWA-gZRe59kl3SIB0aJLA3t-ZBBc0wVnZkpdm2EbfwjeybWkui4riF_UoN5pr9Oht0ux_vbHIYkRyu892gCFnJMGE66sWe-BGp75eaWvPQ56_PredTx2S-Guz0j8Ia-NtcF-tTa4zwZQv_KRuz10yEHcXpCITIyI1QTgQWJycDSM/s2240/Shirley-Stoler-Honeymoon-Killers-1970.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1204" data-original-width="2240" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYZmk00GWSTJlciWA-gZRe59kl3SIB0aJLA3t-ZBBc0wVnZkpdm2EbfwjeybWkui4riF_UoN5pr9Oht0ux_vbHIYkRyu892gCFnJMGE66sWe-BGp75eaWvPQ56_PredTx2S-Guz0j8Ia-NtcF-tTa4zwZQv_KRuz10yEHcXpCITIyI1QTgQWJycDSM/w400-h215/Shirley-Stoler-Honeymoon-Killers-1970.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>"You promised!"</b></i></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>PERFORMANCES</b></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>“I always made sure I wasn’t a sight gag. I used my weight as an ominous instrument”</i> - Shirley Stoler in a 1998 interview (she died in 1999) for <a href="https://www.scribd.com/doc/110469955/Shirley-Stoler-Interview-Index-6-98" target="_blank">Index Magazine</a>.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Shirley Stoler (who would later appear in Lina Wertmüller's <i>Seven Beauties</i> and--most memorably for me---as Mrs. Steve in the first season of <i>Pee Wee's Playhouse</i>) is flawless as Martha Beck. When <i>The Honeymoon Killers</i> was made, a woman of plus-size was a familiar staple of comedy, but extremely rare in a dramatic context or as a character meant to be regarded seriously. Typical of both the era and the genre, when it came to marketing the film, Martha Beck's weight was a central focus of exploitation. Posters for <i>The Honeymoon Killers</i> sought to shock with images of Stoler posed assertively or erotically (caressed and kissed by a shirtless Lo Bianco) in her underwear. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In the film itself, Martha's weight is treated with far less sensationalism. In fact, the movie is cannily content to let viewers implicate themselves as to whether or not they find the romantic and sexually-charged pairing of these two reprehensible murderers more distasteful because of who they are or because of the disparity of their appearance. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAZoR4VqwhUsNtrEFE3aOTdn7RiYUikMrsdPisInbdIxKaYGT--P9HWYqxm5ZBsXaVxSvJ-Rc2qd3pdp8u4X118UEGtNu9XJofnNYdKLdFd4VFKKABBXNoKHNNF8YM3VrJ4q3AYxRVpzpSFfcUuHIf__n_FK2A6u9MAPQP0Red0FKA7hSKwHqHYGaA/s2240/Honeymoon-Killers-Shirley-Stoler-Tony-Lo-Bianco_1970%20(2).JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1204" data-original-width="2240" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAZoR4VqwhUsNtrEFE3aOTdn7RiYUikMrsdPisInbdIxKaYGT--P9HWYqxm5ZBsXaVxSvJ-Rc2qd3pdp8u4X118UEGtNu9XJofnNYdKLdFd4VFKKABBXNoKHNNF8YM3VrJ4q3AYxRVpzpSFfcUuHIf__n_FK2A6u9MAPQP0Red0FKA7hSKwHqHYGaA/w400-h215/Honeymoon-Killers-Shirley-Stoler-Tony-Lo-Bianco_1970%20(2).JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Bad Romance</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">Shirley Stoler's performance is so dynamic that Tony Lo Bianco's seductively sinister portrait of evil is often overlooked. Playing a manipulative sociopath who dons many masks (and a toupée) to get what he wants; Lo Bianco is assigned the difficult, hall of mirrors task of imbuing a shoddy, superficial loser with layers of depth that are both inaccessible and unrecognized to him, yet must be conveyed to the audience. Lo Bianco has two remarkable scenes (both involving heinous acts of violence) in which Ray's cracked facade reveals the weak, dependent man underneath. The pitiful beast behind the beauty.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2eDH0pS5f0gy4FZMgtLsFxcTQtrHafQUJj5IFuP-xDAPOCb5kiL8c462RJHezWgcIio5AGp48VZ6IwCztIpSag1oorVaqnwgdeqXgaekiF5EaI9Sy2071oSNh-Ysg_dqFpN_K6dqpyzw3BMoKBhN4OTWTkB810L5gL144m07CY4_xFAYZrIb0_2CT/s2240/Tony-Lo-Bianco-Shirley-Stoler_Honeymoon-Killers-1970%20(2).JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1204" data-original-width="2240" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2eDH0pS5f0gy4FZMgtLsFxcTQtrHafQUJj5IFuP-xDAPOCb5kiL8c462RJHezWgcIio5AGp48VZ6IwCztIpSag1oorVaqnwgdeqXgaekiF5EaI9Sy2071oSNh-Ysg_dqFpN_K6dqpyzw3BMoKBhN4OTWTkB810L5gL144m07CY4_xFAYZrIb0_2CT/w400-h215/Tony-Lo-Bianco-Shirley-Stoler_Honeymoon-Killers-1970%20(2).JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>A nightmare of psychosexual dysfunction</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">Cinema's conventional gender inequity of exposing the female form while keeping the male body clothed is reversed in <i>The Honeymoon Killers. </i>The camera trains a scopophilic eye on Ray, centralizing his body in various states of exposure and undress. Ray's body is presented to us in a manner not dissimilar to the way Ray uses his body in his profession...for purposeful display and deliberate enticement.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>THE STUFF OF LEGACY </b></div><div style="text-align: left;">One factoid about <i>The Honeymoon Killers</i> that doesn’t get much traction (if any) is that it is a work of Queer Cinema. Not for content (although I suppose one could mount a critical theory around latency being behind Ray's narcissism, sexual self-objectification, and manifest hatred of women), but because the film is the collaborative creation of two gay men. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzZO_DIREcFcR-vqeuC8UHbwFZnowzDpn8E-kzjFuycGMdSI3rnNLJUIMguW1p1ORoZ-_si-KLp8nCWVFIwl3FFGRwRTG9ongWZIAMmBlHgVwxybrea3kDT3pKET1faIgk8vY7g-DtXqKqYDbA1ZDhPm6D_7yidcRws8_n-hdxtI0Hl2JwUrXbp3jY/s2431/Honeymoon_Killers-Tony-Lo-Bianco-1970.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1295" data-original-width="2431" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzZO_DIREcFcR-vqeuC8UHbwFZnowzDpn8E-kzjFuycGMdSI3rnNLJUIMguW1p1ORoZ-_si-KLp8nCWVFIwl3FFGRwRTG9ongWZIAMmBlHgVwxybrea3kDT3pKET1faIgk8vY7g-DtXqKqYDbA1ZDhPm6D_7yidcRws8_n-hdxtI0Hl2JwUrXbp3jY/w400-h213/Honeymoon_Killers-Tony-Lo-Bianco-1970.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Sex Sells<br />To better secure a distribution deal, small-budget independent filmmakers are encouraged to make sure their movies have enough "sex." This usually translates to frequently exposing the female form to the hetero male gaze. <i>The Honeymoon Killers </i>provocatively breaks with tradition in having Ray be the film's "sex" object, with the camera often adopting the hetero-female and/or queer male gaze.</b> <br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">Director/screenwriter Leonard Kastle (an opera composer and music professor at the State University of New York in Albany) and producer of <i>The Honeymoon Killers</i> Warren Steibel (Emmy Award-winning TV producer) were a couple who shared a life for 25 years in their home in New Lebanon, NY. Their personal and professional relationship dissolved in 1980, several years after which Kastle sued Steibel for business fraud, a claim Steibel sought to have dismissed by the courts on the grounds that he believed the lawsuit was merely a bid for palimony. </div><div style="text-align: left;">That Kastle & Steibel had to be closeted or discreet during their years together is understandable, as they must have met in the 1950s and Steibel produced the conservative TV news commentary program<i> Firing Lin</i>e hosted by William F. Buckley Jr. But since their deaths (Steibel in 2002, 2011 for Kastle) it's dismaying to read contemporary bios and articles referring to these two single, childless, middle-aged men as having been "roommates" for 25 years. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguXcnO1pmVXrkTsQnfn4Uxn-PJoaqbeBzmc2DSK0CBI1qYjP3iGaG4_n6mct2Fl8xnBT8cfzDyxtPjLHi-zBbfU9h1P4GkezjOIbmzh_xghPVv59E4R9ehGLU1wj94vdLS4bh8MTJsgbFYvrUvul2vjArlb4EmziQbWG_KfFz73vJmNoNgESe0w05o/s1528/Leonard-Kastle-The-Honeymoon-Killers-1970-Director-Screenwriter.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="860" data-original-width="1528" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguXcnO1pmVXrkTsQnfn4Uxn-PJoaqbeBzmc2DSK0CBI1qYjP3iGaG4_n6mct2Fl8xnBT8cfzDyxtPjLHi-zBbfU9h1P4GkezjOIbmzh_xghPVv59E4R9ehGLU1wj94vdLS4bh8MTJsgbFYvrUvul2vjArlb4EmziQbWG_KfFz73vJmNoNgESe0w05o/w400-h225/Leonard-Kastle-The-Honeymoon-Killers-1970-Director-Screenwriter.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Leonard Kastle </b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">Much is made of and considerable mystery surrounds the fact that Leonard Kastle, whose debut feature film was hailed by the likes of Truffaut and Antonioni, never made another movie. Shirley Stoler in the aforementioned Index Magazine interview and Tony Lo Bianco in a <a href="https://youtu.be/1EbT9NIr9jg" target="_blank">2021 YouTube interview </a>for the Albany Film Festival offer at least one possible answer. Both state that Kastle--who was never slated to direct the film to begin with--had <i>"no experience" </i>and was<i>“no director,”</i> and that the person who really did the lion's share of the directing and shaping of <i>The Honeymoon Killers</i> was the same man responsible for its distinctive and celebrated look...British cinematographer Oliver Wood (<i>The Bourne Ultimatum</i>, <i>Fantastic Four</i>, <i>Safe House</i>). </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-VRPPxuhK0Ghxi0pY4DR6Ig3hduRDCCpdyV5JwFWNtJ3VEi33CHCC1dqnUMIGnFlLUT2mKO9snW1tPdiDgK_DD6FND19a2ruaxCiHyrJED_UtRiw45S7CnQy2vvlRXOi3Y107Dy5llZCpXE-YwfxXNLJrZjqBqddsy0Bq_tjw3rttumfEC11a1Lk8/s2240/300%20Honeymoon-Killers-Dortha-Duckworth-Doris-Roberts-Shirley-Stoler-1970.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1204" data-original-width="2240" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-VRPPxuhK0Ghxi0pY4DR6Ig3hduRDCCpdyV5JwFWNtJ3VEi33CHCC1dqnUMIGnFlLUT2mKO9snW1tPdiDgK_DD6FND19a2ruaxCiHyrJED_UtRiw45S7CnQy2vvlRXOi3Y107Dy5llZCpXE-YwfxXNLJrZjqBqddsy0Bq_tjw3rttumfEC11a1Lk8/w400-h215/300%20Honeymoon-Killers-Dortha-Duckworth-Doris-Roberts-Shirley-Stoler-1970.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Looking at the magnificent composition in this low-angle shot: oppressive ceiling, packing boxes, Martha's soon-to-be-abandoned mother sitting despondently in the far distance with her exit doorway not far behind, the tacky TV trays, the dowdy housedresses whose similarity underscores Martha and Bunny's conspiratorial closeness...it's hard to doubt or second guess Oliver Wood's influence and impact on the production.</b> <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Assisting Wood with the directing chores was Tony Lo Bianco, at the time an experienced theatrical director and the creator of NY’s The Triangle Theater. He helped the first-time screenwriter Leonard whittle down the script before the film’s original director, young Martin Scorsese, took the helm. Scorsese was fired after two weeks for working too slowly (Lo Bianco cites the scenes at the lake and the railroad station as Scorsese’s work). Both stars relate that directing duties then fell briefly to a second individual, an unnamed ex-film editor described by Stoler as <i>“...a kind of quasi-derelict.”</i> Oliver Wood then took over directing the film in an unofficial capacity and, according to Lo Bianco, Kastle only came onto the film as director during its final days, directing the film for <i>“A week and a half or two weeks, tops" </i>yet claiming sole onscreen credit as director.</div></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpBmO7cKT2zkg1FADJ01mQbKXae69H0QXM5vmwvOGC35Rk2MRc2Vk66TKxy4Hb-w9vVDWUrFEyeu5JVKZWtDFywCoXezM8ZTGPeAX1s3Dhbkr_3CyFsl_x9StLy4gGaltokte1CjaclFSkEGdBEAV1z9iZ2zdx2H4Zq8a5CCD9-s4p3nwsWeJalpwF/s2048/Honeymoon-Killers-Leonard-Castle-Aunt-Carrie-Lonelyhearts-Club-1970.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1100" data-original-width="2048" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpBmO7cKT2zkg1FADJ01mQbKXae69H0QXM5vmwvOGC35Rk2MRc2Vk66TKxy4Hb-w9vVDWUrFEyeu5JVKZWtDFywCoXezM8ZTGPeAX1s3Dhbkr_3CyFsl_x9StLy4gGaltokte1CjaclFSkEGdBEAV1z9iZ2zdx2H4Zq8a5CCD9-s4p3nwsWeJalpwF/w400-h215/Honeymoon-Killers-Leonard-Castle-Aunt-Carrie-Lonelyhearts-Club-1970.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div><b>BONUS MATERIAL</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiypVz-yEmt297dGIJirc7tw4R9KNL23epx35eebOWD7c7Lsev5WiVHfa1MADDDiYpqiE0sARhIv4ciID_tR66kpgWE9Yk1BJYYtI8GpkD24QhpxO52JYUzH0qvJGpDvqw4jGvx5SDv9LDuAnjjHqrHVw6hyC4c3GCv8KLJTqYE1RtvOUKHy29zJH4v/s1993/The-Honeymoon-Killers-Shirley-Stoler-Tony-Lo-Bianco-1970-Ray-Fernandez-Martha-Back-1951-newspaper.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1993" data-original-width="1480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiypVz-yEmt297dGIJirc7tw4R9KNL23epx35eebOWD7c7Lsev5WiVHfa1MADDDiYpqiE0sARhIv4ciID_tR66kpgWE9Yk1BJYYtI8GpkD24QhpxO52JYUzH0qvJGpDvqw4jGvx5SDv9LDuAnjjHqrHVw6hyC4c3GCv8KLJTqYE1RtvOUKHy29zJH4v/w298-h400/The-Honeymoon-Killers-Shirley-Stoler-Tony-Lo-Bianco-1970-Ray-Fernandez-Martha-Back-1951-newspaper.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The fictional and real Ray Fernandez and Martha Beck</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE0fu5v6IhdJj2V6EPRqRjiCnptRqYSYsO3QrKE7y_cwX1PbMZPcnOS6qeeK1-xHI-sUpQzG3oK9VyhScK7PqPC98W0p59q4xw3abieE38AIE86LIurO7p2hgCMgMI0OvwaQcQzeX5PepKHTXKb-sQu-g9QPhTRFjnrgMYPOGU2rVmR78wr_UHTRxs/s1095/Guy_Sorel_and_Mary_Jane_Higby,_1953-The-Honeymoon-Killers-1970.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1008" data-original-width="1095" height="295" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE0fu5v6IhdJj2V6EPRqRjiCnptRqYSYsO3QrKE7y_cwX1PbMZPcnOS6qeeK1-xHI-sUpQzG3oK9VyhScK7PqPC98W0p59q4xw3abieE38AIE86LIurO7p2hgCMgMI0OvwaQcQzeX5PepKHTXKb-sQu-g9QPhTRFjnrgMYPOGU2rVmR78wr_UHTRxs/w320-h295/Guy_Sorel_and_Mary_Jane_Higby,_1953-The-Honeymoon-Killers-1970.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The Honeymooners<br />The late actor Guy Sorel (who portrays Mr. Dranoff, the hospital administrator who fires Martha for the obscene letters he finds in her desk) and popular radio actress Mary Jane Higby (who plays the ill-fated Janet Fay) were a couple in real life. Married in 1945. Isn't that cute? <br /><br /></b></td></tr></tbody></table></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBHcviozXYl5GjID1kke2EETTZshvTbb_nQjK6M4yokDmRT9sglQIxyXfuM1JdjycoSpF3ky8aZpmjWdeuYsAWMulohiYxtqGC5NClNapyS2uyeOuxuLwO-_8folpHUaVGRqFIsEGWIwM68-YjQ_qF50_ORld50cjkN3v129JUOmSjH2XIDo4PHjMA/s1579/Deep-Crimson-Regina-Orozco-Daniel-Gimenez-Cacho-1996.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="891" data-original-width="1579" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBHcviozXYl5GjID1kke2EETTZshvTbb_nQjK6M4yokDmRT9sglQIxyXfuM1JdjycoSpF3ky8aZpmjWdeuYsAWMulohiYxtqGC5NClNapyS2uyeOuxuLwO-_8folpHUaVGRqFIsEGWIwM68-YjQ_qF50_ORld50cjkN3v129JUOmSjH2XIDo4PHjMA/w400-h226/Deep-Crimson-Regina-Orozco-Daniel-Gimenez-Cacho-1996.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Regina Orozco and Daniel Giminez Cacho in <i>Deep Crimson</i> (1996)</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">The Beck/Fernandez "Lonely Hearts Killers" case has served as the inspiration for at least three other films that I know of. To date, the only one I've seen is the superb <i>Deep Crimson</i> (<i>Profundo Carmesí</i>) -1996 by Mexican director Arturo Ripstein. In 2006 Todd Robinson directed Jared Leto and Selma Hayek(!) in a more police investigation-centric retelling of the story titled <i>Lonely Hearts.</i> And <i>Alleluia</i> (2015) is a French/Belgian adaptation directed by Fabrice Du Welz that updates the story to a contemporary setting. </div></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjglxNesFYeV9SOsE8Etfp_X37VgdKugagptBYfvk_NXDJZU3juRHtBjb1Jl_JgI3dOxLk_xTML3Fjb_cXps1NNAzWZDf-tWIH14kuPLSSQ4F1aP1sWoPx-vnW_8sI8-PotcFMQRLPGwwz6G14wCYmTgpmqdiAq9Z816NYm5k5ItdUk_j9SgmZkk1n/s2730/The-Honeymoon-Killers-movie-poster-1970-Tony-Lo-Bianco-Shirley-Stoler.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1833" data-original-width="2730" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjglxNesFYeV9SOsE8Etfp_X37VgdKugagptBYfvk_NXDJZU3juRHtBjb1Jl_JgI3dOxLk_xTML3Fjb_cXps1NNAzWZDf-tWIH14kuPLSSQ4F1aP1sWoPx-vnW_8sI8-PotcFMQRLPGwwz6G14wCYmTgpmqdiAq9Z816NYm5k5ItdUk_j9SgmZkk1n/w400-h269/The-Honeymoon-Killers-movie-poster-1970-Tony-Lo-Bianco-Shirley-Stoler.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div>Copyright © Ken Anderson 2009 - 2022</div></div>Ken Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04940648971296673233noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2627032459273165000.post-19838739151393282792022-07-10T05:34:00.014-07:002022-08-15T20:45:02.595-07:00THE MAGIC CHRISTIAN 1969<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9uGIJHmIn40IsPJPBsMgbw7b8T_18rf-s-K-N2lW6Ia3Oz3aFBsEnU_f6xF75-a20xapatybTCbzAoR6N9tiW7TydKQPfZIfm9PeLnLe3_Abx27q_EntVqs-mEH-X7zJXuf_m0oitJcPkNDUHA1zXgk9YziBFev4ISfqq3U1sIg_vSpsOh8gsd9ea/s1920/Magic-Christian-1969-Ringo-Starr-Peter-Sellers-.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9uGIJHmIn40IsPJPBsMgbw7b8T_18rf-s-K-N2lW6Ia3Oz3aFBsEnU_f6xF75-a20xapatybTCbzAoR6N9tiW7TydKQPfZIfm9PeLnLe3_Abx27q_EntVqs-mEH-X7zJXuf_m0oitJcPkNDUHA1zXgk9YziBFev4ISfqq3U1sIg_vSpsOh8gsd9ea/w400-h225/Magic-Christian-1969-Ringo-Starr-Peter-Sellers-.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i>If You Want It, Here It Is, Come and Get It. Mm...Mm...Mm...Mm</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="color: red;">State of the World - 2022</span>: The world’s richest men are eccentric billionaires who, proportionate to the degree to which their hoarded obscene wealth could ease human suffering, have fundamentally taken on the role of real-life supervillains.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="color: red;">State of Mind - 1969</span>: Terry Southern’s anti-capitalism satire <i>The Magic Christian </i>– about an eccentric billionaire who spends his money orchestrating elaborate practical jokes exposing the avarice, bigotry, and hypocrisy of the over-privileged classes – is made into a major motion picture.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGvuDaU9zt8VAxBzNKtr3_QAWkXLBoN47U0CbPCtqOD4xiLyJvzjc0Rva6EfqUAnJqmC2uFSozdsqXHBmDSRDK1rqSptCAA_3sgfVU31iFEtbg4xE9xvGvvx3YTV1yThn2mYca478uGnO7Ix5SoAnk2Q-PSe1GPSAKld7fhLonD77kc4hn8FEVaBNc/s1920/Magic-Christian-Peter-Sellers-1969.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGvuDaU9zt8VAxBzNKtr3_QAWkXLBoN47U0CbPCtqOD4xiLyJvzjc0Rva6EfqUAnJqmC2uFSozdsqXHBmDSRDK1rqSptCAA_3sgfVU31iFEtbg4xE9xvGvvx3YTV1yThn2mYca478uGnO7Ix5SoAnk2Q-PSe1GPSAKld7fhLonD77kc4hn8FEVaBNc/w400-h225/Magic-Christian-Peter-Sellers-1969.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Peter Sellers as Sir Guy Grand</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3ZGNWpsUxsYq3DMyRi92U4fWZDsW79xKjByHUD7b2yVwjbOoyj9mEPGn2JqFYr7l8VHziYivLYpHg_aabzdcNxopHhlUg9-ZpFMO3UeZjAUzKXLsZBwdI_1VIFtQTGiYRcX48_IoFB_GUtAhQ9Q3STCvvY8twC-bPpjasPyNKfxf2gcP28jraT31U/s2400/The-Magic-Christian-Ringo-Starr-1969.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="2400" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3ZGNWpsUxsYq3DMyRi92U4fWZDsW79xKjByHUD7b2yVwjbOoyj9mEPGn2JqFYr7l8VHziYivLYpHg_aabzdcNxopHhlUg9-ZpFMO3UeZjAUzKXLsZBwdI_1VIFtQTGiYRcX48_IoFB_GUtAhQ9Q3STCvvY8twC-bPpjasPyNKfxf2gcP28jraT31U/w400-h225/The-Magic-Christian-Ringo-Starr-1969.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ringo Starr as Youngman Grand</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">One of the nicer things I remember about the late-‘60s was its social and political idealism. From my pre-teen perspective, it felt like young adults all across the country were collectively waking up to the inequities and injustices of society and were serious in their commitment to the belief that change was possible. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">Capitalism, being what it is, was also doing some waking up at this time. In the form of noticing that the disposable income of this sizable demographic was being freely spent on goods and entertainments that reflected their values, supported and promoted their beliefs, and gave the appearance of being, if not exactly one <i>of</i> them, at least at one <i>with</i> them. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvXFVHItFLKirvPlkJu7WWaATO2rAYzf8GgebF2KBlfprs4qOdLBqpkyaHBSOvBwF4RIhfGTV949Ou1bjNlFqIVHJmipO0MJ6BgepRyAO1iUM5RhjJq2sORb-w8xDBpKH0RgVbcmvebKLtVnLFWmWXy7DsyoWD3at0cLrB9l3-27bntThJemsFvP4i/s2400/Raquel-Welch-The-Magic-Christian_1969.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="2400" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvXFVHItFLKirvPlkJu7WWaATO2rAYzf8GgebF2KBlfprs4qOdLBqpkyaHBSOvBwF4RIhfGTV949Ou1bjNlFqIVHJmipO0MJ6BgepRyAO1iUM5RhjJq2sORb-w8xDBpKH0RgVbcmvebKLtVnLFWmWXy7DsyoWD3at0cLrB9l3-27bntThJemsFvP4i/w400-h225/Raquel-Welch-The-Magic-Christian_1969.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Raquel Welch as Priestess of the Whip</b><br /><b>Despite her prominence in the film's marketing, the striking Welch shows up ten minutes before the film is over for all of 30 seconds. Though marvelous-looking, she comes off much like she did in her cameo in the satiric <i>Bedazzled</i> (1967)...looking like she doesn't quite get the joke.</b> <b> </b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">As usual, Hollywood…sometimes the trendsetter, often a step behind, but only rarely ever in pace with the times…found itself in the position of playing “catch-up” in trying to develop projects that appealed to this newly-recognized audience. But the world was changing so fast that the crunch to meet the market demand for suitably “now” motion pictures only exposed Hollywood’s bloated, slow-moving studio system as ill-suited to compete with the immediacy (and, by extension, relevance) of inexpensively-made independent and underground films. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Sheer law of averages accounted for the rare youth-market breakout success: e.g., <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2010/03/the-graduate-1967.html" target="_blank">The Graduate</a></i> – 1967, <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2012/02/bonnie-clyde-1967.html" target="_blank">Bonnie and Clyde</a></i> -1967,<i> Easy Rider</i> – 1969, and <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2014/01/midnight-cowboy-1969.html" target="_blank">Midnight Cowboy</a></i> – 1970. But as the major studios were still a bunch of conservative white men well past the age of 30 trying to make a quick buck off of the liberal and diverse “Don’t trust anyone over 30” crowd; more often than not the haste to get “Where it’s at” movies into theaters before they became “Where it was” cultural artifacts, resulted in a glut of big-budget miscalculations like <i>Skidoo</i> (1968), <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2013/05/myra-breckinridge-1970.html" target="_blank">Myra Breckinridge</a></i> (1970), and Terry Southern's <i>Candy</i> (1968). </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibzxivwZbMpSdx8WBPuJxl0BKNoizSSn6ae90v1bk4OCUrLforo2h6iphw2_-Mw-c94r6QVTtE71uPvKj3M2Tk-pqHoVz_6jAE3VFtNHk4IS_N6HpqtH2PT0jqXM4nim7JSyf-UAhsH1sqrYkecnYVzDwtOESjYJy9742vRDuTJ6bs8TGM6YKVijrT/s2400/Ewa-Aulin-Ringo-Starr-Candy-1968.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1300" data-original-width="2400" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibzxivwZbMpSdx8WBPuJxl0BKNoizSSn6ae90v1bk4OCUrLforo2h6iphw2_-Mw-c94r6QVTtE71uPvKj3M2Tk-pqHoVz_6jAE3VFtNHk4IS_N6HpqtH2PT0jqXM4nim7JSyf-UAhsH1sqrYkecnYVzDwtOESjYJy9742vRDuTJ6bs8TGM6YKVijrT/w400-h216/Ewa-Aulin-Ringo-Starr-Candy-1968.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Ewa Aulin & Ringo Starr in <i>Candy </i>(1967)</b><br /><b>Counterculture icon Terry Southern (contributing screenwriter for <i>Dr. Strangelove</i>, <i>Barbarella</i>, <i>Easy Rider, Casino Royale</i>)<i> </i>wrote the sex satire <i>Candy</i> in 1958 with Mason Hoffenberg. Buck Henry adapted the script for the truly dire film version. </b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Relying heavily on the most exploitable signifiers of youth-cult marketability—profanity, nudity, sex, & drugs—these blatantly pandering exercises in desperation were so arrogantly clueless in their lack of understanding of the very public whose dollars they so cynically courted that they came across as being almost hostile to young people. </div><div style="text-align: left;">By all accounts, the film version of <i>The Magic Christian</i> started out as a sincere, well-intentioned ideological passion project spearheaded by Peter Sellers (who, in his 40s, had joined show business’ ever-growing ranks of over-age flower children and millionaire hippies). But the finished product wound up illustrating the Grand-ish point - “Nothing is so sacred that it can’t be corrupted by money” in ways not intended. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ9jyF3clb4D7GyoVE1TnqzJgw_Ve4Qcbko7WyZus-0gv5sTDrSMkInGoZPJqTBA5UAk1pGv6GvkzLyl7CBnYt8dQdWHd54zmO1g9KIrimPsOWo2tbZefiuPh87o27Du5_YLCIt1N4qKgodv7k_8o1nPf4mnP-_eqiLiRh2mjxk4mYiggGazJBpYDf/s2400/Ringo-Starr-Peter-Sellers-The-Magic_Christian-1969.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="2400" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ9jyF3clb4D7GyoVE1TnqzJgw_Ve4Qcbko7WyZus-0gv5sTDrSMkInGoZPJqTBA5UAk1pGv6GvkzLyl7CBnYt8dQdWHd54zmO1g9KIrimPsOWo2tbZefiuPh87o27Du5_YLCIt1N4qKgodv7k_8o1nPf4mnP-_eqiLiRh2mjxk4mYiggGazJBpYDf/w400-h225/Ringo-Starr-Peter-Sellers-The-Magic_Christian-1969.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Grand & Son</b><br /><b>A man who has everything joins forces with a man who has nothing, <br />and together they set about to prove that <i>"Everyone has their price."</i></b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Over the film’s opening credits, we’re introduced to Sir Guy Grand (Peter Sellers), the world’s richest man. Before the credits are over, the unmarried, childless billionaire meets and promptly adopts a homeless man (Ringo Starr), dubs him Youngman Grand, and makes the shaggy young derelict the heir to his fortune. Since the film begins mid-stride and hits the ground running, we never learn what prompts Grand’s impulsive want for offspring, nor what’s behind his mania for using his great wealth to take the piss out of the posh. But it’s certainly not out of the question for us to assume that he's perhaps insane, for it’s something of an anti-establishment movie tradition (a la,<i> King of Hearts</i> – 1966 and <i>The Madwoman of Chaillot</i> - 1969) to depict the lunatics and madmen in our world as the only sane people left. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYeYmUHEEsIFaPFenli-FnlhAG1lCiN9zhbrNKuHO2qq2NgXDjTi9jPH1hqzH4CmI61nXuzQ9Gi2xU9QSelUqCSY6JwCk_B4sF4P8UuyW0z_RnXgNNvUpu_9QaxUxWPElxK4siZIvoZe4N_Zq_jgN1qkWVHA8dVOb7G58nXTSv1WUoqLMSSr8CZApU/s2400/Laurence-Harvey-The-Magic-Christian-1969.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="2400" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYeYmUHEEsIFaPFenli-FnlhAG1lCiN9zhbrNKuHO2qq2NgXDjTi9jPH1hqzH4CmI61nXuzQ9Gi2xU9QSelUqCSY6JwCk_B4sF4P8UuyW0z_RnXgNNvUpu_9QaxUxWPElxK4siZIvoZe4N_Zq_jgN1qkWVHA8dVOb7G58nXTSv1WUoqLMSSr8CZApU/w400-h225/Laurence-Harvey-The-Magic-Christian-1969.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Laurence Harvey (in a bit originally intended for David Hemmings) <br />performs <i>Hamlet</i>'s soliloquy as a striptease</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The darkly comic “capitalism kills” satire of <i>The Magic Christian</i> was written by Texas-born Terry Southern in 1959, but the climate of counterculture rebellion that was America in the late-‘60s made his episodic evisceration of American excess feel more relevant than ever. At least in theory. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Peter Sellers had expressed interest in making a movie of <i>The Magic Christian </i>as far back as 1964 while filming <i>Dr. Strangelove</i> (he’d hoped to get Stanley Kubrick to direct). Drawn to what he saw as the satire’s idealistic principles— "<i>It illustrates to the public the truth about power, money, and corruption,”</i> he intoned to a skeptical press— the recently spiritually and politically awakened actor acquired the rights, secured financing, and corralled a slew of celebrity friends to work for scale.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpz_TA0f-8wKjzTeAnndU0WzYtifhcGNKuhwv6JX8FdJBiqI43tvGOiM8OCuJEaLZy02PDRZU_K9iDGFDhZ06LjkgfeXpypIsetCnfx-_UoX3EZ5b0vMB3wwaKfExgafj5Q_iIEaP0fln_F5Wbbzz_ASqLwa4pRS6rilwQqJHA1mx1d_4GkEVia981/s2400/Richard-Attenborough-The-Magic-Christian-1969.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="2400" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpz_TA0f-8wKjzTeAnndU0WzYtifhcGNKuhwv6JX8FdJBiqI43tvGOiM8OCuJEaLZy02PDRZU_K9iDGFDhZ06LjkgfeXpypIsetCnfx-_UoX3EZ5b0vMB3wwaKfExgafj5Q_iIEaP0fln_F5Wbbzz_ASqLwa4pRS6rilwQqJHA1mx1d_4GkEVia981/w400-h225/Richard-Attenborough-The-Magic-Christian-1969.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Richard Attenborough as the coach of the Oxford Rowing Team</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div>But in taking four years and some 14 screenplay drafts to reach the screen, a movie idealistically espousing the hippie ethos (signaled by the film’s finale which finds Grand and Youngman choosing “<i>A simpler way,”</i> and opting for a life of vagrancy) felt as though it had arrived a bit late to the party. Close to the 1967 Summer of Love would have been great. During the global student protest year of 1968 perhaps better.</div><div> But the out-and-out worst time for the release of a movie advocating the longhair generation as society’s saviors was in the wake of the two most defining moments signaling the end of the hippie era: the Manson Murders (August 1969) and the Altamont Festival killing (December 1969).</div><div>I can’t speak for the UK, but in post-Manson Family America, the notion of a put-on artist staging guerilla acts of protest against the rich to incite anarchy and chaos had lost a great deal of its subversive appeal.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCzrVtxkxCrmaG0bJ2xcqRWvwgaY4OO0RwhQ9vut1b74jAqbXR5QB-HN2qKdqzm_o4zBlphNSF_g_oKGl9ZJy8dFdh3LeuvXr-Zqc1cnh9vlkQKSxrC8C2ICSiAQIkBuvcMn-BFBbt1SjlMmmgi1IyWiAaM0xOB3H1PjYXqiRa9dpFAQ91_ZaoBynZ/s2400/The-Magic-Christian-Peter-Sellers-Spike-Milligan_1969.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="2400" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCzrVtxkxCrmaG0bJ2xcqRWvwgaY4OO0RwhQ9vut1b74jAqbXR5QB-HN2qKdqzm_o4zBlphNSF_g_oKGl9ZJy8dFdh3LeuvXr-Zqc1cnh9vlkQKSxrC8C2ICSiAQIkBuvcMn-BFBbt1SjlMmmgi1IyWiAaM0xOB3H1PjYXqiRa9dpFAQ91_ZaoBynZ/w400-h225/The-Magic-Christian-Peter-Sellers-Spike-Milligan_1969.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Peter Sellers with friend and fellow Goon, Spike Milligan</b><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><div>Peter Sellers’ involvement assured <i>The Magic Christian </i>would be made, but it also turned Terry Southern’s very American satire into a very British one. Hiring friend and <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2010/08/casino-royale-1967.html" target="_blank">Casino Royale</a></i> co-director Joseph McGrath to helm and Southern to adapt (with the too-many-cooks assist of Sellers, Magrath, and a pre-Monty Python John Cleese and Graham Chapman), <i>The Magic Christian</i> became (perhaps intentionally) a kind of filmed version of <i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Goon_Show" target="_blank">The Goon Show</a></i> radio program that got Sellers his start in the ‘50s’.</div><div>British humor tends to be a little tough going for me anyway, especially when it's very male-centric and sophomoric (I was never a Monty Python fan). But my main complaint with the British setting is that from an American perspective, the targets of Guy's pranks are such obvious prigs and snobs that the satire feels toothless. </div><div>Poking fun at a culture that appears (to us, anyway) to be more openly classist (Royalty, observance of historical traditions, accents denoting class distinctions) is quite different from poking fun at a country that pathologically waves the flag of its egalitarianism when in fact it's ragingly racist, wealth-worshipping, and classist as hell.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaAZA33Qd1V1xhrHYUCbvUwCfLvn0BlKeMqPJHDmxb7XEtz8huWiVDbmD9QaOiSucOpYa96wfohxki93rytek__4HkP3Uryr2bZmU_HtPBwxy0sU021OM582LtQDiQRUiyaDUonQqhoNRJcnJ1nV22Ty8VDA866sBasBz-814IiOdF5Ao0hz_6U-qa/s2400/John-Cleese-The-Magic-Christian-1969.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="2400" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaAZA33Qd1V1xhrHYUCbvUwCfLvn0BlKeMqPJHDmxb7XEtz8huWiVDbmD9QaOiSucOpYa96wfohxki93rytek__4HkP3Uryr2bZmU_HtPBwxy0sU021OM582LtQDiQRUiyaDUonQqhoNRJcnJ1nV22Ty8VDA866sBasBz-814IiOdF5Ao0hz_6U-qa/w400-h225/John-Cleese-The-Magic-Christian-1969.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>John Cleese as the Sotheby's director</b></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOBLpa70-HaqoWafRTkt5-3p5Ivs-hNhha5vvTRtsn72HduRrfvlAhmmwq15lasA6F5YUspPCgFu3nxlP9ue_uZWIvEOz4m3a10yC8b-Lp7xhjgkjDBL7nHQh8hGVs9gaR-kUAJZ6ryRXPsPgXhBsPjD6WZ8tNNEUoFfgE5hQoJT4S_-Mln2ll7D8o/s2400/Wilfred-Hyde-White-The-Magic-Christian-1969.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="2400" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOBLpa70-HaqoWafRTkt5-3p5Ivs-hNhha5vvTRtsn72HduRrfvlAhmmwq15lasA6F5YUspPCgFu3nxlP9ue_uZWIvEOz4m3a10yC8b-Lp7xhjgkjDBL7nHQh8hGVs9gaR-kUAJZ6ryRXPsPgXhBsPjD6WZ8tNNEUoFfgE5hQoJT4S_-Mln2ll7D8o/w400-h225/Wilfred-Hyde-White-The-Magic-Christian-1969.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Wilfred Hyde-White as Capt. Reginald K. Klaus</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b>WHAT I LOVE ABOUT THIS FILM</b></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I was 12 years old when I saw <i>The Magic Christian </i>in 1970. Then, funny to me meant: Mad Magazine, The Three Stooges, Bugs Bunny, and <i>Laugh-In</i>. Countless trips to the theater to see <i>Casino Royale</i> (1967) and <i>The Party</i> (1968) had cemented Peter Sellers as my #1 favorite comic actor. And, thanks to several years of involuntary exposure to the music and movies of The Beatles (thanks, sis), I was also a bonafide Beatles fan myself. So, of course, I thoroughly loved <i>The Magic Christian</i>. I thought it was hilarious. And my finding it so made me feel oh-so-hip and oh-so-sophisticated.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq-n4W0iXjJnC1FlvO7VymCtfW9n42yzhrls0yOS-BUOIGLtUfu-bkTjvwB2ceCWls9vbs2fp4h2VHpxcRbifnIhc3jhTT7dF4xYir42RcyUg2z7lqyDK9mqDJhl4c_3A3CiKfxchn7gdfHF9QuJbP8e7wG8q4i7T_M8Nb3Tri8tzPpNFj3JVXy7fo/s2400/Christopher-Lee-The-Magic-Christian-1969.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="2400" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq-n4W0iXjJnC1FlvO7VymCtfW9n42yzhrls0yOS-BUOIGLtUfu-bkTjvwB2ceCWls9vbs2fp4h2VHpxcRbifnIhc3jhTT7dF4xYir42RcyUg2z7lqyDK9mqDJhl4c_3A3CiKfxchn7gdfHF9QuJbP8e7wG8q4i7T_M8Nb3Tri8tzPpNFj3JVXy7fo/w400-h225/Christopher-Lee-The-Magic-Christian-1969.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Christopher Lee<br />For those still in the dark, <i>The Magic Christian</i> is the name of an elite luxury liner <br />with an interior straight out of <i>2001: A Space Odyssey</i>.</b><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>Being at that awkward tween-age—socially invisible, politically powerless, desperate to assert individuality—my inner anarchist delighted in the Bugs Bunny/Marx Brothers-style of “comedy of disruption.” As one critic put it, <i>The Magic Christian </i>was all about "...deflating the pompous, punishing the greedy, and discomfiting the complacent." So, in the adolescent spirit of being attracted to anything you’re certain your parents will disapprove of, I reveled in <i>The Magic Christian</i>’s raciness (bodybuilders in skimpy bikinis!); bad taste (the hunting party with heavy artillery); and ham-fisted satire (the Oxford/Cambridge race). It was an issue of Mad Magazine come to life.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTDM9yLVtZCSWiqw2rqGu1crfrYL9lVF9P1F3iy-4mIiZGQlzPz5Q0OiksTwGvoS5LZn0zdcOM06m9EjcO46la6oFkt7PWJU-JeeuErgc1jzIPObl5pDxzEijY6fpR_5NTnRNTZjW4AFxJuqCT-Pmq4WtLNB319dj_5yBcmWzqW-tTQCcChMcNJzqC/s2400/The-Magic_Christian-Free=Money-1969.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="2400" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTDM9yLVtZCSWiqw2rqGu1crfrYL9lVF9P1F3iy-4mIiZGQlzPz5Q0OiksTwGvoS5LZn0zdcOM06m9EjcO46la6oFkt7PWJU-JeeuErgc1jzIPObl5pDxzEijY6fpR_5NTnRNTZjW4AFxJuqCT-Pmq4WtLNB319dj_5yBcmWzqW-tTQCcChMcNJzqC/w400-h225/The-Magic_Christian-Free=Money-1969.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The audacious notion of tossing money into a vat filled with blood, urine, and manure and then getting people to wade through it for the free cash would have a lot more satirical bite today if it didn't sound like something the GOP would actually propose to replace Social Security. </b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I also imagine that some of the appeal <i>The Magic Christian</i> held for me was that Sir Guy Grand was like an adolescent boy’s wish-fulfillment fantasy of adulthood. The asexual Guy Grand has no interest in either women or men (nudity and sex are things to be giggled at); never has to answer to anyone, and is saddled with none of the pain-in-the-ass responsibilities of being a grown-up. He just gets to spend all of his time hanging out with his best buddy (adoption adding a new twist to BFF) playing games and pulling wise-ass pranks on authority figures. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyLBkMaf2gG7q2ckvcTjyAd84Snjf0-qbHa0X_atu2w_5ufb4mvr4Tet2Mt3AqeD-6twTykZ9z4blAjsiyAL6tizjUQtHExy3-WzNWkjOi7uKtHN9-HvQYnAP3vKVxemE2XL-3YgmsTtZa8Nq2VT_2ryS3bqTtKlwPnkUZJnd6wsttx79Y4CFv9whG/s2400/Yul-Brynner-Roman-Polanski-The-Magic-Christian-1969.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="2400" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyLBkMaf2gG7q2ckvcTjyAd84Snjf0-qbHa0X_atu2w_5ufb4mvr4Tet2Mt3AqeD-6twTykZ9z4blAjsiyAL6tizjUQtHExy3-WzNWkjOi7uKtHN9-HvQYnAP3vKVxemE2XL-3YgmsTtZa8Nq2VT_2ryS3bqTtKlwPnkUZJnd6wsttx79Y4CFv9whG/w400-h225/Yul-Brynner-Roman-Polanski-The-Magic-Christian-1969.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Yul Brynner & Roman Polanski</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;">There are times when you've just gotta let an image speak for itself</div><div style="text-align: center;"><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><b>"Ah, but I was so much older then. I’m younger than that
now."</b> - </span><i style="font-size: 12pt;">Bob Dylan</i></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;">Revisiting </span><i style="text-align: left;">The Magic Christian </i><span style="text-align: left;">after a nearly 40-year gap was an experience by turns amusing, nostalgic, and bewildering. It was great seeing the movie looking so good on Blu-ray, and I especially got a kick out of the many cameo appearances and discovering what things about the film had stayed with me over the years. For example, it was gratifying to find that the pre-credits sequence (my favorite part of the film) was still as clever as I’d remembered it: a distinguished portrait of the Queen is revealed to be a British 10-pound note, after which the audience is encouraged to sing along to a follow-the-bouncing-ball stanza of the Paul McCarney composition (sung by Badfinger) “Come and Get It.” (How tragic is it that my favorite part of </span><i style="text-align: left;">The Magic Christian</i><span style="text-align: left;"> takes place before the film proper even begins?)</span></p></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnfuun2egyi08pixOqtLuZPQFDNdrgo5VOAilE5J4T8la1dp7k_8ecrwPr2jxOCNQsWzLhMsCY5tHEBv89WJgyAijz2ypbcvV0S6qVbDQFwqrRXTdI_REv5GYmPrjrQW232thN8UbPo3aKB1wKTN0AoOfWfRwcBAE56aqeZ8lq8nEXtIwCNlzrbY0p/s2400/The-Magic-Christian-Lincoln-Webb-Roy-Scammell-1969.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="2400" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnfuun2egyi08pixOqtLuZPQFDNdrgo5VOAilE5J4T8la1dp7k_8ecrwPr2jxOCNQsWzLhMsCY5tHEBv89WJgyAijz2ypbcvV0S6qVbDQFwqrRXTdI_REv5GYmPrjrQW232thN8UbPo3aKB1wKTN0AoOfWfRwcBAE56aqeZ8lq8nEXtIwCNlzrbY0p/w400-h225/The-Magic-Christian-Lincoln-Webb-Roy-Scammell-1969.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Tangoing bodybuilders Lincoln Webb & Roy Scammell provoke and <br /> tantalize the racist and homophobic passengers on <i>The Magic Christian</i>.</b> </td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></div></div>What bewildered me was just how unfunny the film now seems to me. I wasn’t bored, I enjoyed myself, and the film kept my interest, and I still champion the overall idea of the film. But the experience of watching it was entirely laugh-free. Granted, so much of the film’s humor is reliant on shock and the element of surprise, so it can be said that my reaction is at least in part due to my being so familiar with the material.<div>But that doesn’t account for the benumbing effect of the wash-rinse-repeat satire cycle of the screenplay or the loose-moorings structure of the film itself. It's weird watching an entire film that has no real human behavior in it. At the start of the film, there's a series of crosscuts between the morning rituals of Sellers and Starr that juxtapose and contrast the lives of the haves and the have-nots. There's a sweetness to it that sets the stage for an anticipated humane political polemic that never materializes.</div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiPAadkdbdf6lcwnYWTFn8F2FfF-Ez6lVmKo8VY0CX90NZjVWOYyORnUoVKJeBApbKFBwc5BZ93gv8FzPWsmLWXV_y2PdslfpTqbo0jjKyOq5PvOTpFZdxRREynJfwp5_5HPfaQhEmoMD9uHQRREZ5wxZDZJPCAxmJo-jagkKO-j1P4TWCkZJyasWw/s2400/Leonard-Frey-The-Magic-Christian-1969.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="2400" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiPAadkdbdf6lcwnYWTFn8F2FfF-Ez6lVmKo8VY0CX90NZjVWOYyORnUoVKJeBApbKFBwc5BZ93gv8FzPWsmLWXV_y2PdslfpTqbo0jjKyOq5PvOTpFZdxRREynJfwp5_5HPfaQhEmoMD9uHQRREZ5wxZDZJPCAxmJo-jagkKO-j1P4TWCkZJyasWw/w400-h225/Leonard-Frey-The-Magic-Christian-1969.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Leonard Frey as Ship's Physician Laurence Faggot (pronounced, Fa-goh)<br /><i>The Magic Christian -- </i>a movie "The Celluloid Closet" author Vito Russo called <i>"A viciously homophobic film" --</i>never met a gay joke it didn't like. Funny then how it never once addresses the comic or homoerotic implications of a middle-aged man adopting a young man he just met in the park.<br /><br /></b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">Not helping matters is the inconsistent nature of Guy's pranks. The point he's trying to prove to Youngman grows murky as his stunts veer from harmless (turning Shakespeare's <i>Hamlet</i> into a burlesque) to mean-spirited (grossly overpaying a hot dog vendor and insisting on his change from a moving train). </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja3q6WnD4xqbP0aBzgXwnfmtGW35bSlroAolyWyanPhgEBwHJfY18gk95niokTnqLU32N-tmm87bdxWnd9SLJulfMKtnmCpGLtkSItdKE0PzTGpB5dVLcnC5fCytsseYQaULGEGnD6ESsyOyvHmdBU5oRzkRJteVIxUuRWt08YFXAXT6kDc98G6oGH/s2319/Willy-Wonka-and-the-Chocolate-Factory-Gene-Wilder-1971%20(4).JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1308" data-original-width="2319" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja3q6WnD4xqbP0aBzgXwnfmtGW35bSlroAolyWyanPhgEBwHJfY18gk95niokTnqLU32N-tmm87bdxWnd9SLJulfMKtnmCpGLtkSItdKE0PzTGpB5dVLcnC5fCytsseYQaULGEGnD6ESsyOyvHmdBU5oRzkRJteVIxUuRWt08YFXAXT6kDc98G6oGH/w400-h225/Willy-Wonka-and-the-Chocolate-Factory-Gene-Wilder-1971%20(4).JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2014/09/willy-wonka-chocolate-factory-1971.html" target="_blank">Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory</a></i> (1971)</b></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJacUE_SgONBOcczxKsLDdfvGUAWAFsqIcwNqZ_VHd25fwf7mlVpU0Bsu4QBb2j4ZzDiq_xUqiC4csTQQOgnocHVuF42j9ACVjhWbtqf0S_jitVIArOb5Rq_hbx_f7khd9tIPi4I8Mca-bniqw_tlzJ1Petg5hMOorGLaZJ0Li62-gvvO4fBUuI6rb/s2400/Bedazzled-Dudley-Moore-Peter-Cook-1967.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="910" data-original-width="2400" height="151" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJacUE_SgONBOcczxKsLDdfvGUAWAFsqIcwNqZ_VHd25fwf7mlVpU0Bsu4QBb2j4ZzDiq_xUqiC4csTQQOgnocHVuF42j9ACVjhWbtqf0S_jitVIArOb5Rq_hbx_f7khd9tIPi4I8Mca-bniqw_tlzJ1Petg5hMOorGLaZJ0Li62-gvvO4fBUuI6rb/w400-h151/Bedazzled-Dudley-Moore-Peter-Cook-1967.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Bedazzled</i> (1967)</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;">I'm of the opinion that the truest screen interpretation of Terry Southern's Guy Grand is to be found in Gene Wilder's Willy Wonka (think about it...all he does is play tricks on the greedy and self-interested!). And for a good example of the kind of lively, in-the-spirit-of-mischief chemistry lacking in the pairing of Sellers and Starr, I really think Peter Cook and Dudley Moore hit paydirt in <i>Bedazzled</i>. </div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><br /></div><div><b>PERFORMANCES</b></div><div>I’m gonna lead off by saying that I truly love the look Peter Sellers devised for Sir Guy Grand. Simultaneously dashing and screwball, it’s said that Sellers sought to approximate the look of a young Albert Schweitzer while portraying Grand as a kind of British Groucho Marx. He’s considerably more successful in the former than the latter. I think Sellers is far too inspired a comic actor to ever be uninteresting, so I can’t say I don’t enjoy him in <i>The Magic Christian</i>. But the screenplay doesn’t provide a character for Sellers to play and he doesn’t appear particularly interested in supplying one on his own. So, outside of an accent and a whimsical swath of hair, his Guy Grand very nearly doesn’t exist.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Y6fGtyjZ57IwVMwicKhLikjc08tJJnyfUTy75BB0q1E1d7VTbq1-32IhhqKbkatsqf1acIt6V6ydfqLZpxoEgp8vWaE7nSj2Zl_UVadcPmOuGNne35taE1cC0eWWsiXXCKmYzJQYJDUCQ0pQfot1z_VMIc5PB4rQFA91c-KY9URKxTGbNmBsjIoM/s2400/The_Magic-Christian-Peter-Sellers-1969.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="2400" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Y6fGtyjZ57IwVMwicKhLikjc08tJJnyfUTy75BB0q1E1d7VTbq1-32IhhqKbkatsqf1acIt6V6ydfqLZpxoEgp8vWaE7nSj2Zl_UVadcPmOuGNne35taE1cC0eWWsiXXCKmYzJQYJDUCQ0pQfot1z_VMIc5PB4rQFA91c-KY9URKxTGbNmBsjIoM/w400-h225/The_Magic-Christian-Peter-Sellers-1969.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">But he's in good company with the charming but wholly superfluous Ringo Starr. In a role not in the book and written with him in mind (contrary to erroneous claims that John Lennon was first considered) I suspect the intention was to supply a little youth-identification for the audience while mining the silent, Chaplinesque quality Starr brought to his well-received solo bits in <i>Help!</i> and <i>A Hard Day’s Night</i>. And certainly, if you saw him in <i>Candy</i>, you know a Ringo Starr with no dialogue is the best possible course of action to take. But, like Sellers, he's not given a character to play and brings nothing to the part but a droopy mustache and Rita Tushingham eyes.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyvdVhw_peSREpJ9BGz8bmBiEzmfBH2Etu8DKyaB7ZUPdj6ZGN2PAW8m4o6NJcQGiuR32BneMu0T5eEyVJNs51UbSDw2Y0QYXdQLoGyyCwqpAcbiGJdGtp8t6tUZy7u9U3L67QyY5HxWDPhVdcUI9C6UiHl9k_KmAve0Gbs2CaJivrL7CB3JnQTeeu/s2400/Ringo-Starr-Peter-Sellers-The+Magic+Christian+1969.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="2400" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyvdVhw_peSREpJ9BGz8bmBiEzmfBH2Etu8DKyaB7ZUPdj6ZGN2PAW8m4o6NJcQGiuR32BneMu0T5eEyVJNs51UbSDw2Y0QYXdQLoGyyCwqpAcbiGJdGtp8t6tUZy7u9U3L67QyY5HxWDPhVdcUI9C6UiHl9k_KmAve0Gbs2CaJivrL7CB3JnQTeeu/w400-h225/Ringo-Starr-Peter-Sellers-The+Magic+Christian+1969.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>"Well, you know, Youngman, sometimes it's not enough merely to teach. One has to punish as well."</b></i></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>THE STUFF OF FANTASY</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpGz8aVDILzAimgADkDxeJiBRMcs3axxkGNFk_v3RMnj5i9bfTLuGhNGGqUDagMdGyh7m5fKIs1avs9skadeV09RJk0plNrmN2lde_8gE2hwmevCSQ9sRMgffhdViB8Un-ItvsyQ7Wy-Mgb944B5egMqejKYhweXq7XbEV0O35PQG4nJ8fe8KSe6TX/s1250/The-Magic-Chrstian-Soundtrack-Album-1969-Paul-MCartney-Ringo-Starr-Peter-Sellers-Commonwelth-Records.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1247" data-original-width="1250" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpGz8aVDILzAimgADkDxeJiBRMcs3axxkGNFk_v3RMnj5i9bfTLuGhNGGqUDagMdGyh7m5fKIs1avs9skadeV09RJk0plNrmN2lde_8gE2hwmevCSQ9sRMgffhdViB8Un-ItvsyQ7Wy-Mgb944B5egMqejKYhweXq7XbEV0O35PQG4nJ8fe8KSe6TX/s320/The-Magic-Chrstian-Soundtrack-Album-1969-Paul-MCartney-Ringo-Starr-Peter-Sellers-Commonwelth-Records.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>At least one aspect of The Magic Christian has not changed a bit for me over the years. The soundtrack to this movie is terrific. I love the infectious "Come & Get It"--particularly the soaring strings instrumental arrangement that accompanies the closing credits. It gave me goosebumps the first time I heard it blaring through the speakers at the movie theater. </div><div>But the song that really stands out as the one I most associate with the film is Thunderclap Newman's youth rebellion anthem "Something in the Air." I think it's brilliant. I heard it for the first time in <i>The Magic Christian</i> <a href="https://youtu.be/WaLMsZU6NaY" target="_blank">theatrical trailer</a> and instantly fell in love. And I'm still crazy about it. One of my all-time favorite '60s songs. In 1973 the singing group Labelle covered it in a version that combined it with Gil Scott Heron's poem "The Revolution Will Not Be Televised." You owe it to yourself to give it a listen...to use one of my favorite <i>Magic Christian</i> quotes: <i>"It'll tighten your wig."</i></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTYQoBpZfqSkNIaR2jwhUmIR0SUFaz_6fcks47ANw3BNZXvFCQk3yMLgEWgAKTUylemjkgWVkNrwiYfuWZrJALx_QNVCNHqOaXbSfSSNxjYCRYCZwvATZ-FOZ9JnkMWyHXaqzJ_lf1_-N_jRSjWpOyPVaBWtnSuatwBZsK2Zs8IwqCuq3w2Pp5y83I/s2400/The-Magic_Christian-Peter-Sellers-Ringo-Starr-1969.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="2400" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTYQoBpZfqSkNIaR2jwhUmIR0SUFaz_6fcks47ANw3BNZXvFCQk3yMLgEWgAKTUylemjkgWVkNrwiYfuWZrJALx_QNVCNHqOaXbSfSSNxjYCRYCZwvATZ-FOZ9JnkMWyHXaqzJ_lf1_-N_jRSjWpOyPVaBWtnSuatwBZsK2Zs8IwqCuq3w2Pp5y83I/w400-h225/The-Magic_Christian-Peter-Sellers-Ringo-Starr-1969.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>THE STUFF OF DREAMS</b></div><div style="text-align: left;">What keeps <i>The Magic Christian</i> among my list of "tarnished favorites" is that despite not feeling as strongly about it as I did when I was a kid, I tend to think of it as one of the last of the optimistic flower-children/hippie films. The Nixon era of disillusionment and cynicism was right on the horizon and the idealism at the heart of <i>The Magic Christian</i> had already started to be replaced by the snark and smirk of movies like <i>M.A.S.H. </i>(1970).</div><div style="text-align: left;">In the ensuing decades, capitalism has done its job so well that today, social media is full of individuals just managing to get by financially who nevertheless seize every opportunity to be the white knights and front-line defenders of the Jeff Bezos and Elon Musks of our culture whenever a legitimate criticism is voiced regarding the morality of being grotesquely rich in a civilized society that tolerates hunger.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">In such an atmosphere it's impossible to completely dislike a movie that associates wallowing in money with wallowing in feces, blood, and urine.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcmZpXGY_FFX2jN0I_b5lBb6Ugnm7qBPn-on34-47Z_4dywb8dnNkTEXudt8SAfcVoo72_94rODp6Q3i76-NBWRk6HegTfAab74byysRwkqvE2stDyk7d3TnOL7fM17NRYaqdmM5mT8Xx0EFwAs8nyO3lKmNF7ZKzze-4e3mINctAND0TR532Uwv2B/s1920/Peace-Mercedes-Benz-Magic-Christian-1969_Joseph-McGrath.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcmZpXGY_FFX2jN0I_b5lBb6Ugnm7qBPn-on34-47Z_4dywb8dnNkTEXudt8SAfcVoo72_94rODp6Q3i76-NBWRk6HegTfAab74byysRwkqvE2stDyk7d3TnOL7fM17NRYaqdmM5mT8Xx0EFwAs8nyO3lKmNF7ZKzze-4e3mINctAND0TR532Uwv2B/w400-h225/Peace-Mercedes-Benz-Magic-Christian-1969_Joseph-McGrath.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>A hippie at heart, Sir Guy Grand has the three-pointed star </b><b>hood ornament</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b> of his Mercedes-Benz </b><b>reconfigured as a peace symbol. </b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Copyright © Ken Anderson 2009 - 2022<br /></div>Ken Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04940648971296673233noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2627032459273165000.post-51508991695674352332022-06-08T05:01:00.007-07:002022-06-12T16:05:46.448-07:00TRILOGY OF TERROR 1975<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSNl5qd_wXdKZ3fbqYxIMmcBpSDzmcLWdbK5UXSH-irg7DHozrRnyfFzZ0LQDrhPhc6KCfhmwnSBnyAqo8uQnXaKd0JHG6kMiixpkjmPWwBtAWO4zSkPUMXiPbSi-J21F9koMnN5pT5ebQuh_G1JvqYLixGTSzny1LfHc471PuwBDVvKu_g-CIT_ml/s2164/Trilogy-of-Terror-1975-Dan-Curtis-Robert-Burton-Jim-Storm.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1620" data-original-width="2164" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSNl5qd_wXdKZ3fbqYxIMmcBpSDzmcLWdbK5UXSH-irg7DHozrRnyfFzZ0LQDrhPhc6KCfhmwnSBnyAqo8uQnXaKd0JHG6kMiixpkjmPWwBtAWO4zSkPUMXiPbSi-J21F9koMnN5pT5ebQuh_G1JvqYLixGTSzny1LfHc471PuwBDVvKu_g-CIT_ml/w400-h300/Trilogy-of-Terror-1975-Dan-Curtis-Robert-Burton-Jim-Storm.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: red;"><b>Spoiler Alert: Crucial plot points are revealed </b></span><b style="color: red;">in the interest of critical analysis and discussion</b></span></div><div><br /></div><div><div>An unforeseen dividend in being a movie fan “of a certain age” is living long enough to see what films end up being the legacy benchmarks in the careers of actors I grew up watching. There’s something democratically perfect about the idea that no matter how accomplished, acclaimed, varied, or lengthy a career, no actor gets to decide what movie will "stick"...be the one they’ll most be remembered for. </div><div><br /></div><div><div>It can be a film that kickstarts a career (flying in the face of the accepted dictum that this is just a taste of things to come, often it turns out to be their finest career hour): Mia Farrow (<i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/09/rosemarys-baby-1968.html" target="_blank">Rosemary’s Baby</a></i>) and Liza Minnelli (<i>Cabaret</i>). Or a movie of such nagging popularity that even a career's worth of an actor’s best efforts fails to diminish its influence: Patty Duke (<i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/09/valley-of-dolls-1967.html" target="_blank">Valley of the Dolls</a></i>) and—Bless her heart—Faye Dunaway (<i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/12/mommie-dearest-1981.html" target="_blank">Mommie Dearest</a></i>). </div><div><br /></div><div>If internet saturation is any indicator, <i>Breakfast at Tiffany</i>’s has been branded Audrey Hepburn’s official signature motion picture. I've seen almost everything Jane Fonda has ever done, but she will always be first and foremost my <a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2009/10/barbarella-1968.html" target="_blank"><i>Barbarell</i>a</a> psyche-della. And when I think of Shelley Winters, my mind zips right past <i>Lolita</i>, <i>A Patch of Blue</i>, and <i>The Diary of Anne Frank</i> only to land squarely on the deck of the <a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2017/11/the-poseidon-adventure-1972.html" target="_blank">S.S. Poseidon</a>. Go figure.</div></div><div>Time becomes the great leveler. The public, the ultimate determiner of what film in an actor's resume has left the most indelible impression.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-yf5ufjcFAmaNqqUYQZ5eRwJAXtYKShhLLaWQFkzBKNO7ko1bTMLqpOCCagK7cm_vBsyAu5pSe5K5RWRCftQ6ucmgV4tfN3UMGPHTpbZGV9jMJzKIQhHWInZ-SGsuZNdtZxvVQLbFopL5-irQOKYppXNYklqK6frR6EOdZXSBxOGgvKBDftL5F2tu/s1920/Karen-Black-The-Day-of-The-Locust-John-Schlesinger-1975.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-yf5ufjcFAmaNqqUYQZ5eRwJAXtYKShhLLaWQFkzBKNO7ko1bTMLqpOCCagK7cm_vBsyAu5pSe5K5RWRCftQ6ucmgV4tfN3UMGPHTpbZGV9jMJzKIQhHWInZ-SGsuZNdtZxvVQLbFopL5-irQOKYppXNYklqK6frR6EOdZXSBxOGgvKBDftL5F2tu/w400-h225/Karen-Black-The-Day-of-The-Locust-John-Schlesinger-1975.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>The Day of the Locust</i> - 1975</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">No one symbolized the cinema of the 1970s for me quite like Karen Black. One of the more prolific and visible actresses of the decade, Black was a true original whose every virtue embodied the iconoclast spirit of Hollywood’s new wave of filmmakers (indeed, seeming to be everywhere at once and in every new movie that came out, she was like the Jack Carson of the New Hollywood). </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I first saw Karen Black in Francis Ford Coppola's coming-of-age comedy <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/10/youre-big-boy-now-1966.html" target="_blank">You’re a Big Boy Now</a> </i>(1966) when it was shown on TV in 1969. I didn’t know her name then, but as the unglamorous “good girl” waiting on the sidelines for the hero to notice her (a type she was never cast as again), she radiated such a sweetness and oddball vulnerability that I was drawn to her character immediately. Later that same year when I saw Dennis Hopper and Peter Fonda's <i>Easy Rider </i>(1969) at the theater, I didn't even recognize her (even after sitting through it twice) as the long-legged, scene-stealing New Orleans prostitute. So thoroughly has Black transformed herself from the soft-spoken love interest in Coppola's film, she was like a different person. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoxPvlOqCyu6ttQiFsOZDA3hAtUOjeWndxcKLkldjPRjrju0oEqL_NY_IboZ9woHJzfWni3_w9Rs-Tp5LBMh44lH1yWqlLFIUCSVwUJVmB7i0-Sg0hzK2EnDV9K9UsYgQ6DEE4o29ZbwRKk_pw4FJvPMNgtAigbjRTreFar-oQN-vlSsLvA5eGq-Li/s930/Karen-Black-Peter-Kastner-You're-a-Big-Boy-Now-1966-TV-Broadcast_San_Francisco_Examiner_Sun__Mar_9__1969_.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="636" data-original-width="930" height="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoxPvlOqCyu6ttQiFsOZDA3hAtUOjeWndxcKLkldjPRjrju0oEqL_NY_IboZ9woHJzfWni3_w9Rs-Tp5LBMh44lH1yWqlLFIUCSVwUJVmB7i0-Sg0hzK2EnDV9K9UsYgQ6DEE4o29ZbwRKk_pw4FJvPMNgtAigbjRTreFar-oQN-vlSsLvA5eGq-Li/w400-h274/Karen-Black-Peter-Kastner-You're-a-Big-Boy-Now-1966-TV-Broadcast_San_Francisco_Examiner_Sun__Mar_9__1969_.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>SF Examiner Sunday, March 9, 1969<br />That's actually not-yet-famous Karen Black all but obliterated in the grainy photo <br />promoting the television broadcast premiere of what was her first feature film appearance </b><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">By 1970 the chameleonic character actress was being earmarked for major stardom after her breakout, Oscar-nominated, Golden Globe Award-winning supporting performance in <i>Five Easy Pieces</i> (1970). Between 1971 and 1978 Karen Black appeared in 18 feature films, and I tried to see as many as I possibly could. Karen Black had become my new favorite...a kind of Stateside Glenda Jackson when it came to glamour-free fearlessness and risk-taking...and I was certain there was no one else quite like her in the movies. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8jveDdPiejUXzlHhBpZu95y6OZfBXdJL9awtrSGKhrryLT-HnK1bSNFVAFXZnddEnARObMMMcE3uo66DOqO7pr-JfZ9CtlJfJqLZKp3DgX1kIPQt2UDvFbZX5y6OSLYhpwUoZJk0HEZP3eI_qvJPOTxPfUmkwEg9_G8gjnyVrVjxzr84jtI5S155k/s1920/Karen-Black-Five-Easy-Pieces-1970.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1040" data-original-width="1920" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8jveDdPiejUXzlHhBpZu95y6OZfBXdJL9awtrSGKhrryLT-HnK1bSNFVAFXZnddEnARObMMMcE3uo66DOqO7pr-JfZ9CtlJfJqLZKp3DgX1kIPQt2UDvFbZX5y6OSLYhpwUoZJk0HEZP3eI_qvJPOTxPfUmkwEg9_G8gjnyVrVjxzr84jtI5S155k/w400-h216/Karen-Black-Five-Easy-Pieces-1970.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Five Easy Pieces</i> - 1970</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">To me, Karen Black's particular gift was her emotional authenticity and talent for making her characters relatable. She made the arcane and artificial “establishment” standards of beauty that once defined what movie stars looked like seem obsolete. She always seemed to “be” who she was playing, and the lack of self-consciousness in her acting style had a way of granting even the most extreme characters a personal dignity.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Although Karen Black's tenure as a mainstream, A-list star was surprisingly brief (she didn’t get first billing in an American movie until 1976’s <i>Family Plot</i>, and by 1977 she was appearing in stuff like <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2021/07/killer-fish-1979.html" target="_blank">Killer Fish</a></i>), but during that period she had the great good fortune to have appeared in what are currently recognized as some of the most iconic, influential, and enduring films of the decade: <i>Easy Rider</i>–1969, <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2013/02/the-great-gatsby-1974.html" target="_blank">The Great Gatsby</a></i>–1974, <i>Airport 1975</i>–1974, <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/09/nashville-1975.html" target="_blank">Nashville</a></i>–1975, <i>Family Plot</i>–1976, <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2012/08/burnt-offerings-1976.html" target="_blank">Burnt Offerings</a></i>–1976, and my personal favorite <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2009/07/the-day-of-locust-1975.html" target="_blank">The Day of the Locust</a></i>–1975. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYVsX9C0kkZ5MfOB2lTlcZSwaZU6ygp_eXihTew8VDn_iFxo8h-wnz5F0ORMeigzymNozAKsTpaU8qgCvjr7zT1PsZpkqcQ6oq4ONhzRpqgDDax5v4A1ZRpw5ovgwUi2gi8oSBFfU3DLz_q9eWx7FIpuRG3uZ4ji2ZqfkQF4jVFwOVtUGPCJCWuNqo/s2234/Karen-Black-Come-Back-to-the-5-and-Dime-Jimmy-Dean-Jimmy_Dean-1982.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1209" data-original-width="2234" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYVsX9C0kkZ5MfOB2lTlcZSwaZU6ygp_eXihTew8VDn_iFxo8h-wnz5F0ORMeigzymNozAKsTpaU8qgCvjr7zT1PsZpkqcQ6oq4ONhzRpqgDDax5v4A1ZRpw5ovgwUi2gi8oSBFfU3DLz_q9eWx7FIpuRG3uZ4ji2ZqfkQF4jVFwOVtUGPCJCWuNqo/w400-h216/Karen-Black-Come-Back-to-the-5-and-Dime-Jimmy-Dean-Jimmy_Dean-1982.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Comeback<br />The end of the '70s signaled the end of Karen Black's mainstream ascendence. Before her latter career became subsumed by the horror genre (a term she resisted), Black made a brief return to her glory days in Robert Altman's <i>Come Back to the 5 & Dime Jimmy Dean, Jimmy Dean</i> giving one of her career-best performances</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">When Karen Black died on <a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2013/08/the-face-of-70s-tribute-to-karen-black.html" target="_blank">August 8, 2013</a>, the films obituaries singled out as her most memorable were: her vulnerable waitress in <i>Five Easy Pieces,</i> the pathetic Myrtle in <i>The Great Gatsby</i>, <i>Nashville</i>'s country singer Connie White, and the plucky Nancy (<i>"The stewardess is flying the plane?!"</i>) Pryor of <i>Airport 1975.</i> No argument from me.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div>But I'm sticking to my guns when I contend that when the respectability smoke clears and the prestige-impressed voices of the critics and cineastes die down, the first movie that comes to mind when the average person thinks of Karen Black is 1975s <i>Trilogy of Terror</i>...arguably the most widely-seen and most well-known of all of her films.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1m9upSrhwhTH-DVh_4n_VlWX7YHQPxocRVJi8xfJNEtbXptz691F0AiYVO2iIeHnVy5I-o3uCpSXOm-T4O7-SbFWQNhq9r_iFQHRl42hsZ5pO-9KRQB8dkYIJDd5pXrX0z62HVX-_xPoU41YqrCagcxejsE_78W1uvr1tnknmUlyxIVAx9RbJbwjw/s1500/Karen-Black-Trilogy-of-Terror-The_San_Francisco_Examiner_Sun__Mar_2__1975.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1484" data-original-width="1500" height="396" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1m9upSrhwhTH-DVh_4n_VlWX7YHQPxocRVJi8xfJNEtbXptz691F0AiYVO2iIeHnVy5I-o3uCpSXOm-T4O7-SbFWQNhq9r_iFQHRl42hsZ5pO-9KRQB8dkYIJDd5pXrX0z62HVX-_xPoU41YqrCagcxejsE_78W1uvr1tnknmUlyxIVAx9RbJbwjw/w400-h396/Karen-Black-Trilogy-of-Terror-The_San_Francisco_Examiner_Sun__Mar_2__1975.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Woman Times Four</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">In the ‘70s, the division between movie star and TV star was far more pronounced than it is today, so it was big doings in the Anderson household (my corner of it, anyway) that THE Karen Black was starring in a made-for-TV movie; a genre that, to my mind, had heretofore been the near-exclusive domain of Donna Mills, Kay Lenz, and William Windom. It was especially notable because career-wise, Karen Black was mainly a cult-popular actress who was just starting to make a mainstream name for herself. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>Trilogy of Terror</i> aired just a couple of months after Black was awarded the Best Supporting Actress Golden Globe for <i>The Great Gatsby</i>. In fact, both <i>Gatsby</i> and <i>Airport 1975</i> were still playing in theaters when the TV-movie was broadcast. Adding further to the feeling that 1975 was The Year of Karen Black was the fact that all over town and everywhere you turned you were confronted with ads, articles, and posters heralding Black's forthcoming summer releases—<i>The Day of the Locust</i> in May, <i>Nashville</i> in July. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-UG553jVTn4pryOMRylzpJnt83BfJ_FS9tIa26CmTSEINYA5wbymLgKKF_L50Cx24H34B8uMGvDANV1FC9R83M4Beyp_wMGUsh6-cVeDPRJ8lxE1cHGTEGohxBPKH1wKNIqx49sEzbaylvsyPMy5cwdPaHBEJnyKF2TaMKLdRgnc8ntzFeVSEJ_16/s2400/Karen-Black-Christopher-Norris-Airport-1975-1974.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1020" data-original-width="2400" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-UG553jVTn4pryOMRylzpJnt83BfJ_FS9tIa26CmTSEINYA5wbymLgKKF_L50Cx24H34B8uMGvDANV1FC9R83M4Beyp_wMGUsh6-cVeDPRJ8lxE1cHGTEGohxBPKH1wKNIqx49sEzbaylvsyPMy5cwdPaHBEJnyKF2TaMKLdRgnc8ntzFeVSEJ_16/w400-h170/Karen-Black-Christopher-Norris-Airport-1975-1974.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Airport 1975 </i>- 1974</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">Hotly anticipated by yours truly, <i>Trilogy of Terror</i> was broadcast Tuesday, March 4, 1975 at 8:30 pm as one of the last entries in the final season of the immensely popular ABC Movie of the Week series that began in 1969. Directed and produced by Dan Curtis of <i>Dark Shadows</i> fame, the trio of terror tales making up this anthology are all based on short stories by Richard Matheson (<i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2015/06/die-die-my-darling-1965.html" target="_blank">Die! Die! My Darling!</a></i> – 1965). William F. Nolan (screenwriter for that other Dan Curtis/Karen Black collaboration <i>Burnt Offerings</i>) wrote the teleplays for the first two, and Matheson himself adapted the iconic final episode.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #cc0000;"><br /></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #cc0000;">TRILOGY OF TERROR</span></b></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz4QjDl5WMhSKDfT7uwZdvwMbOZU3CTj9Rf0P0DZnRszgIANMIaYxfBQDs65YpKuU26yvZUXYQUkIF9dVKCnIpepkXEiG5c0tioPp_Ib1g7r4wjYPB8l5AfTkkUjTHcolIkMZjBp516pfzJP1rX5zf2UGM4uVLOGsbS7SHagGTfLOQAgnHbZxdVPml/s1924/Trilogy-of-Terror-Julie-Karen-Black-1975.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1924" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz4QjDl5WMhSKDfT7uwZdvwMbOZU3CTj9Rf0P0DZnRszgIANMIaYxfBQDs65YpKuU26yvZUXYQUkIF9dVKCnIpepkXEiG5c0tioPp_Ib1g7r4wjYPB8l5AfTkkUjTHcolIkMZjBp516pfzJP1rX5zf2UGM4uVLOGsbS7SHagGTfLOQAgnHbZxdVPml/w400-h300/Trilogy-of-Terror-Julie-Karen-Black-1975.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Based on the short story: <i>The Likeness of Julie</i> - 1962</b></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div>The male gaze is given a (Karen) black eye in this first tale of “terror” which casts Ms. Black as a buttoned-up, dressed-down English Lit teacher who finds herself the target of the abusive sexual attentions of a student (Robert Burton, then Mr. Karen Black).</div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI5XR0fP83uj38l6OlyrQrN3XtwQHKuWucrJEP_nXjgdDRFyKtk7IyNOoetVMwUU4wEVfeyI7jvd29KJW9eDxkX2A-BDd4h9H_Ef-342RLOQbA6yx99MVjxY3iFvLKV0GpB4CP2lhQ_C5ap8akkDERdO_DTtMOjqm2bI93mykEjoaz3v2K6zJH1Oqu/s1924/Trilogy-of-Terror-Karen-Black-1975.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1924" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI5XR0fP83uj38l6OlyrQrN3XtwQHKuWucrJEP_nXjgdDRFyKtk7IyNOoetVMwUU4wEVfeyI7jvd29KJW9eDxkX2A-BDd4h9H_Ef-342RLOQbA6yx99MVjxY3iFvLKV0GpB4CP2lhQ_C5ap8akkDERdO_DTtMOjqm2bI93mykEjoaz3v2K6zJH1Oqu/w400-h300/Trilogy-of-Terror-Karen-Black-1975.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Karen Black as Miss Julie Eldridge</b></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAzemo1EqMuV3dLq1e5Kr2GTHcRR9wV-FObp0K3tpsWMZSFpnDaJ-xxsxs-rNLReTDa9jV6IlaYcQuOxlVLneQ1QMh_WHRFbnsGRMM-qdyxkmb9qRO3npYsxtL9u19cJkrYkOW0leWl4xBcTVNlDkJtcl0_J4_DNUijc7-vPgqGH-cvIEuksd0MBXc/s1924/Trilogy-of-Terror-Robert-Burton-1975%20(4).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1924" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAzemo1EqMuV3dLq1e5Kr2GTHcRR9wV-FObp0K3tpsWMZSFpnDaJ-xxsxs-rNLReTDa9jV6IlaYcQuOxlVLneQ1QMh_WHRFbnsGRMM-qdyxkmb9qRO3npYsxtL9u19cJkrYkOW0leWl4xBcTVNlDkJtcl0_J4_DNUijc7-vPgqGH-cvIEuksd0MBXc/w400-h300/Trilogy-of-Terror-Robert-Burton-1975%20(4).jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Robert Burton as Chad Foster </b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><div>JULIE is my second favorite story in the trilogy. Not least in part due to its singularly emphatic kink factor, and for its devilishly clever affiliating of the proprietorial dominance of the male gaze (a form of presumptive access to, and ownership of, the female body) with voyeurism, scopophilia, date rape, and sexual exploitation. A psychological thriller with a touch of the occult/ supernatural, JULIE is a fine work of feminist horror and made me think of Ira Levin’s <i>Rosemary’s Baby</i> and <i>The Stepford Wives</i>.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1hl-ljibialcHQw23rgLlyHL84yuEbSETbszZfTBLuQ_qQ8aIOCGpTFC-Hb4H_VrERfsXb8FPL1qDSbJnDMvDEQONwT8V4e3BFkIktfsY3uxEIEipGtMNA2vhSuWJgX9HrZI_h8UaozzJxL5E8mh28cryt8E60tzo2yTXff_Z49oda4SZvXsN9q3u/s1924/Trilogy-of-Terror-1975-Robert-Burton-Karen-Black%20(2).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1924" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1hl-ljibialcHQw23rgLlyHL84yuEbSETbszZfTBLuQ_qQ8aIOCGpTFC-Hb4H_VrERfsXb8FPL1qDSbJnDMvDEQONwT8V4e3BFkIktfsY3uxEIEipGtMNA2vhSuWJgX9HrZI_h8UaozzJxL5E8mh28cryt8E60tzo2yTXff_Z49oda4SZvXsN9q3u/w400-h300/Trilogy-of-Terror-1975-Robert-Burton-Karen-Black%20(2).jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Hot for Teacher</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">Of course, Levin’s contemporary gothics were at the forefront of my mind back in 1975 because the movie version of <i>The Stepford Wives</i> had opened in theaters just a month before <i>Trilogy of Terror</i> aired. In fact, the darkly satirical horror of <i>The Stepford Wives</i>…an ideal distillation of post-Women’s Lib male panic…felt in parallel with JULIE’s use of the micro-inequities of day-to-day male/female sexual politics as the springboard for a horror story centralizing what we now understand to be the hidden-in-plain-sight atmosphere of harassment and potential violence women are exposed to on college campuses (well, everywhere, honestly). A point emphasized in the opening sequence where self-styled campus Casanova Chad and his buddy Eddie (Jim Storm) voice their toxic opinions while engaged in the “harmless” act of girl-watching: Chad -<i>“God, have you ever seen so many dogs in one place?”</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKZPouleQiRpyCOPvBamm_5_IoKN1YYG3TPh8nh-zlw9tTcMzV9VaVMNc-PubH-LbNaekiy0a6NBH-rw_n38cY0lBX7X0A-vymO0dn__BQrqVEh4QtUD76EWuNK_UE4D1cWeBJz4r8TeDakH8cGfLPdV064lTEUuXLxcrg6AuYtCt-c6lYGfRDi2oU/s2020/Trilogy-of-Terror-Robert-Burton-1975%20(1).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2020" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKZPouleQiRpyCOPvBamm_5_IoKN1YYG3TPh8nh-zlw9tTcMzV9VaVMNc-PubH-LbNaekiy0a6NBH-rw_n38cY0lBX7X0A-vymO0dn__BQrqVEh4QtUD76EWuNK_UE4D1cWeBJz4r8TeDakH8cGfLPdV064lTEUuXLxcrg6AuYtCt-c6lYGfRDi2oU/w400-h300/Trilogy-of-Terror-Robert-Burton-1975%20(1).jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The Objectifying Gaze</b></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div>With the villain early-identified and the story’s rising mostly the intensifying degrees of Chad’s abuse, dramatic tension becomes largely of the pressure-cooker variety; Julie will either break or break free…but something’s got to give. And it does. Rather effectively, I must say, in a nifty twist ending I did NOT see coming at the time. </div><div>Though the most heavily populated of the three stories—affording an almost orgasmic parade of outré ‘70s fashions—JULIE is essentially a two-hander. Robert Burton makes for a convincing chauvinist sleazeball (coyly alluded to as being a natural talent by Karen Black on the DVD commentary, perhaps explaining why their 18-month marriage had already dissolved by the time the TV movie came out), but it’s Karen Black’s show all the way. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEAMHHAdPopwxChAy5d7w8Yzs_-fRsqMaS_A8qK-VaBPc2cw0vHbVKB-zgdBN3MNHHe33dBEcTSj4NV5MAas2oHwDQSr8XGviwMwkCEKzV6ddHNFzgi0n4eP1zvOVpnHtyOkQR5kpRudz7NgHFNC-U2AeqSWuDffp-mhfIpigai22Vn7IsUFW_cW97/s1748/Trilogy-of-Terror-Karen-Black-Robert-Burton-1975.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1302" data-original-width="1748" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEAMHHAdPopwxChAy5d7w8Yzs_-fRsqMaS_A8qK-VaBPc2cw0vHbVKB-zgdBN3MNHHe33dBEcTSj4NV5MAas2oHwDQSr8XGviwMwkCEKzV6ddHNFzgi0n4eP1zvOVpnHtyOkQR5kpRudz7NgHFNC-U2AeqSWuDffp-mhfIpigai22Vn7IsUFW_cW97/w400-h297/Trilogy-of-Terror-Karen-Black-Robert-Burton-1975.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Chad blackmails Julie with obscene photos he took of her when she was unconscious.<br /> Thanks to this nanosecond blooper reveal, it looks like his fetish <br />was dressing Julie up to look like Charles Foster Kane </b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">Black is always fascinating to watch and never less than believable in depicting Julia’s trauma. But it’s only after I saw the entire vignette and the twist was revealed that Black’s traditional, almost cliché characterization of an “academic” (precise diction, books clutched to the bosom, mainspring-tight hairdo, owlish spectacles, soft voice) struck me as being perhaps the “performative” display I think it’s intended to be. Until the very last scene, Julie is more or less “acting” the part of the meek bookworm.</div><div>By the way, double kudos to whoever’s idea it was for Julie to keep her spectacles on during the film’s big “reveal” scene. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSGI6WxooQaSkolYuPY3w-kgV3vw36M_yBHUk3CNhMRuQM2bNTAZaKzZKZH1fZoGUULm-kzfqRoPpGWyYfWraM3J5wO2HsvhV1ov6hrhkkKhvHbSxHnULi2mqOEPLEGpXADo4MFCoh_7pj98eb5HrEgM0f7LUZU2M0tokb34vbvBc2CaRpliqvDJpp/s1924/Trilogy-of-Terror-Robert-Burton-Karen-Black-1975%20(2).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1924" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSGI6WxooQaSkolYuPY3w-kgV3vw36M_yBHUk3CNhMRuQM2bNTAZaKzZKZH1fZoGUULm-kzfqRoPpGWyYfWraM3J5wO2HsvhV1ov6hrhkkKhvHbSxHnULi2mqOEPLEGpXADo4MFCoh_7pj98eb5HrEgM0f7LUZU2M0tokb34vbvBc2CaRpliqvDJpp/w400-h300/Trilogy-of-Terror-Robert-Burton-Karen-Black-1975%20(2).jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The framing of the final sequence emphasizes Julie's physical dominance over Chad</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After decades of women whipping off their suddenly-useless glasses after letting their hair down, Julie exercising her power while wearing glasses (this is a woman who doesn’t care if men seldom make passes) is an almost Hitchcockian touch (apropos that director's well-known fondness for women in eyewear). Particularly in a story about the power of the gaze.</div></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><div style="color: #cc0000; font-weight: 700; text-align: right;"><br /></div></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfwPLX3ovdGqHndMf4Ulapi7h-Mzr9fvZtI5SE0tdSOB9iu1HTcFe6U_MCSYW3ZnjJpEDSmSPyUuxdD29KAbhYmgATR8zbrJHZQqLNc6ebTRAYy8sSq8LsZmdxslsvdnw1hXqoUqqnWEZK27LAONOk3sVInalZgP8Hou3BEUpXrUY9RDAvodAyCycs/s1443/Trilogy-of-Terror-Millicent-and-Therese-1975.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1443" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfwPLX3ovdGqHndMf4Ulapi7h-Mzr9fvZtI5SE0tdSOB9iu1HTcFe6U_MCSYW3ZnjJpEDSmSPyUuxdD29KAbhYmgATR8zbrJHZQqLNc6ebTRAYy8sSq8LsZmdxslsvdnw1hXqoUqqnWEZK27LAONOk3sVInalZgP8Hou3BEUpXrUY9RDAvodAyCycs/w400-h300/Trilogy-of-Terror-Millicent-and-Therese-1975.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Based on the short story: <i>Needle in the Heart</i> - 1969</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div><i>“There are just some people who’ll come to any </i>[movie]<i> with story overviews. It’s nothing to do with the acting or with the writing at all. It’s just that . . . they say, ‘well if the story’s going this way, a great ending would be this. And if a story’s going that way, the surprise would be that.’”</i></div><div><div>That’s Karen Black on the<i> Trilogy of Terror </i>commentary track explaining to teleplay writer William F. Nolan her insightful theory on why <i>Millicent & Therese</i>, the trilogy's second terror tale, is so often dismissed with the claim of being predictable. Black is correct in recognizing that when a viewer is presented with something as overworked as the “good twin-evil twin” trope in a horror movie, it takes no great feat of cleverness to guess that if there's going to be a twist ending, that twist will reveal the twins (who are never shown occupying the same frame) are the same person. </div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP9voX12095z2oXHFnrCrhcgIE5ugc1Fy1001TsRrD1rROEoIHqk8hRMcEUuYftXTHPIRTKTQGQ2Jti2lxcd7EWpL9T4M_da8vMCgWY3BWw7pGA_aUv1ofbuVeLmhy_1ik4-8awFY4zguw1Q4Q5qZiF193iFhsEo_DMf2PI9CnkBqHi5EC2IQQLI7v/s1751/Trilogy-of-Terror-Karen-Black-Millicent_1975.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1307" data-original-width="1751" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP9voX12095z2oXHFnrCrhcgIE5ugc1Fy1001TsRrD1rROEoIHqk8hRMcEUuYftXTHPIRTKTQGQ2Jti2lxcd7EWpL9T4M_da8vMCgWY3BWw7pGA_aUv1ofbuVeLmhy_1ik4-8awFY4zguw1Q4Q5qZiF193iFhsEo_DMf2PI9CnkBqHi5EC2IQQLI7v/w400-h299/Trilogy-of-Terror-Karen-Black-Millicent_1975.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Karen Black as Millicent Larimore</b></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2VGTNeokiNciIQywkBPsfYt0kwwpngSxwuNBsHPxqmDh9xJZ8JlhheYLY7jaSMcpMAvjS4Ag3T_zASyQhzzcYjWVsxMhIDmK7VGh6FRkkpHFYu0oZwrxNYwpDFpjg-MJpD57dLnwIpOWTK6glRtRwOCmCS8qQddxoIr7U4qYcggi4HbhtS5L64ZM2/s1924/Trilogy-of-Terror-Karen-Black-Therese_1975.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1924" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2VGTNeokiNciIQywkBPsfYt0kwwpngSxwuNBsHPxqmDh9xJZ8JlhheYLY7jaSMcpMAvjS4Ag3T_zASyQhzzcYjWVsxMhIDmK7VGh6FRkkpHFYu0oZwrxNYwpDFpjg-MJpD57dLnwIpOWTK6glRtRwOCmCS8qQddxoIr7U4qYcggi4HbhtS5L64ZM2/w400-h300/Trilogy-of-Terror-Karen-Black-Therese_1975.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Karen Black as Therese Larimore</b></td></tr></tbody></table>But I don't think surprise twists are essential to a good horror story. Sometimes the surprise of a performance that makes the familiar seem new can be very satisfying. <i>Millicent & Therese</i>, the story of two identical twins (moral Millicent, amoral Therese) engaged in an antagonistic battle of wills is so slight as to be little more than a sketch, so even as a teenager, I guessed the “twist” of its plot (linked to my obsession with the 1971 novel and subsequent film version of Tom Tryon’s <i>The Other </i>- 1972). </div><div><br /></div><div>But what made the whole thing seem new was the hinted-at cause of Millicent/Therese’s split personality. Behind the genre trappings of voodoo, witchcraft, and demonology is a poignant story of ongoing childhood sexual abuse and how the victim dealt with her trauma by slipping into a catastrophically extreme form of dissociation. A splintering off of her psyche to protect herself from dealing with what is happening (and, in the matter of the death of her mother, what she has done).</div><div>Significantly, it's the death of the father that precipitates the showdown between the two sisters. The child is at last "safe" but too many years of identity suppression has clouded the awareness of which personality was genuinely that of the child and which developed as a defense mechanism. </div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCyVTt8VcxGr9UKPq-0V8MG-tIdcXcpiyHHbzstcrkvv_DHsq6kHHKc6Ub69HPPLTd5EWioT2hyZQKKcHNf-XQ4p6a4xS-z2pXhPrjyPl8nMiPRHpqx0CNgZmvdxAKONk9XqNqSZ8B1l59ddql9afsQK4ZpBtr6tICoc44_w-fGRECh2ahumM0Ibig/s1924/Trilogy-of-Terror-John-Karlen_1975.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1924" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCyVTt8VcxGr9UKPq-0V8MG-tIdcXcpiyHHbzstcrkvv_DHsq6kHHKc6Ub69HPPLTd5EWioT2hyZQKKcHNf-XQ4p6a4xS-z2pXhPrjyPl8nMiPRHpqx0CNgZmvdxAKONk9XqNqSZ8B1l59ddql9afsQK4ZpBtr6tICoc44_w-fGRECh2ahumM0Ibig/w400-h300/Trilogy-of-Terror-John-Karlen_1975.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>It's nice seeing Dark Shadows' John Karlen as Mr. Anmar, one of Therese's lovers</b> </td></tr></tbody></table>Despite its dark overtones, <i>Millicent & Therese</i> is actually the most fun of the three episodes. Even if sometimes unintentionally so. For instance, the comically broad-stroke visual shorthand used to distinguish the personalities of the two sisters has Black dressed alternately like the illustration on a pack of "Old Maid" playing cards, and a Party City Halloween costume labeled "peroxided trollop."</div><div>But when it comes to acting, Karen Black transcends the obvious and gives two rather terrifically realized, distinctly separate performances. Veering effortlessly between compelling and camp, Black gives what amounts to a “best of” performance medley of the quirks, idiosyncrasies, and unique talents that made her one of the most intoxicatingly watchable actresses of her time.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKsPH6ODL6F-7DOaKZak3jWr_6CcxAZCXBdkNsqTkyFeYJA-2Dk6Wr1q2e5SUkyxZK7mfYZabLpmhtyLIQ-akN_RmhCg9-P09P5ZVC3QPUUL-UkU3vklORmNN0sQVnhqlHaTEXkyTbZPddJL_S9sgz9XJ3mPMVyKru49-zy1gRrfSX8oZqFWLLBsjp/s1443/Trilogy-of-Terror-Amelia-1975.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1443" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKsPH6ODL6F-7DOaKZak3jWr_6CcxAZCXBdkNsqTkyFeYJA-2Dk6Wr1q2e5SUkyxZK7mfYZabLpmhtyLIQ-akN_RmhCg9-P09P5ZVC3QPUUL-UkU3vklORmNN0sQVnhqlHaTEXkyTbZPddJL_S9sgz9XJ3mPMVyKru49-zy1gRrfSX8oZqFWLLBsjp/w400-h300/Trilogy-of-Terror-Amelia-1975.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Based on the short story: <i>Prey</i> - 1968</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><div>A woman spends a nightmarish evening fighting for her life after inadvertently releasing the spirit of a Zuni warrior encased in an ancient fetish doll. </div><div>When the topic turns to <i>Trilogy of Terror</i>, the now-iconic AMELIA episode is what everyone thinks of exclusively. And for good reason. Even after all these years, the idea of an ankle-high, razor-toothed, knife-wielding Zuni warrior speeding at you across the wall-to-wall carpet is still pretty hair-raising shit. Coupled with Karen Black’s glass-shattering screams, frequent falls, and oh-so-relatable shock reactions; there can be no mystery as to why this memorable horror vignette has achieved the status of kindertrauma klassic.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ9UStJR8D84rw6V2Py6qe0Lqu_E6WOiWDVcuaL9lqDo1WwPBuFf1sPuq4rZ785pNQdYzsqythP8bpv0JmFiy5Sy0-RqA5RG_MN1YBHuLbbRj0HxBsycEzsFfXjQ7Z43ZBFy2XrgnLoomHBCFA803Ps836hKmvGug0iTzdgjdAiZ54HrJgY4iWAmfc/s1924/Karen-Black-Trilogy-of-Terror-Amelia_1975.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1924" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ9UStJR8D84rw6V2Py6qe0Lqu_E6WOiWDVcuaL9lqDo1WwPBuFf1sPuq4rZ785pNQdYzsqythP8bpv0JmFiy5Sy0-RqA5RG_MN1YBHuLbbRj0HxBsycEzsFfXjQ7Z43ZBFy2XrgnLoomHBCFA803Ps836hKmvGug0iTzdgjdAiZ54HrJgY4iWAmfc/w400-h300/Karen-Black-Trilogy-of-Terror-Amelia_1975.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Karen Black as Amelia</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">I was a senior in high school when <i>Trilogy of Terror</i> aired, so while the widely-watched TV movie was all any of us could talk about at school the following day, it was never the stuff of nightmares as it was for so many who have claimed it as their seminal childhood freakout. </div><div>(Curiously enough, my own kindertrauma moment was a different teleplay written by <i>Trilogy of Terror</i>’s Richard Matheson. It was that 1961 episode of The Twilight Zone titled “The Invaders.” It starred Agnes Moorehead as a woman alone in a deserted farmhouse terrorized by ankle-high, knife-wielding spacemen.)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihP9ptuWZaiPXAdEiQL4OMxNs1uLuCHytDh21KrGg0d-HCPIdZpvg07l20lupHC4jWVpdDrAt03rkgwmwTrDzpQzrAfwqUvk1qx6vRFrON_I7gNQU85zHqGvUVhnXo933LEn6AyrmTeVKagVzESKRO60Zv2los_6YQpxg7GAk1dhG95mQ_tER6ugos/s1924/Karen-Black-Trilogy-of-Terror-Amelia-1975.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1924" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihP9ptuWZaiPXAdEiQL4OMxNs1uLuCHytDh21KrGg0d-HCPIdZpvg07l20lupHC4jWVpdDrAt03rkgwmwTrDzpQzrAfwqUvk1qx6vRFrON_I7gNQU85zHqGvUVhnXo933LEn6AyrmTeVKagVzESKRO60Zv2los_6YQpxg7GAk1dhG95mQ_tER6ugos/w400-h300/Karen-Black-Trilogy-of-Terror-Amelia-1975.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><div>Karen Black’s performance in this episode is the jewel in the trilogy’s crown. It’s a one-woman show-stopper (she should have been Emmy-nominated for the self-penned phone monologue sequence alone) that sees Black’s wholesale commitment to her character and Matheson’s fantastic premise saving the whole thing from slipping into macabre silliness.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6jIuguUBfBmsIpJI3TrzcpXs5vVU-dsx06iV9iZ5IlWQO20I5PjoTahGriHT2Tx92GZCEZL8EMcxu5_6tr-RHQk3ybiTWRtKZdVeD-KdrEOo7bfg2OZYbPCqwlyW8Fft3ZLkevwTf47S-9L9ssW9E4Fk-q2a9fmnYRqZkMDc02A4yXxynp1a3AvcU/s1924/Karen-Black-Trilogy-of-Terror-Amelia-1975%20(9).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1924" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6jIuguUBfBmsIpJI3TrzcpXs5vVU-dsx06iV9iZ5IlWQO20I5PjoTahGriHT2Tx92GZCEZL8EMcxu5_6tr-RHQk3ybiTWRtKZdVeD-KdrEOo7bfg2OZYbPCqwlyW8Fft3ZLkevwTf47S-9L9ssW9E4Fk-q2a9fmnYRqZkMDc02A4yXxynp1a3AvcU/w400-h300/Karen-Black-Trilogy-of-Terror-Amelia-1975%20(9).jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Playing on primal fears and familiar phobias, AMELIA is a “fun” scare all the way, allowing the viewer to jump in surprise, squirm at the suspense, giggle at their own jitters, and yell at the screen “Don’t open that suitcase!” Best of all, Amelia is a character we really root for. So much so that the film’s literal killer ending is hard not to be perceived as a triumph for Amelia, for she is at last in a position (a warrior’s crouch, in fact) to have the last word with her mother.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDVs9lgH_nA0DSJD9d3PDxVNO2egwmjmY6kVBs8ZiMWAsfTEAoyryu_Mi7DaWMbKVlUxqpwlixlD2NZfiu0iqMHnrImV2fcF9Nw7iZ4Ja8xH_QDJ4YXmOWXyH4Twq3Yn-7OrHWVq4pC5YqSyP0izjHo_Jcn2WW4049-zg-d8gqu5DU1XZwJSV5SSco/s2406/Karen-Black-Burnt-Offerings-1976.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1300" data-original-width="2406" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDVs9lgH_nA0DSJD9d3PDxVNO2egwmjmY6kVBs8ZiMWAsfTEAoyryu_Mi7DaWMbKVlUxqpwlixlD2NZfiu0iqMHnrImV2fcF9Nw7iZ4Ja8xH_QDJ4YXmOWXyH4Twq3Yn-7OrHWVq4pC5YqSyP0izjHo_Jcn2WW4049-zg-d8gqu5DU1XZwJSV5SSco/w400-h216/Karen-Black-Burnt-Offerings-1976.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Burnt Offerings - 1976</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">Although it’s well-known that <i>Trilogy of Terror</i> was a movie Karen Black initially had no interest in making and that she perhaps ultimately regretted the role the film’s popularity played in pigeonholing her as a Scream Queen and taking her career into a direction she hadn't intended. But as a Karen Black fan who has always been a little bit frustrated by how little camera time she has in some of her most famous supporting roles, I’m grateful as hell for <i>Trilogy of Terror</i>. Not just because it represents some of her best work, but because it's a stellar, front-and-center showcase for a brilliant actress who too often had to shine from the sidelines.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyA-LOfV1MjlrzTMyrpj8WpjJHgoCxFJOhgi4NZCS6wMSYGS-KNHPAh9q48B2pne30eaK89xFqmPRZzbTqgr6Yw8uHmhz1VB7ZrsMlCDyEwnpAjtwyn34IAR_BS9W6D-SLIl-D67pKp8FYu5kDfmPwP-dKwpNdOcgquXmTGTSDmRFC4zHraxstmL8M/s1924/Karen-Black-Trilogy-of-Terror-Amelia-1975%20(10).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1924" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyA-LOfV1MjlrzTMyrpj8WpjJHgoCxFJOhgi4NZCS6wMSYGS-KNHPAh9q48B2pne30eaK89xFqmPRZzbTqgr6Yw8uHmhz1VB7ZrsMlCDyEwnpAjtwyn34IAR_BS9W6D-SLIl-D67pKp8FYu5kDfmPwP-dKwpNdOcgquXmTGTSDmRFC4zHraxstmL8M/w400-h300/Karen-Black-Trilogy-of-Terror-Amelia-1975%20(10).jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Sweet Dreams</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></div></div>Copyright © Ken Anderson 2009 - 2022Ken Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04940648971296673233noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2627032459273165000.post-30472840709111279022022-05-08T01:52:00.032-07:002023-06-24T13:47:51.094-07:00CHICAGO 2002<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT5_d-cxAxFDccAFKrezEDVM7mQbKR7NtimngpGjFwLcTzNY7wvTHczXSQQHHtVnKwHlb7rQoEPOIOLE-7j5QAMPKKBr1DlR8bZQIseKeqyEC65BZ-m5fhLMrVTu-Izpy9psltuWYD8rUFnaIU29ReibNP6_Zb8WlZQFrlWWv0jK1LwxG5Q5slJMzv/s2439/Chicago_Rob-Marshall-2002.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1303" data-original-width="2439" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT5_d-cxAxFDccAFKrezEDVM7mQbKR7NtimngpGjFwLcTzNY7wvTHczXSQQHHtVnKwHlb7rQoEPOIOLE-7j5QAMPKKBr1DlR8bZQIseKeqyEC65BZ-m5fhLMrVTu-Izpy9psltuWYD8rUFnaIU29ReibNP6_Zb8WlZQFrlWWv0jK1LwxG5Q5slJMzv/w400-h214/Chicago_Rob-Marshall-2002.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div><div>For me, the history of <i>CHICAGO </i>has always been inextricably linked with that of <i>A Chorus Line.</i> <i>CHICAGO</i> premiered on Broadway on June 3rd, 1975; <i>A Chorus Line</i>, six weeks later, on July 25th. <i>CHICAGO</i> opened to mixed reviews and struggled at the boxoffice; <i>A Chorus Line</i> was met with raves, won the Pulitzer Prize, and was nothing short of a cultural phenomenon. <i>CHICAGO w</i>as nominated for 11 Tony Awards, won 0; <i>A Chorus Line</i> was nominated for 12, won 9.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>CHICAGO</i> and <i>A Chorus Line</i> also happen to be linked together in my memory. Certainly, I remember that day in August of 1975 when I went to <i>The Gramophone</i>, a gay-owned and operated record store on San Francisco's Polk Street, and purchased the Original Broadway Cast Recording LPs of both shows. Although I hadn't yet heard a single note from either score, I was so fired up from consuming all the <i>After Dark Magazine</i>-fed hype surrounding the opening of each production (that invaluable, homoerotic, national entertainment magazine being my sole West Coast pipeline to what was happening on Broadway), that I was almost smug in my confidence that my two blind purchases were far from being a gamble. </div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1ki5fsFk9E1278TbCdZeUMSRyDPE5uuC4XomYkc8Osai7xy8cRcPGoGcaqWU8DHeGrd1BQunG_eSzZUYPQTk-bpMyBDYqCZqL6_xrssXJDn_P22ShkkYDxshUlHc3LxbGAh19stP7A4AXLUMaOKNhbUgnj0Blv-S5dVi6GjG-DnUSbLEm6g3Ywe2Q/s1820/Chicago-A-Chorus-Line%20Original-Broadway-Cast-Albums-1975.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="903" data-original-width="1820" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1ki5fsFk9E1278TbCdZeUMSRyDPE5uuC4XomYkc8Osai7xy8cRcPGoGcaqWU8DHeGrd1BQunG_eSzZUYPQTk-bpMyBDYqCZqL6_xrssXJDn_P22ShkkYDxshUlHc3LxbGAh19stP7A4AXLUMaOKNhbUgnj0Blv-S5dVi6GjG-DnUSbLEm6g3Ywe2Q/w435-h216/Chicago-A-Chorus-Line%20Original-Broadway-Cast-Albums-1975.jpg" width="435" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>August 5, 1975 - $4.88 each<br />Both were single LPs in glossy gatefold jackets loaded with photos & liner notes</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div><div>Given that Broadway musicals don't crop up with the regularity of movies, the appearance of the highly-anticipated shows was quite a big deal to me. Before <i>CHICAGO</i> & <i>A Chorus Line </i>captured my imagination, the last Broadway cast album I'd purchased was Sondheim's <i>A Little Night Music</i>, a musical meal I'd been dining out on since 1973<i>. </i>Having committed every note and melody of that splendid score to memory by then, I could scarcely believe my good fortune that 1975 held forth the promise of TWO major Broadway musical releases I could submerge myself in. </div><div><br /></div><div>Back in the day, all the smart money was on <i>CHICAGO</i>. The only familiar names <i>A Chorus Line </i>boasted were composer Marvin Hamlish, then all but unavoidable after his recent Oscar win for <i>The Sting</i> (1973), and director-choreographer Michael Bennett, whose name was familiar to me from the liner notes of the library-borrowed cast albums of <i>Company</i> and <i>Follies. </i><i>CHICAGO</i> distinguished itself as the musical with the Broadway heavy hitters and showbiz pedigree. It marked the Broadway musical return of Gwen Verdon (her last Broadway musical was 1966's <i>Sweet Charity</i>)! The professional reunion of husband & wife collaborators Verdon & Fosse! The reteaming of Fosse with his <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2015/07/cabaret-1972.html" target="_blank">Cabaret</a></i> and <i>Liza with a Z</i> collaborators: the composer-lyricist-writing duo of John Kander and Fred Ebb! And best of all, <i>CHICAGO </i>marked the first-time pairing of two genuine Broadway legends…Gwen Verdon and Chita Rivera!</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7KGDKw4hf081iBhUrv5Rf_NSQ0g7iUCmEyJFxZdN1DF7RJSqeDSZ5faeAMiYLmGD6LWK70oVRX3UfhO-zpkERGiBBUq8M3hvIymk8kdXG21KB5TBWuIVIqjO6J0fMcN_Sow28CI1ujObqCzFRRGGQ6zprL4MMPBXTBH1PelR9hDQwXIIITS3DmZJ3/s2300/Chicago-Sam-Norkin-1975-Gwen-Verdon-Jerry-Orbach-Chita-Rivera-Bob-Fose-Broadway.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="921" data-original-width="2300" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7KGDKw4hf081iBhUrv5Rf_NSQ0g7iUCmEyJFxZdN1DF7RJSqeDSZ5faeAMiYLmGD6LWK70oVRX3UfhO-zpkERGiBBUq8M3hvIymk8kdXG21KB5TBWuIVIqjO6J0fMcN_Sow28CI1ujObqCzFRRGGQ6zprL4MMPBXTBH1PelR9hDQwXIIITS3DmZJ3/w446-h178/Chicago-Sam-Norkin-1975-Gwen-Verdon-Jerry-Orbach-Chita-Rivera-Bob-Fose-Broadway.jpg" width="446" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Illustration by Sam Norkin -1975</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">Wanting to start with the "sure thing," I listened to<i> the CHICAGO</i> album first, which became one of those rarer-than-rare occurrences where one's extraordinarily high expectations are met and exceeded. Hearing that incredible score for the first time...every single song a showstopper...not a clunker in the bunch...was such a thrill. The songs and their often hilarious lyrics set my imagination on fire... I could practically see the entire production in my head. I was instantly attracted to the storyline--the phoniness of show biz reflecting the phoniness of the American legal system. And if the cynicism at <i>CHICAGO's</i> core struck me as caustic and pessimistic, consider that I was just 17 at the time (sarcasm and snark are like crack cocaine to a teenager) and that it was the summer of '75. The summer that saw the dynamic downer duo of <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/09/nashville-1975.html" target="_blank">Nashville</a></i> and <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2009/07/the-day-of-locust-1975.html" target="_blank">The Day of the Locust</a> </i>released to movie theaters just weeks before. The timing couldn't have been more perfect. <i>CHICAGO w</i>as simply<i> </i>riding the crest of the zeitgeist. </div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiakNxV6iPKrPVGSXYIMa3ViK7CL2mpiXCYUtv02sGsfAB_aMlADPYdUZd40cbxe8vVjTP_VNSRTm4qZV9UYBm9NcFaTEBP2xvCXiAIzI4mdg0ROr95Uykn_8547hxww0orVmaOFlUpZr0Lpdn4m3LbeBLL-ADESExY1gSsI8DX2tXUX_vNTRsrBjuz/s1355/Jane-Fonda-Ken-Anderson-Sacramento-City-College-May,%206,%201976-Chicago-Broadway-Memo-Frank-P-Scardino.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1355" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiakNxV6iPKrPVGSXYIMa3ViK7CL2mpiXCYUtv02sGsfAB_aMlADPYdUZd40cbxe8vVjTP_VNSRTm4qZV9UYBm9NcFaTEBP2xvCXiAIzI4mdg0ROr95Uykn_8547hxww0orVmaOFlUpZr0Lpdn4m3LbeBLL-ADESExY1gSsI8DX2tXUX_vNTRsrBjuz/w433-h234/Jane-Fonda-Ken-Anderson-Sacramento-City-College-May,%206,%201976-Chicago-Broadway-Memo-Frank-P-Scardino.jpg" width="433" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>May 6, 1976</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;">That's Jane Fonda speaking at a Tom Hayden rally in Sacramento and 18-year-old me in this, the only photo I have of my beloved official <i>CHICAGO</i> T-shirt I wore for years until it disintegrated. An image captured mere moments before Ms. Fonda graciously signed the <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2009/10/barbarella-1968.html" target="_blank">Barbarella</a> </i>photo I've got secreted away in the book you see tucked under my arm (The Busby Berkeley Book). The memo is an affirmative reply to my written request to NY's 46th St. Theater inquiring about the possibility of purchasing a <i>CHICAGO</i> T-shirt (mail-order Broadway merchandise was yet to be a thing). It cost a whopping $5 plus $1 shipping. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Next, I listened to <i>A Chorus Line</i>, optimistically resigned to the certainty that it couldn't match my <i>CHICAGO </i>experience. Jump ahead several hours. Me on the floor in front of the family stereo, headphones on, in a theater geek's state of transcendence, eyes red and nose runny from listening to <i>A Chorus Line</i> three times in a row and bawling my eyes out. </div><div>And there you have what was then, and continues to be, the essential link in my relationship with <i>CHICAGO </i>and <i>A Chorus Line</i>. They're culturally joined at the hip for me. Iconic templates of a particular time and place in my life--I'd graduated high school in June, I'd been "out" to myself for about two years (4 more years to go for family), it was the summer of <i>Jaws, </i>it was the summer of my independence. <i>And th</i>ese two shows, listened to as regularly and relentlessly as though they were on a loop, were the soundtrack of my adult-adjacent freedom. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY-TLGu3oRgc5AxwcAndNGYohGFkk6V-wwDS7TmZo4WtjvkNDb-ilElEn_9KheZ7NnBNjXw5_yTCe6ebftXMyns0L4X0hsCvaeHWZVl5OfvB8veDuKIWEypEC4UWpaD5PAbfGvA7z34kkUz8xnXcPmMeP430IVPmzAGKV-Zu7284UH2lHS9bk4ckLS/s3730/A-Chorus-Line-National-Tour-June-7-1976-Curran-Theater-San-Francisco.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1932" data-original-width="3730" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY-TLGu3oRgc5AxwcAndNGYohGFkk6V-wwDS7TmZo4WtjvkNDb-ilElEn_9KheZ7NnBNjXw5_yTCe6ebftXMyns0L4X0hsCvaeHWZVl5OfvB8veDuKIWEypEC4UWpaD5PAbfGvA7z34kkUz8xnXcPmMeP430IVPmzAGKV-Zu7284UH2lHS9bk4ckLS/w435-h226/A-Chorus-Line-National-Tour-June-7-1976-Curran-Theater-San-Francisco.jpg" width="435" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>June 7, 1976<br />I saw <i>A Chorus Line</i> when the National Company came to San Francisco's<br /> Curran Theater in May. Ever the autograph hound, my friend and I became<br />stage-door Johnnies for the show's entire run</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>But <i>CHICAGO</i> was always the diamond…sharp, dazzling, and cold, while <i>A Chorus Line</i> was always the heart (a vision of Lauren Bacall singing "Hearts, Not Diamonds" in <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2015/09/the-fan-1981.html" target="_blank">The Fan</a></i> just popped into my head). To me, <i>A Chorus Line </i>was<i> </i>a dark, almost melancholy show... a <i>Follies </i>for theater gypsies...but unlike <i>CHICAGO,</i> it was humane and compassionate. And that made listening to it a poignant and exhilarating experience—all goosebumps and waterworks. Each musical, reflecting as they did, opposite yet equally valid faces of our culture (post-Watergate disillusionment & "Me Generation" introspection), also appealed to the contrasting sides of my own nature. <i>CHICAGO</i> and <i>A Chorus Line </i>complemented one another. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3hvBmIIIUlI7OHonG1L8jNK-pT01LCRXfglJBY8NU--KgVyXLMuZmZIXyasnlU_pFd4DQ8Byg0upVu5R0XdEal2vQ6dMKwiJhTB8Ye7nHXiyWx8X8B307dxyTfHoH8rlaHvirB1NZyYxgcbiUUMUgwh9TY0VyKbfipThuMMK5STTy8GpIJUzhuwxC/s1548/Chicago-1992-bebe-%20neuwirth-Juliet-Prowse-Chicago-2012-Christy-Brinkley.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1122" data-original-width="1548" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3hvBmIIIUlI7OHonG1L8jNK-pT01LCRXfglJBY8NU--KgVyXLMuZmZIXyasnlU_pFd4DQ8Byg0upVu5R0XdEal2vQ6dMKwiJhTB8Ye7nHXiyWx8X8B307dxyTfHoH8rlaHvirB1NZyYxgcbiUUMUgwh9TY0VyKbfipThuMMK5STTy8GpIJUzhuwxC/w413-h299/Chicago-1992-bebe-%20neuwirth-Juliet-Prowse-Chicago-2012-Christy-Brinkley.jpg" width="413" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">It wasn't until 1992 that the opportunity arose for me to actually see a production of <i>CHICAGO </i>on stage<i> </i>for the first time. The Long Beach Civic Light Opera put on a fabulous, faithful-to-the-original production starring Juliet Prowse and Bebe Newerth, utilizing Tony Walton's original set designs, Patricia Zipprodt's costuming, and featuring two members of the original 1975 cast. It was astoundingly good. This may explain why I was never very fond of the pared-down, anachronistically costumed look of <i>CHICAGO's</i> phenomenally successful 1996 Broadway revival. An antipathy reinforced when I saw a 2012 production starring Christie Brinkley (by this point, stunt-casting was the only teeth the show had left).</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div>Since 1975, <i>A Chorus Line's</i> cultural grip has weakened a bit. Thanks to a monumentally mishandled 1985 movie adaptation and the musical's once-innovative confessional format feeling almost quaint in the modern climate of social media oversharing. Meanwhile, <i>CHICAGO</i>, a show once criticized for its relentlessly downcast gaze into life's sewers, has hung around long enough for its down-in-the-gutter perspective (I hear Candy Darling in <i>Women in Revolt</i> "Too low for the dogs to bite!") to be precisely eye-level with what mainstream American culture has come to normalize, reward, and elect. </div><div><br /></div><div>And something happened that, for the longest time, I had given hope of ever seeing...after decades of false starts and empty rumors (Liza and Goldie! Goldie and Madonna!), and against impossible odds (non-animated movie musicals were given the death knell) <i>CHICAGO, </i>at last, had been made into a movie. Twenty-seven years after its Broadway debut. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnaE3c-crSMBEZe7eoM5NWGjcoKayqNlDO-Y_5bjZyXeZHz2xErcOHLLhSx5buYY-_9BfDKGXBk-CSQiz5wmklSCdyvIpKEjfouTfvAU0xQajVjnrGs3Dp_VgjwRjCxMOzB3fh5WwHpdVVwGjHdv0md7SFhoevZfBpJPLNQ7iQCFRslVCo4tP4vQWR/s1920/Chicago-Rene-Zellweger-2002%20(7).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1036" data-original-width="1920" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnaE3c-crSMBEZe7eoM5NWGjcoKayqNlDO-Y_5bjZyXeZHz2xErcOHLLhSx5buYY-_9BfDKGXBk-CSQiz5wmklSCdyvIpKEjfouTfvAU0xQajVjnrGs3Dp_VgjwRjCxMOzB3fh5WwHpdVVwGjHdv0md7SFhoevZfBpJPLNQ7iQCFRslVCo4tP4vQWR/w400-h216/Chicago-Rene-Zellweger-2002%20(7).jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Renee Zellweger as Roxie Hart</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrgTx4hIIyP135I47_7LOgjrxrMShi5sHP5_kkdx8YytbzqIBSrjpyEApZBe9QXaYS214_U1cKnKn1ibLzY93aFgyyS49_PfsJ4ADU4ufvC-aGXxK2BNe5N-hCqz4R6xwpmLITAF_4gZz9AODaMrBLQxSJfr2EsSS-SWdD8186LSGCx1UBEEdUDe_E/s1920/Chicago-Catherine-Zeta-Jones-2002%20(3).png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1036" data-original-width="1920" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrgTx4hIIyP135I47_7LOgjrxrMShi5sHP5_kkdx8YytbzqIBSrjpyEApZBe9QXaYS214_U1cKnKn1ibLzY93aFgyyS49_PfsJ4ADU4ufvC-aGXxK2BNe5N-hCqz4R6xwpmLITAF_4gZz9AODaMrBLQxSJfr2EsSS-SWdD8186LSGCx1UBEEdUDe_E/w400-h216/Chicago-Catherine-Zeta-Jones-2002%20(3).png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Catherine Zeta-Jones as Velma Kelly</td></tr></tbody></table><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbTttfe1scpQ42g55WipMKr5CDY8eJgaSTjg2Uk1uFJZGinEKfgsvAmlEXchpC8FiqjwMeP94Nbw8eO5NXrYZqGyDedaupQ4Z4zftHVxsiivlEDxnaXuGnMQlj1Vb6z76Hj-MkcmNksKwzK6v2hzUc7rHRJsWbA3k_wU0cquZG2h8I2yjJ71T41iV0/s1920/Chicago-Richard-Gere-2002%20(2).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1036" data-original-width="1920" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbTttfe1scpQ42g55WipMKr5CDY8eJgaSTjg2Uk1uFJZGinEKfgsvAmlEXchpC8FiqjwMeP94Nbw8eO5NXrYZqGyDedaupQ4Z4zftHVxsiivlEDxnaXuGnMQlj1Vb6z76Hj-MkcmNksKwzK6v2hzUc7rHRJsWbA3k_wU0cquZG2h8I2yjJ71T41iV0/w400-h216/Chicago-Richard-Gere-2002%20(2).jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Richard Gere as Billy Flynn</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgusj7ufEqgKnXyftEX5AyUPHrpVoEFSVC-J3kLWNpOYM5W9X9K2HzUsD9qnFZNijXTVoSJ1zhpRM2obCWIi_LqkWG4_buXBPTVohYUlgCdk3G944JsWWk5ezMI1pfwYgoGDdLmqyTlbw9Tb9WaHc_3pUcXo79eITJYFzKiJSgPBo9no3oS7x_BRb6_/s1920/Queen-Latifah-Chicago-2002%20(2).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1036" data-original-width="1920" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgusj7ufEqgKnXyftEX5AyUPHrpVoEFSVC-J3kLWNpOYM5W9X9K2HzUsD9qnFZNijXTVoSJ1zhpRM2obCWIi_LqkWG4_buXBPTVohYUlgCdk3G944JsWWk5ezMI1pfwYgoGDdLmqyTlbw9Tb9WaHc_3pUcXo79eITJYFzKiJSgPBo9no3oS7x_BRb6_/w400-h216/Queen-Latifah-Chicago-2002%20(2).jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Queen Latifah as Matron Mama Morton</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq4nxUosvxuH9PkjSF8LsxeenYMGrziVgiOFDcAK7EZqNpkbCL9ZrT_wwS3F1eRdPzqsH_idxASGVqjasT-U1dGWVV4AfC86mvlz1B5VO_LOO3fQ5GGH9P4eXetdl5G7LRYZmzOEmK8VY4AghI1eQcuptuHM9W-LMEe2DvFu8LH8GpeudxWuDn4CLS/s1920/Chicago-John-C-Reilly-2002.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1036" data-original-width="1920" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq4nxUosvxuH9PkjSF8LsxeenYMGrziVgiOFDcAK7EZqNpkbCL9ZrT_wwS3F1eRdPzqsH_idxASGVqjasT-U1dGWVV4AfC86mvlz1B5VO_LOO3fQ5GGH9P4eXetdl5G7LRYZmzOEmK8VY4AghI1eQcuptuHM9W-LMEe2DvFu8LH8GpeudxWuDn4CLS/w400-h216/Chicago-John-C-Reilly-2002.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John C. Reilly as Amos Hart</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><i>CHICAGO</i>, the Bob Fosse/Fred Ebb/John Kander musical vaudeville about two amoral, overaged, gin-soaked jazz babies on murderers' row, desperate to parlay their 15-minutes of criminal infamy into show biz careers, was made into a $45 million major motion picture. Who was the director tasked with reviving the viability of live-action musicals? None other than Rob Marshall, the Tony Award-nominated choreographer-director of that 1992 Juliet Prowse/Bebe Neuwirth Long Beach production that knocked my socks off. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's impossible to overstate how excited I was that Friday morning in December of 2002 when my partner and I, returning home from a Christmas trip, stopped off at our place just long enough to drop off our luggage so we could hightail it to Century City and be among the first audience to see <i>CHICAGO</i> on its December 27th opening day in LA. When the film was over and we were handed our evaluation cards by anxious-looking marketing people (the film wouldn't open wide until January), I thought I had died and gone to stage-to-screen heaven. We were both so euphoric over what we'd just seen, after exiting the theater, we swiftly got right back in line to see it again.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJPicVlTJwUvKho9eFiXosOHHCByubmLQ52wofmAfsOWA6c8LzF7u0ngkliKrzQ0zrHcvcFG8IZhYRTr8cktVCWA7jnsKFEde0xedQrjsAJlyNr6zUcC6_TihH1O8JRmoDU_QfmEhrsudtMdKl4vkTOGbiEofzPbYcHKAyLHt-rdYPo33eJeV4xzI-/s1920/Chita-Rivera-Chicago-2002.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1036" data-original-width="1920" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJPicVlTJwUvKho9eFiXosOHHCByubmLQ52wofmAfsOWA6c8LzF7u0ngkliKrzQ0zrHcvcFG8IZhYRTr8cktVCWA7jnsKFEde0xedQrjsAJlyNr6zUcC6_TihH1O8JRmoDU_QfmEhrsudtMdKl4vkTOGbiEofzPbYcHKAyLHt-rdYPo33eJeV4xzI-/w400-h216/Chita-Rivera-Chicago-2002.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Chita Rivera as Nickie</b><br />Broadway's original Velma Kelly makes a cameo appearance as a Cook County Jail inmate. <br />Her name is a nod to the character she played in Fosse's 1969 film <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/03/sweet-charity-1969.html" target="_blank">Sweet Charity</a></i>.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><div>Rob Marshall and screenwriter Bill Condon avoided several pitfalls from the outset by not trying to reimagine the show for the screen. Instead, they came up with a device (the musical numbers erupt out of Roxie's fevered fantasies) that made the highly-stylized, stage-bound show more cinematic. Boasting spectacular cinematography, a sensational cast, and dazzling choreography, they succeeded in bringing the <i>CHICAGO</i> I loved to the screen. (It had been my gravest fear that the "<i>Victoria's Secret </i>meets <i>International Male</i>" Broadway revival version of <i> CHICAGO </i>would be the only surviving template for future generations.) </div><div>The film became a major boxoffice and critical hit, garnering a whopping 13 Oscar nominations that year, winning 6, among them Best Picture. <i>CHICAGO</i> revitalized the movie musical.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil0DEqp-QoDQ_EJTNQZlLNnR8aJtl-SF5fXAY2hk2zAKLAIOn8Z23Rr-ev9slWighaeeOLCrkJltn42itOT05lKRcNO9YaPisKt0RQpXRoCwRA83M_na7aEdcFYVhpVYm1vAZRAOX8cgFndaqbJNj7jEWa-lgHWfoswPKf4612iA_CQkUkSmaN3PtD/s1920/Chicago-Taye-Diggs-2002.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1036" data-original-width="1920" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil0DEqp-QoDQ_EJTNQZlLNnR8aJtl-SF5fXAY2hk2zAKLAIOn8Z23Rr-ev9slWighaeeOLCrkJltn42itOT05lKRcNO9YaPisKt0RQpXRoCwRA83M_na7aEdcFYVhpVYm1vAZRAOX8cgFndaqbJNj7jEWa-lgHWfoswPKf4612iA_CQkUkSmaN3PtD/w400-h216/Chicago-Taye-Diggs-2002.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Taye Diggs as The Bandleader</b></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1X6vLHNsczmog-E7Ir4D3oG6hINxaO1HmLFPrtbYfNIWxl2VRFxiXKWO-SUta1X0ZNwNFqw2U79zIZjlIPWtfMcJsRusnFGzrXFgMgFx35kxNkytYNV-RhgJqccqvoPxopM05UmYS8ydSfQgPlgIyea4kIdZDIfCqXhFajYFQlkGA9TucuX2vBRh9/s1920/Chicago-Christine-Baranski-2002.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1036" data-original-width="1920" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1X6vLHNsczmog-E7Ir4D3oG6hINxaO1HmLFPrtbYfNIWxl2VRFxiXKWO-SUta1X0ZNwNFqw2U79zIZjlIPWtfMcJsRusnFGzrXFgMgFx35kxNkytYNV-RhgJqccqvoPxopM05UmYS8ydSfQgPlgIyea4kIdZDIfCqXhFajYFQlkGA9TucuX2vBRh9/w400-h216/Chicago-Christine-Baranski-2002.png" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Christine Baranski as Mary Sunshine</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">But writing this now, in 2022, it's clear my once all-encompassing ardor for <i>CHICAGO</i> has cooled a bit over the years. After the dust of anticipation settled and I was able to breathe a sigh of relief that the screen adaptation wasn't a botch job like <i>A Chorus Line: The Movie</i>, only then did I notice that somewhere along its 27-year path to the screen, CHICAGO had become neutered. </div><div style="text-align: left;">When I look at CHICAGO today, the film's black comedy subtext targeting the institutional corruption of the media, penal system, politics, and law, doesn't hit nearly as hard as how sympathetically Roxie and Velma are portrayed. </div><div style="text-align: left;">Gwen Verdon & Chita Rivera gave us a Roxie and Velma who were genuinely <i>"...older than I ever intended to be." </i>The undeserving pair's hunger for vaudeville fame was a last-gasp act of desperation and resentment after a lifetime of failure and rejection. The Roxie and Velma of the film are both so young and beautiful (and talented) that we're left with the impression that life, indeed, has been unduly dismissive of them. Each suffers so many humiliations, setbacks, and exploitations that by the finale, we're rooting for them and have forgotten (or stopped caring) that they are remorseless murderers. This is obviously the whole point, and the film stays true to that notion... academically. But rather than leaving the audience with a bad taste in its mouth for its complicity in the amorality, I know I was just happy to see these two exploited sad sacks seeing their dreams come true. It was a feel-good ending passing itself off as hard-knock cynicism. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Fosse/Verdon (2019)</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeaVwKeSyifCB9dgHXX75S-fmtgMr0JkldYVuox_0_qTfFwEfu2pUYaW0neVp5lX_uXgQyF8Ji6VeXXll0W67XbIV6YZKJ9dEHL-MyVtpdAaHCzY7WSxel5PcSxWuGWjngu67DROPD2pmumGMPsdzt3dMTOPkWKBTUjEgT3WDl-6IcO2zuj0akDAos/s2560/Fosse-Verson-Bianca-%20Marroqu%C3%ADn-Michelle-Williams-2019-Chita-Rivera-Gwen-Verdon-Chicago-Nowadays.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="2560" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeaVwKeSyifCB9dgHXX75S-fmtgMr0JkldYVuox_0_qTfFwEfu2pUYaW0neVp5lX_uXgQyF8Ji6VeXXll0W67XbIV6YZKJ9dEHL-MyVtpdAaHCzY7WSxel5PcSxWuGWjngu67DROPD2pmumGMPsdzt3dMTOPkWKBTUjEgT3WDl-6IcO2zuj0akDAos/w416-h208/Fosse-Verson-Bianca-%20Marroqu%C3%ADn-Michelle-Williams-2019-Chita-Rivera-Gwen-Verdon-Chicago-Nowadays.jpg" width="416" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Bianca Marroquin and Michelle Williams</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">CHICAGO rehearsals 1975</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Bob Fosse</b>: <i>"And I'm saying that it would be better for the show if the…."</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Gwen Verdon</b>: <i>"Better for the show? Oh, really? Better for the show… Is that really what you think? I'll tell you what would have been better for the show: opening four months ago with a director who wasn't hellbent on turning it into two hours of misery for the audience."</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The above exchange may be fictional (from the splendid miniseries <i>Fosse/Verdon</i>), but it reflects a genuine issue that plagued the original production of CHICAGO from the start: concern that Fosse had simply made the show too bitter and misanthropic for its own good. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Hollywood had no such concerns. When the time came for the film adaptation, far too much Hollywood money was riding on CHICAGO for the studio to even consider taking a chance on having another <i>Pennies from Heaven</i> on its hands (1981's mega-depressing megaflop about another amoral character who uses musical fantasy to escape reality). Miramax insured its $45 million investment by making sure that with <u><i>this</i> </u>CHICAGO, a good time was going to be had by all. Even if it <u><i>was</i></u> a musical about murder, greed, corruption, violence, exploitation, adultery, and treachery--all those things we all hold near and dear to our hearts.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOZA3Wa9K034hYLsWBYPp2HFvI2stSCttcqjlBOKa15SW8XQfh26N_HUQ1SHZtMssJa0H6KgyrjS0qrZ1YkjwweGMeyE2pnx3C2WBXgGU96NglS5fEgg8zpfQUnkumFDaiQhRrl8H6NCxT24VlWMJBjrvhCPcY6pIVblZ_UPBW2qTLXq7q5LldID7k/s1920/Chicago-Rene-Zellweger-Richard-Gere-2002.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1036" data-original-width="1920" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOZA3Wa9K034hYLsWBYPp2HFvI2stSCttcqjlBOKa15SW8XQfh26N_HUQ1SHZtMssJa0H6KgyrjS0qrZ1YkjwweGMeyE2pnx3C2WBXgGU96NglS5fEgg8zpfQUnkumFDaiQhRrl8H6NCxT24VlWMJBjrvhCPcY6pIVblZ_UPBW2qTLXq7q5LldID7k/w400-h216/Chicago-Rene-Zellweger-Richard-Gere-2002.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div><b>WHAT I LOVE ABOUT THIS MOVIE</b></div><div>No one can say Rob Marshall didn't understand the assignment. He was hired to deliver a hit movie musical, and he did. Brilliantly. It really wasn't his fault that the <i>CHICAGO</i> he (and I) fell in love with back in 1975—labeled by many critics at the time as mean-spirited and ugly—had long given way to the forget your troubles, c'mon get happy crowd-pleaser <i>CHICAGO </i>of today. The revamped 1996 Broadway revival of <i>CHICAGO</i> turned Fosse's 1975's ambivalent success into the 2nd longest-running musical in Broadway history. And it didn't accomplish that by making visiting tourists and blue-haired theater parties uncomfortable. It became a hit by submerging the show's unsavory attributes under layers of glamour, sex, and style. Yes, with nary a trace of irony or self-awareness, <i>CHICAGO</i> had become Fosse's "Razzle Dazzle" number.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL51ck6j1WpQlUijEt2AZeRYx59MON8Un2t83nNi672uqEkXXU_ad2Et9Lhuu3DCBKEZdgUl35ZSNBnSykF-3XxQwSAi_ehoX50ExpNbzoqGt7KiMRC0b_tSACEJYnEfKQYdsPI3m4R9Z_K6pAzRAL46mdTultLEOeVO9N08Uo7GxA0VYb4pMJBHen/s1920/Catherine-Zeta-Jones-Chicago-All-That-Jazz-2002.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1036" data-original-width="1920" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL51ck6j1WpQlUijEt2AZeRYx59MON8Un2t83nNi672uqEkXXU_ad2Et9Lhuu3DCBKEZdgUl35ZSNBnSykF-3XxQwSAi_ehoX50ExpNbzoqGt7KiMRC0b_tSACEJYnEfKQYdsPI3m4R9Z_K6pAzRAL46mdTultLEOeVO9N08Uo7GxA0VYb4pMJBHen/w400-h216/Catherine-Zeta-Jones-Chicago-All-That-Jazz-2002.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">CHICAGO's themes remain relevant, but its contemptuous </div><div style="text-align: center;">view of America and humanity no longer discomfit</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div><b>PERFORMANCES</b></div><div>Casting a movie in ways that invite comparisons to a show's original cast can be problematic. Since there IS no other Roxie Hart for me but Gwen Verdon, I was actually pleased that the film went with an entirely different take on the character. I hadn't seen Renée Zellweger in anything before, but her Roxie has a Glenda Farrell quality—tough, quirky, wisecracking—that feels both period-perfect and suits the film's concept. Catherine Zeta-Jones is dynamic as Velma Kelly, but the lovely woman hasn't a coarse bone in her body. The "foul-mouth broad" part of her performance never convinced me. It's impossible to take your eyes off of her when she's onscreen, but when she tries for Velma's lowbrow vulgarity, the best you get (and here she isn't alone) is Damon Runyon-esque posturing of the <i>Guys and Dolls</i> sort. The entire cast of <i>CHICAGO</i> is exceptionally good, Richard Gere--the most animated I've seen him onscreen since <a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2014/07/looking-for-mr-goodbar-1977.html" target="_blank"><i>Looking for Mr. Goodbar</i> </a>(1977)--being a particular delight, displaying even more playful showmanship at age 52 than in that online clip of his 1973 appearance in <i><a href="https://youtu.be/8zUNuRNZIaY" target="_blank">Grease</a></i>.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiMMV88M4mC9IBWSQ2lyvZCK488c5uz29Ort5R1iLLMmboI6tRdXikuUTGSwTJgojNp-pGI-6A9hZLjW-o5EhlvF9kBgcxStwJIwUixumGgUSmNvWogNNlbqjQqR-6KXtca3tzgH8-ouwL_WhWCL4f2YMGY5zRM6AhiNRdvvME0DraaJAJi6jyJK5R/s1920/Chicago-Catherine-Zeta-Jones-Renee-Zellweger-2002.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1036" data-original-width="1920" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiMMV88M4mC9IBWSQ2lyvZCK488c5uz29Ort5R1iLLMmboI6tRdXikuUTGSwTJgojNp-pGI-6A9hZLjW-o5EhlvF9kBgcxStwJIwUixumGgUSmNvWogNNlbqjQqR-6KXtca3tzgH8-ouwL_WhWCL4f2YMGY5zRM6AhiNRdvvME0DraaJAJi6jyJK5R/w400-h216/Chicago-Catherine-Zeta-Jones-Renee-Zellweger-2002.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><b>THE STUFF OF FANTASY</b></div><div><div>The thrill and terror of seeing any movie adaptation of a favorite show is discovering what they did with (or to) the songs you loved best. Sometimes your favorites don't even make it into the finished film (<i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2012/02/on-clear-day-you-can-see-forever-1970.html" target="_blank">On a Clear Day You Can See </a>Forever's</i> baffling decision to excise its sole lively production number "Wait Till We're Sixty-Five"). Other times you'll wish they hadn't (don't get me started on <i>A Chorus Line: The Movie</i> again). From the very first time I listened to the <i>CHICAGO</i> Broadway cast album, "Funny Honey," "The Cell Block Tango," "Roxie," and "Nowadays" became my favorite songs in the show. How did their transfer to film rate? </div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWH8KkVzXywEl_55P6n-n7RW0v-Q1X9_JkBV0M9L__g-j0au-D4HvsiZ9YP_RIZrPMFwTLBIO13QpyCyCwjXyrz0-cjEMB3ih0GjaE7K4T5VpPAJDzGgeIiXQQFeIV-B_XzC0QAAJqVsVbDhqMXpSvQMwPDlgDqF7nA441OGBx6hs5HZH6EemdpkeV/s1920/Chicago-Rene-Zellweger-2002%20(2).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1036" data-original-width="1920" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWH8KkVzXywEl_55P6n-n7RW0v-Q1X9_JkBV0M9L__g-j0au-D4HvsiZ9YP_RIZrPMFwTLBIO13QpyCyCwjXyrz0-cjEMB3ih0GjaE7K4T5VpPAJDzGgeIiXQQFeIV-B_XzC0QAAJqVsVbDhqMXpSvQMwPDlgDqF7nA441OGBx6hs5HZH6EemdpkeV/w400-h216/Chicago-Rene-Zellweger-2002%20(2).jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>"Funny Honey"- B</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">The movie goes for a sultry, torchy interpretation of this number and scores high points for how it cleverly establishes the film's visual vocabulary for Roxie's fantasies. It only earns a "B" grade because as good as Zellweger is, she simply can't touch Gwen Verdon for comedy delivery. An observation that's less a jab at Ms. Z than a tip of the hat to Verdon. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHxus0sDynKwAzCWwCzs_3ENEFgR_zj_CSZvwyr5z9GjOw8WNu9djNmn5Jxl0pCY-OTS_soN7E_ZdbCRRF5v24pmdoKy_htNMKdEOaGdZHV_LHKOBpSKEPPwRn18qp44S0Dg4W-UJCmhtlxRcTvahlHcFzk8MnMKo8GM4n9PVp8Y2RA3TZZ7zTwTgr/s1920/Chicago-Catherine-Zeta-Jones-Cell-Block-Tango-2002.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1036" data-original-width="1920" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHxus0sDynKwAzCWwCzs_3ENEFgR_zj_CSZvwyr5z9GjOw8WNu9djNmn5Jxl0pCY-OTS_soN7E_ZdbCRRF5v24pmdoKy_htNMKdEOaGdZHV_LHKOBpSKEPPwRn18qp44S0Dg4W-UJCmhtlxRcTvahlHcFzk8MnMKo8GM4n9PVp8Y2RA3TZZ7zTwTgr/w400-h216/Chicago-Catherine-Zeta-Jones-Cell-Block-Tango-2002.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>"The Cell Block Tango"- A+</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">Every detail about this inspired fever dream of a number works magnificently for me. I especially love that Marshall includes the "victims" in this death tango, and the way the prison reality is intercut with the fantasy. The number is theatrical, it's cinematic, it's a scarlet wall of women behind bars. My favorite number in the movie.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguMAdnD9URkdVJnfdfCxKYBd12_qq-tdzG9L1UhV06jM-uBaU6h3GUO-uP7gAF28nfRx8TjDpK9lp9KK70xOL99mAJVKP1714Ie41JxoE3uE2U89rpG68zOxoj-GqVcze6FcDobXBDEhuryF7YIRJ0KX50x0sYXmw8qJ3QVIg23_BrTuAwUmuS-dVy/s1920/Chicago-Roxie-Rene-Zellweger-2002.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1036" data-original-width="1920" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguMAdnD9URkdVJnfdfCxKYBd12_qq-tdzG9L1UhV06jM-uBaU6h3GUO-uP7gAF28nfRx8TjDpK9lp9KK70xOL99mAJVKP1714Ie41JxoE3uE2U89rpG68zOxoj-GqVcze6FcDobXBDEhuryF7YIRJ0KX50x0sYXmw8qJ3QVIg23_BrTuAwUmuS-dVy/w400-h216/Chicago-Roxie-Rene-Zellweger-2002.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>"Roxie"- A+</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">Roxie is a singular sensation to herself in this narcissist's anthem that becomes a terrifically glossy and stylish production number in the style of the classic Hollywood musicals. It's deliciously old-fashioned, and Zellewgger shines in it. Literally. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAkZU8AFV4HzlvVH2R5OCNHvrCSXEdJJxlrBC5MO13DUZ0e5vtaPQUVlMnRuj2Wn7g87kiFNu0izQJYeW8REGJw0jTMUW0vW149TX4B_gdJydWLoyIK7RAyz9FOS9J-LZGq96O7G_I0tD4p0d6BZ5R1RCNHt0y7vAkOMeoWwnZYVmI0gqTQkC29F2d/s1920/Chicago-Catherine-Zeta-Jones-Renee-Zellweger-Hot-Honey-Rag-2002.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1036" data-original-width="1920" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAkZU8AFV4HzlvVH2R5OCNHvrCSXEdJJxlrBC5MO13DUZ0e5vtaPQUVlMnRuj2Wn7g87kiFNu0izQJYeW8REGJw0jTMUW0vW149TX4B_gdJydWLoyIK7RAyz9FOS9J-LZGq96O7G_I0tD4p0d6BZ5R1RCNHt0y7vAkOMeoWwnZYVmI0gqTQkC29F2d/w400-h216/Chicago-Catherine-Zeta-Jones-Renee-Zellweger-Hot-Honey-Rag-2002.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>"Nowadays/Hot Honey Rag"- A+</b></td></tr></tbody></table>Gangbusters! Because "Hot Honey Rag" wasn't on the OBC album, I only became aware of it when Verdon & Rivera performed it on variety shows, and then I think it was just called "Keep It Hot." Anyhow, it's now a standard part of revival recordings and a "new" favorite for me. "Nowadays" is given its due as both a solo & duet, and the electric staging of "Hot Honey Rag" had me thinking of the flappers in <i>Thoroughly Modern Millie</i>. And seriously, the lyrics to "Nowadays" are out of this world.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>THE STUFF OF DREAMS</b></div></div></span></div></div></div></div><div>In spite of that dreadful, written-for-the-film, Oscar-bait song "I Move On," I'll always enjoy the movie version of <i>CHICAGO</i>. It's an incredibly well-crafted musical that I credit for rescuing the genre from animated singing teapots, and I genuinely think it deserves all of its success. (Though Marshall revealing in the DVD commentary that personal fave-rave Toni Collette was almost cast as Roxie was a bit of "what if?" news I didn't need. OMG...can you imagine?! Be still my heart.)</div><div>But through no fault of its own--after all, the movie didn't change, I did--<i>CHICAGO</i> just doesn't stand the test of time for me as what I might consider a classic musical. When I revisit <a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2015/07/cabaret-1972.html" target="_blank"><i>Cabaret </i>(1972),</a> even after all these years, it's a film that continues to offer me a full-course meal. Rewatching CHICAGO recently was like having a sorbet dessert...thoroughly delightful and pleasant, but there wasn't anything for me to chew on. </div><div><br /></div><div>I told you that <i>CHICAGO</i> and <i>A Chorus Line</i> are eternally linked for me. Here it is 2022; both shows have been made into films, yet when I really want to have my best experience of either and both...I still go back to listen to those original Broadway cast records I purchased in August of 1975.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4950naWKSwo3cZmpRa586VK354vFE5ryFr_Tokk2FXfW-oRCzx2qj2zdf9bC3pzAacw3tdKGuf0IV9T7tlKABIvZGlWs1INdh8hr7TpKt4106VAVFO_fXkKqznDTuUjLeFCacssvp3sdb56vK4m6W015CgIwWgGfsUKxpYEIh-3OXfdfHCi7DelVz/s1920/Chicago-Rene-Zellweger-Roxie-2002%20(15).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1036" data-original-width="1920" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4950naWKSwo3cZmpRa586VK354vFE5ryFr_Tokk2FXfW-oRCzx2qj2zdf9bC3pzAacw3tdKGuf0IV9T7tlKABIvZGlWs1INdh8hr7TpKt4106VAVFO_fXkKqznDTuUjLeFCacssvp3sdb56vK4m6W015CgIwWgGfsUKxpYEIh-3OXfdfHCi7DelVz/w437-h236/Chicago-Rene-Zellweger-Roxie-2002%20(15).jpg" width="437" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><b>BONUS MATERIAL</b></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There's a wealth of material about CHICAGO on YouTube and throughout the internet. You can see clips from the original production, the 1992 Long Beach production, the 1996 Broadway revival, and the deleted "Class" musical number from the motion picture. Any footage you can catch of Gwen Verdon and Chita Rivers performing is guaranteed to be pure magic. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1u8ggY-AwG24_VLFJ9ZM-bwCGJZipPV9xQDoMxjTsRrYQoua-_gjs95q43SthmKgr5dG1Rz-LSrCfnLvDxsnbmXHEeLI_nmVH7FZZ4yrFR09XkdFEg_Zt_eRIslAUe0rMJB9JljyZGbCRgYDro9XYOJKqsS1PYcYgqR0Vj4u1Xe9HTNw_61FVe7I4/s2007/Chicago-1927-Frank-Urson-Silent-Movie.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1128" data-original-width="2007" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1u8ggY-AwG24_VLFJ9ZM-bwCGJZipPV9xQDoMxjTsRrYQoua-_gjs95q43SthmKgr5dG1Rz-LSrCfnLvDxsnbmXHEeLI_nmVH7FZZ4yrFR09XkdFEg_Zt_eRIslAUe0rMJB9JljyZGbCRgYDro9XYOJKqsS1PYcYgqR0Vj4u1Xe9HTNw_61FVe7I4/w400-h225/Chicago-1927-Frank-Urson-Silent-Movie.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Also available on YouTube (for the time being) is the silent film version of <i>Chicago</i> (1927)<br /> and the Ginger Rogers remake/reworking of <i>Roxie Hart</i> (1942)</b> - Thanks, <a href="http://cinefiliasantmiquel.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Cinefilia</a></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My favorite curio is an audio track from the 1975 Philadephia tryouts that features cut songs and the original lyrics to "The Cell Block Tango" (wherein we discover "Lipschitz" initially referred to Jacques Lipschitz, the cubist sculptor). Listen to it <a href="https://youtu.be/00-ziXEWEKI" target="_blank">HERE</a>. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj86RAGLU-Hre42EFxqaCKRLjyncb89n1nwtjUWHVryJ8rRoesZKiHBvJU_nv40KEhGDnZG70D1UohfxXEp0XCN4Iz0yaj-mTkPGewYMGaLPA9BQFL25yComUayDu0egvTnDJJzU2NKDoreLuthNpj2OSBOzOxmYwBIrmsQ-RCEpPM6-SdKsG8M-L4f/s1280/Minsky's-Chorus-Reginald-Marsh-1935.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="944" data-original-width="1280" height="295" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj86RAGLU-Hre42EFxqaCKRLjyncb89n1nwtjUWHVryJ8rRoesZKiHBvJU_nv40KEhGDnZG70D1UohfxXEp0XCN4Iz0yaj-mTkPGewYMGaLPA9BQFL25yComUayDu0egvTnDJJzU2NKDoreLuthNpj2OSBOzOxmYwBIrmsQ-RCEpPM6-SdKsG8M-L4f/w400-h295/Minsky's-Chorus-Reginald-Marsh-1935.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Minsky's Chorus" by Reginal Marsh - 1935<br />The painting that inspired the original <i>CHICAGO </i>poster art</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRBjUYg5RYmDkv13gqHI8aT6kWbGJqPQK8gBbxKYOhUPBCGufyfbdcT6Zq5DHrsKzMTnMSEqvvnIcHh1blPYV4EAXET5RmYSoHgrbss8bAObb9_3zjLnB85WCZkl5Ksl1kWH5j_mcmZoAxlr6hiwrsfOa1deXy7O3Gy2p5JkCrWLrZ3ybPdRHY3FGw/s1338/Chicago-A-Musical-Vaudeville-1975-Tony-walton.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="667" data-original-width="1338" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRBjUYg5RYmDkv13gqHI8aT6kWbGJqPQK8gBbxKYOhUPBCGufyfbdcT6Zq5DHrsKzMTnMSEqvvnIcHh1blPYV4EAXET5RmYSoHgrbss8bAObb9_3zjLnB85WCZkl5Ksl1kWH5j_mcmZoAxlr6hiwrsfOa1deXy7O3Gy2p5JkCrWLrZ3ybPdRHY3FGw/w400-h200/Chicago-A-Musical-Vaudeville-1975-Tony-walton.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Copyright © Ken Anderson 2009 - 2022</div><div><br /></div>Ken Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04940648971296673233noreply@blogger.com33tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2627032459273165000.post-73892171428743862122022-03-31T14:13:00.009-07:002023-07-27T20:03:39.372-07:00LAST OF THE RED HOT LOVERS 1972<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhm9Iuj9gPB2_oJG42-w-XuZykLMuHcOsWFHRNinqd14BcP7fCBnUH42AiMg8jbUXDBXa1TukRIbgnYnmWEmvVcORZgWeWFa9XVOETRMBxtkq7qPj1IOJrycRG1cTP_mm9pwwAWuo_luz3pjW2QTx0RPW_ENNUdosZX_b3W8SpGhXKZGb4hapBViUMz=s2323" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1310" data-original-width="2323" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhm9Iuj9gPB2_oJG42-w-XuZykLMuHcOsWFHRNinqd14BcP7fCBnUH42AiMg8jbUXDBXa1TukRIbgnYnmWEmvVcORZgWeWFa9XVOETRMBxtkq7qPj1IOJrycRG1cTP_mm9pwwAWuo_luz3pjW2QTx0RPW_ENNUdosZX_b3W8SpGhXKZGb4hapBViUMz=w433-h244" width="433" /></a></div>I remember when I was a teenager, there used to be a radio station format called MOR, which stood for "middle of the road." And as the name suggests, these surprisingly popular stations catered to the seasoning-free music needs of its still market-significant 34 to 65 listening demographic--folks who were concerned that The Osmonds were beginning to sound a little too "street"--by playing inoffensive melodic pop, soft-rock, instrumentals, and standards (i.e., elevator music). It served as a counterprogramming response to the late-'60s rock, soul, and R&B revolution that emerged from the youth movement, drug culture, and changing socio-political climate.<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgcq00hxPxgTCI2Qw0SC1oXb-8i2Rl1cAEODJd0wMeetg8kR4Zy_CGrAUhJjhAoqg-0-a5kJEeYCeHxSRUy0SbyzEBbCp7vUPVoVLfic3Aw4q7i9wVk_n_u5HOnu3ryz79Oktd-_XQYtvKxdyQ9KbhJd3fFXRAYGvCq1katWrVVIlu9iO_W5JVR2WEb=s2324" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1308" data-original-width="2324" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgcq00hxPxgTCI2Qw0SC1oXb-8i2Rl1cAEODJd0wMeetg8kR4Zy_CGrAUhJjhAoqg-0-a5kJEeYCeHxSRUy0SbyzEBbCp7vUPVoVLfic3Aw4q7i9wVk_n_u5HOnu3ryz79Oktd-_XQYtvKxdyQ9KbhJd3fFXRAYGvCq1katWrVVIlu9iO_W5JVR2WEb=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Middle Man</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">I mention this because, when it comes to movies, I tend to forget that around this same time (roughly 1967 - 1978), Hollywood was in the midst of its own revolution, dubbed the New Hollywood. A revolution the floundering studios responded to with its own brand of MOR counterprogramming designed to satisfy the needs of the middle-age-bracket ticket-buyer who still saw movies as primarily a "family medium" and went to theaters for escapism, not significance.</div><div style="text-align: left;">In the years following the breakout success of <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2012/02/bonnie-clyde-1967.html" target="_blank">Bonnie and Clyde </a></i>(1967) and <i>Easy Rider </i>(1969), a struggling film industry began aggressively courting the rapidly-growing youth market. Embracing unconventional films with topical themes, profanity, and graphic displays of sex, nudity, and violence. The goal was to attract audiences by offering them what they couldn't get on television. While Hollywood traditionalists balked at the newfound climate of permissiveness, the college-age demographic seized the marketplace. It was the disposable income of the young that turned offbeat, taboo-shattering films like <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2014/01/midnight-cowboy-1969.html" target="_blank">Midnight Cowboy </a></i>(1969), <i>A Clockwork Orange </i>(1971), and <i>Last Tango in Paris</i> (1972) into major boxoffice hits.</div><div><div><br /></div><div>Meanwhile, television remained the dominant entertainment choice for the dwindling 35 to 64-year-old market. But, when given the right G or GP-rated inducement, they proved their age bracket was still capable of showing up in significant enough numbers to make such old-fashioned (if not downright primordial) movies as <i>Yours, Mine, & Ours </i>(1968),<i> The Love Bug</i> (1969), and <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2014/05/airport-1970.html" target="_blank">Airport</a></i> (1970) some of the highest-grossing films of their respective years.</div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi0tc7iEp7Pw0EGJ76ZzFaKaPabh_Tq8TF0JCi2M2NZ_3_3JebRmDdZVE6uB5CWAkq4NEcBJTe6RyBgHC_PSBdEIOdeU7R6xL8qv_gNQxYzf083tfB36beYM6RvgHSsYmieZUJFmYfiGOepWV6PcHkmyidUr6ihermxTUx7_QZrJEEE778uOY2jIXZS=s1268" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1268" height="420" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi0tc7iEp7Pw0EGJ76ZzFaKaPabh_Tq8TF0JCi2M2NZ_3_3JebRmDdZVE6uB5CWAkq4NEcBJTe6RyBgHC_PSBdEIOdeU7R6xL8qv_gNQxYzf083tfB36beYM6RvgHSsYmieZUJFmYfiGOepWV6PcHkmyidUr6ihermxTUx7_QZrJEEE778uOY2jIXZS=w430-h420" width="430" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Stuck in the Middle with You</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;">The "Hollywood Renaissance" era of the '70s is rightfully remembered for its creative daring and for producing groundbreaking films like <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2010/03/the-graduate-1967.html" target="_blank">The Graduate </a></i>(1967), <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/11/klute-1971.html" target="_blank">Klute</a> </i>(1971), and <i>MASH</i> (1970). But they are also the years when doggedly routine MOR comedies sought to straddle the fence through stories that looked at the rapidly-changing cultural landscape through a reactive, decidedly middle-aged (primarily male, always white) prism. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><div>The undisputed master of MOR movies at this time was the late Neil Simon. He built an entire career out of glorifying the middle-aged, middle-class everyman who's bewildered by a world that is changing too fast. Having begun his career writing for early TV (<i>Your Show of Shows</i>, <i>The Phil Silvers Show</i>), the prolific playwright, screenwriter, and Broadway golden boy was a master of sitcom plotting and gag-heavy humor. All of which reassured ticket buyers that a night out with a Neil Simon movie was a guaranteed risk-free, comfortingly familiar experience. Dubbed the "King of Kvetch Comedy" for almost a decade, Neil Simon had his finger on the arrhythmic pulse of America's "middlers"— folks too old for the Pepsi Generation but not yet ready to join the Geritol set. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgMpvzxaOn02Jwjq4TSpLV-peh5cILI5Fq6j38JPWS9052KmecAw-76FQGIQBIsB8B2XjA2LCrk2Co6wNF2VERDnpRysks0R8QAiOhjTXjXwatQ63yaCrtqlujyPM1pr2-CE55wDsajK-jYan611PW71XTGN-7UKL3viI3FUeexdcTL8LUvMHkDUShD=s2326" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1297" data-original-width="2326" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgMpvzxaOn02Jwjq4TSpLV-peh5cILI5Fq6j38JPWS9052KmecAw-76FQGIQBIsB8B2XjA2LCrk2Co6wNF2VERDnpRysks0R8QAiOhjTXjXwatQ63yaCrtqlujyPM1pr2-CE55wDsajK-jYan611PW71XTGN-7UKL3viI3FUeexdcTL8LUvMHkDUShD=w400-h223" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Barney's Queen of the Sea</b><br /><b>Sweet, savory salmon saute swimming in salivary succulence </b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">But by 1972, when even TV sitcoms were beginning to adopt a hipper, more contemporary comedy style (<i>The Mary Tyler Moore Show</i>, <i>All in the Family</i>, and <i>Maude</i> all premiered between 1970 and 1972) and Simon--who turned 45 that year, the same age as the main character in <i>Last of the Red Hot Lovers--</i>found that his trademark jokey, setup-payoff style had begun to feel dated even to his core audience. Which perhaps explains why the audience that had helped turn his early screen adaptations <i>Barefoot in the Park</i> (1967) and <i>The Odd Couple</i> (1968) into boxoffice hits went largely MIA by the time <i>Star Spangled Girl</i> (1971) and <i>Last of the Red Hot Lovers </i>(1972) came out. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEij6jzQRRQBVaTX8D79-sF8M4hwTLdGjqofuj_3wtxTW20bi3jpUL3Z0Zt4ARA-F_3wbhmh6Jbw1YN5bVstGk8bM5NEAOniO4ROOrJu7Bl_G9Va9egQAxd4wMSkAVgfVY21sQl8EtdMS-4JW0q7UwrRpQYGh4oPuES_DBYaMqh9AF7o2eRKSd9vjxwC=s2325" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1297" data-original-width="2325" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEij6jzQRRQBVaTX8D79-sF8M4hwTLdGjqofuj_3wtxTW20bi3jpUL3Z0Zt4ARA-F_3wbhmh6Jbw1YN5bVstGk8bM5NEAOniO4ROOrJu7Bl_G9Va9egQAxd4wMSkAVgfVY21sQl8EtdMS-4JW0q7UwrRpQYGh4oPuES_DBYaMqh9AF7o2eRKSd9vjxwC=w400-h224" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alan Arkin as Barney Cashman</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg7pGrar8i-xXq0lD8VEpomnq0-EdzbcNb80UOBgApRtF1Z3K4qxYxfB-J-norTelH6aglRPmVnzYEp9OOV-dFMMSsZM_1jqNUuKHQCab2g4BEie4fXusBFWPBW8jV82ffROT7CdAc-9Bl4n7UlQW0oSqnmCA8mayhdzP-yOdDbJBo5b2FeE08ijEyk=s2325" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="2325" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg7pGrar8i-xXq0lD8VEpomnq0-EdzbcNb80UOBgApRtF1Z3K4qxYxfB-J-norTelH6aglRPmVnzYEp9OOV-dFMMSsZM_1jqNUuKHQCab2g4BEie4fXusBFWPBW8jV82ffROT7CdAc-9Bl4n7UlQW0oSqnmCA8mayhdzP-yOdDbJBo5b2FeE08ijEyk=w400-h223" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sally Kellerman as Elaine Navazio</td></tr></tbody></table></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhf11tNx0BEt8DM3fw5QAOvQI3UzLGrJR5cT81BwVbNgp0cP5VD57TD9_LSdnD35pOCrlMFvSD09s2KhuxNozpnxLmXT6VcLzKEGVhbpNIo8wNMHPwPXKqU5EzVWQxzGhMpoEXjJzT7RKvuOFwqHTSpAsYuviyNC1zJLfQFEHTiyZ6Qbr-RM4LB4OQZ=s2334" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1300" data-original-width="2334" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhf11tNx0BEt8DM3fw5QAOvQI3UzLGrJR5cT81BwVbNgp0cP5VD57TD9_LSdnD35pOCrlMFvSD09s2KhuxNozpnxLmXT6VcLzKEGVhbpNIo8wNMHPwPXKqU5EzVWQxzGhMpoEXjJzT7RKvuOFwqHTSpAsYuviyNC1zJLfQFEHTiyZ6Qbr-RM4LB4OQZ=w400-h223" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paula Prentiss as Bobbi Michele</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh7QPxObDpjX9hEWiOLoTJcda1O-ZmzrwboSy8GJDWiDc1jjqNh9JgzP7S4DB5VfkPhhp2I_UYQ2hnE5cwzJgsDX48f-9UsbeQZolKSoupSXiJJgOYGnTME2b1NJuiZcuIWR5UO7J_o-wRuxc37dvczw25Emob0X3aZtAItcgjmB6gXS8enem2zF83T=s1920" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh7QPxObDpjX9hEWiOLoTJcda1O-ZmzrwboSy8GJDWiDc1jjqNh9JgzP7S4DB5VfkPhhp2I_UYQ2hnE5cwzJgsDX48f-9UsbeQZolKSoupSXiJJgOYGnTME2b1NJuiZcuIWR5UO7J_o-wRuxc37dvczw25Emob0X3aZtAItcgjmB6gXS8enem2zF83T=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Renee Taylor as Jeanette Fisher</td></tr></tbody></table><div><i><br /></i></div><div>If Classical Hollywood's fumbling efforts to join the New Hollywood youthquake were a movie, that movie would be Neil Simon's <i>Last of the Red Hot Lovers</i>. It's the story of Barney Cashman. Balding, happily married, settled-in-his-ways, Barney Cashman, who wears a blue suit every day when he drives his black 4-door sedan from Great Neck to New York to open his seafood restaurant. The routine sameness of Barney's life has him, at age 45, both contemplating his mortality and grappling with the nagging certainty that on the battlefront of the '70s Sexual Revolution, God has classified him 4-F. </div><div>It's Barney's deepest desire to have just one afternoon of "exciting" in a life that has thus far been one uninterrupted stream of "nice." Neil Simon's midlife-crisis comedy of bourgeois manners chronicles Barney's earnest but disastrous pursuit of the perfect Afternoon Delight. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjY5lZWWlwqWL4vwNik9XhVdEUrixqNsQISNzMnoyEGd8Knveay4MuF_BjW6Sxec952FnV2r0JS58yoOP8AZSMPs6waI0ZeFzw8kHrZKTeRuJ1qS_9gO67YKRAgq7RFAd78ZoHaSzaArb6sdzMUbQnZhJ91lidJuikyYdQ5J9ZMuqAH4utMAEwCZFAe=s2319" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1299" data-original-width="2319" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjY5lZWWlwqWL4vwNik9XhVdEUrixqNsQISNzMnoyEGd8Knveay4MuF_BjW6Sxec952FnV2r0JS58yoOP8AZSMPs6waI0ZeFzw8kHrZKTeRuJ1qS_9gO67YKRAgq7RFAd78ZoHaSzaArb6sdzMUbQnZhJ91lidJuikyYdQ5J9ZMuqAH4utMAEwCZFAe=w400-h224" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The Peacock Revolution<br />Along with everything else, men's fashion underwent an upheaval in the '70s. <br />Bold styling and vivid colors signified youth and sex appeal</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>Although a Tony Award-nominated hit when it opened on Broadway in 1969 (with James Coco in the lead), <i>Last of the Red Hot Lovers</i> —the 7th of Simon's plays to make it to the screen—hit theaters during a downtrend in Simon's career and, like<i> Star Spangled Girl</i> before it, opened to terrible reviews and non-existent business. By the time it was released on VHS in the early '80s (when I saw it), it had earned the reputation of being the most missable of Simon's screen adaptations. </div><div><br /></div><div>So wouldn't you know it...coming to <i>Last of the Red Hot Lovers</i> with rock-bottom expectations and the participation of faves Paula Prentiss and Sally Kellerman as my sole interest, I wound up laughing louder, longer, and more frequently at LOTRHL than any other Neil Simon film I'd seen to date. That was more than 40 years ago. Today, even after multiple revisits, <i>Last of the Red Hot Lovers </i>still remains my #1 favorite Neil Simon stage-to-screen adaptation.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgLfgoPWXgdbo6pibD0PLGh6rgNpiMDDEX2W3IP0Iw7GvFzGs4kxhtSel9ZwrpyvLj-49alqs2EF8NW1XpvypFII8LEmqKsXrraA1m9lph5R3ucNV0Y8kxf3phXPdKFK0l0BjjPNAxPHjEyXvEtcByABQQSUCwIPfEx5t2gMosSWKGl5EN1JKZo6hPl=s1920" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgLfgoPWXgdbo6pibD0PLGh6rgNpiMDDEX2W3IP0Iw7GvFzGs4kxhtSel9ZwrpyvLj-49alqs2EF8NW1XpvypFII8LEmqKsXrraA1m9lph5R3ucNV0Y8kxf3phXPdKFK0l0BjjPNAxPHjEyXvEtcByABQQSUCwIPfEx5t2gMosSWKGl5EN1JKZo6hPl=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Barney Whips Out His Schtick<br />The comedy in <i>Last of the Red Hot Lovers </i>is from a time when the mere sight of a middle-aged man in boxer shorts (37-year-old Arkin shaved his head to play 45) was considered a sure-fire laugh-getter </b><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><b>WHAT I LOVE ABOUT THIS FILM</b> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div>The obvious reason I love <i>Last of the Red Hot Lovers</i> is that it makes me laugh. A lot. What's not so obvious is why. It's not like I'm blind to the film's numerous shortcomings: Neal Hefti's oddly dispiriting musical score; director Gene Saks' (<i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2015/02/mame-1974.html" target="_blank">Mame</a></i>) pedestrian approach to the material (it looks like a TV movie that ran into budget trouble); and the overall sense that the film's premise is too thin to support the level of repetition imposed upon it by its "comic triple" structure.</div><div><div>For those unfamiliar, the Comic Triple is the ages-old comedy writing principle that says things are funnier in threes. A setup built around - 1. normal, 2. normal, 3. surprise! </div><div>A typical example is this exchange from <i>Young Frankenstein</i> (1974)-co-written by Gene Wilder and Mel Brooks: </div><div><br /></div><div><div>1. <i>"Would the doctor care for a brandy before retiring?"</i></div><div><i> - "No. Thank you."</i></div><div>2. <i>"Some warm milk, perhaps?"</i></div><div><i> - "No. Thank you very much. No, thanks.</i>"</div><div>3. <i>"Ovaltine?"</i></div><div><br /></div><div>Like Simon's earlier play<i> Plaza Suite, Last of the Red Hot Lovers </i>has a "3-in-One" structure (three one-act playlets united by the same male lead) that turns the film itself into a Comic Triple. But 98 minutes was an awfully long time to wait for a punchline for some. </div><div><br /></div><div>(Mel Brooks and Neil Simon were friends who both started as writers for <i>Your Show of Shows</i> in the '50s. Only a year apart in age, Simon never really shed his status as the comic darling of the blue-hair set, but Mel Brooks' broad farces and satirical movie homages struck a chord with young audiences and came to influentially exemplify the look of hip, college-crowd comedy in the '70s.) <span style="text-align: center;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM3RW0Jiq8YyDYorOPaGTXkH_u4dD7IkrVmYMLki6yA_ICdch3fCz6px99vudFmB1rzROH9a9Jb6MFTwcPKyhodww2Qwf_32it97ihg6BumLA1mtfizL-vzk9z3x3eiMyObpSvyzwl5DgYRcnKlisD8tXfdxYVh_qm3Gi4o2oolTidZL1_sgPrK-pw/s2299/Last-of-the-Red-Hot-Lovers-Renee-Taylor-Alan-Arkin-1972.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1301" data-original-width="2299" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM3RW0Jiq8YyDYorOPaGTXkH_u4dD7IkrVmYMLki6yA_ICdch3fCz6px99vudFmB1rzROH9a9Jb6MFTwcPKyhodww2Qwf_32it97ihg6BumLA1mtfizL-vzk9z3x3eiMyObpSvyzwl5DgYRcnKlisD8tXfdxYVh_qm3Gi4o2oolTidZL1_sgPrK-pw/w446-h252/Last-of-the-Red-Hot-Lovers-Renee-Taylor-Alan-Arkin-1972.JPG" width="446" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>It's All in the Writing / It's All in the Casting<br />Simon's jokes hit most of the time. But for me, Arkin, Kellerman, Prentiss, and Taylor bat it clear out of the park with every swing. Seeing what these quirky, broke-the-mold character actors do with Simon's set-in-aspic material is why this movie is such a favorite</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div><b>THE STUFF OF FANTASY</b></div><div>In <i>Last of the Red Hot Lovers</i>, Barney Cashman's failed trio of trysts in the New York apartment of his 73-year-old mother (empty two days a week from 3 to 5 when she's out doing volunteer work at Mount Sinai) begins in the winter of his discontent and continues through summer and fall. Making him a sort of frustrated man for all seasons. Each encounter brings about subtle changes in Barney, which should have a unifying effect and make the film feel more like a single narrative. Alas, the variance in tone and pacing of these sequences felt less like watching a movie with a cohesive plotline and more like watching the isolated sequences in an episode of <i>Love, American Style</i>. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>LOVE AND THE SENSUOUS WOMAN</b></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLoTmW8I06A1p6F-GVXerU4puoeD38F4NM_RlRn7CKpAIR5PnDngBVh8Z1sEEQ8id5rvlYPVxon4Y8TydPh4GpYvErHihQCksjuJo9b2qTnPk86CGsHsJMEUVSR2e44q9l-dtHO9InupskSRBcb8FhhoiEq6GG3BzYRfd4K_jKt-ZnqTLOX_8AdvYe/s1920/Last-of-the-Red-Hot-Lovers-Sally-Kellerman-Alan-Arkin-1972.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLoTmW8I06A1p6F-GVXerU4puoeD38F4NM_RlRn7CKpAIR5PnDngBVh8Z1sEEQ8id5rvlYPVxon4Y8TydPh4GpYvErHihQCksjuJo9b2qTnPk86CGsHsJMEUVSR2e44q9l-dtHO9InupskSRBcb8FhhoiEq6GG3BzYRfd4K_jKt-ZnqTLOX_8AdvYe/w428-h241/Last-of-the-Red-Hot-Lovers-Sally-Kellerman-Alan-Arkin-1972.jpg" width="428" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>"I get cravings. To eat, to touch, to smell, to see, to do. <br />A physical, sensual pleasure that can only be satisfied at that particular moment."</i></b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>The first sequence is the most quintessentially Simonesque of all the episodes. A machine-gun barrage of wisecracks and one-liners delivered with surprising comic panache by an amusingly salty Sally Kellerman with a prototypically subdued Alan Arkin – the master of comic stillness – playing straight man. The occasion of two married people agreeing to meet for an afternoon of no-strings adultery has Simon applying his <i>The Odd Couple</i> formula of close-quarters dissimilarity-conflict to an unforeseen obstacle: anxious Barney is looking for romance while illusion-free Elaine (<i>"A coughing woman of Polish persuasion"</i>) is looking for sex. </div><div><div>What should be a semantic non-issue becomes a Wall of Jericho as Barney's stubborn need to justify his infidelity with sentimentality finds no common ground with Elaine's clear-eyed sexual pragmatism. Behind the witty barbs and comebacks in their talking-in-circles banter lies a sharp discourse about the death of romance in the age of <i>Deep Throat </i>and <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2018/08/portnoys-complaint-1972.html" target="_blank">Portnoy's Complaint </a></i>(two films that came out the same summer as <i>Last of the Red Hot Lovers</i>).</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghKRh7dAiHEC-wc8QabtEfGTllzzyPNflPUHp5BkPL6Akr_x9YvMmVqBblHMm-ZFeYjlufzh1BQ90oYEzE-GlBRa9Ma8wFtMQp9r-z-vS5SgutkubdhOpzpZbmKRK2hM07zMx57gSFXrXpB29DxuCyKmb2QSIjndCEztzr5O3wY_Q1E6BGAWeXczyK/s2321/Last-of-the-Red-Hot-Lovers-Sally-Kellerman-1972%20(2).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1298" data-original-width="2321" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghKRh7dAiHEC-wc8QabtEfGTllzzyPNflPUHp5BkPL6Akr_x9YvMmVqBblHMm-ZFeYjlufzh1BQ90oYEzE-GlBRa9Ma8wFtMQp9r-z-vS5SgutkubdhOpzpZbmKRK2hM07zMx57gSFXrXpB29DxuCyKmb2QSIjndCEztzr5O3wY_Q1E6BGAWeXczyK/w400-h224/Last-of-the-Red-Hot-Lovers-Sally-Kellerman-1972%20(2).JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In her 2013 memoir, Sally Kellerman cited her performance in <i>Last of the Red Hot Lovers</i> as her proudest career accomplishment, which I'm in absolute agreement with. Reminding me of one of those silent wives in a Martin Scorsese mob movie, Kellerman's hard-edged Elaine Navazio is a standout and my favorite performance of her career. The writing in this sequence is perhaps the tightest and funniest, and Kellerman has a great comedy rhythm with Arkin (the two would team again in 1975's <i>Rafferty and the Gold Dust Twins</i>). </div><div>What hasn't been as obvious to me until multiple revisits is how hilariously in character Arkin's underplaying is. His performance is infused with dozens of small bits of business (the running gag of his non-drinker's reaction to drinking, for example) that not only set up and support Kellerman's jokes beautifully, but nicely establish many of Barney's behavioral details that pay off in latter sequences to illustrate his evolution as a red hot lover.</div></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>LOVE AND THE ACTRESS</b></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjegOrdfi5cA5CUpJqIBDtibPexzeAxIcgR0399JMNq32IvkBJoHoPhhervCQU6yRwIRdAhoFnxL2l00NkEsHlCxIQIbpBHOXMpCFIfIOjKu1WX0a8Z_0EBu0SdRbx1xowwM2cbmXTZfkNJ7b-JaFAnVX1hzDtWvZeiXyLe1LcARW7b-vGIB3nkMztu/s1920/Last-of-the-Red-Hot-Lovers-Paula-Prentiss-Alan-Arkin-1972%20(2).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjegOrdfi5cA5CUpJqIBDtibPexzeAxIcgR0399JMNq32IvkBJoHoPhhervCQU6yRwIRdAhoFnxL2l00NkEsHlCxIQIbpBHOXMpCFIfIOjKu1WX0a8Z_0EBu0SdRbx1xowwM2cbmXTZfkNJ7b-JaFAnVX1hzDtWvZeiXyLe1LcARW7b-vGIB3nkMztu/w431-h242/Last-of-the-Red-Hot-Lovers-Paula-Prentiss-Alan-Arkin-1972%20(2).jpg" width="431" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>"I don't need their stinkin' show. I'm more of a movie personality. <br />Barbra Streisand, Ali MacGraw... that's the type I am."</b></i></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">The first playlet ended with Barney emphatically vowing "I will never, never, never do that again." In this chapter, which stands as the requisite "silly" episode in Neil Simon's 3-act formula (remember that passed-out hooker storyline in <i>California Suite</i>?), we learn that "never' for Barney is about six months. It's summer, and having shed his romantic illusions along with his winter suit, Barney is again inspired to entertain a young woman in his mother's apartment. This time it's Bobbi Michele (Prentiss), the "theatrically built" actress-singer he meets in the park. <br />From Barney's outside-looking-in perspective on the sexual revolution, Bobbi represents all those beautiful, long-legged, mini-skirted, sexually-uninhibited women Barney sees and fantasizes about on the streets and staring out at him from the covers of sexy magazines. That she turns out to be Grade-A Looney Tunes turns their afternoon into a "be careful what you wish for" male midlife-crisis cautionary tale.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKjBy8w-ckmvXiFLoDlJo2oVqG8aNJnajPPfqrWd3_B3BZhkGF5lMfYC2TXrMQnrIKGzU2gGGtrC5VfeXEFQA4j7quoWvFSLSEQ9EAlgGbkLPPBnGmxTFvLmgWkmCYe8-moq9ywG2p8nc5BkwTtv7o4uJzEr4h0USvKI4OWOIAaD5AGsmrO9QJ4n9F/s1920/Last-of-the-Red-Hot-Lovers-Paula-Prentiss-Alan-Arkin-1972%20(2).png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKjBy8w-ckmvXiFLoDlJo2oVqG8aNJnajPPfqrWd3_B3BZhkGF5lMfYC2TXrMQnrIKGzU2gGGtrC5VfeXEFQA4j7quoWvFSLSEQ9EAlgGbkLPPBnGmxTFvLmgWkmCYe8-moq9ywG2p8nc5BkwTtv7o4uJzEr4h0USvKI4OWOIAaD5AGsmrO9QJ4n9F/w400-h225/Last-of-the-Red-Hot-Lovers-Paula-Prentiss-Alan-Arkin-1972%20(2).png" width="400" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">I'm a huge admirer of the woefully underappreciated Paula Prentiss, so I feign no objectivity when I say she's hysterically funny in this essentially made-to-order role. Not a popular performance even among many of her fans, but I find her brilliant. No one does kooky-sexy like Prentiss, her distinctive delivery and impeccable timing work to make the comedy in this sequence feel almost absurdist.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><b>LOVE AND THE TIMES WE LIVE IN</b></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTc_3_FhzCi_0ckHKiJWz6eAGcIcW9oZj-y19XJ_ZQdMuQ0UgFgAZYbq2xFGmQGt5O51AHhDzxane0oAMjIH4D05mr1Qb0Qxnmo6LvAhI5f6xsCbAon0kfWUoHSFiGdZIxSvYmofpT3zJkTh0meiIGoVfSMsIWGYrtYr-IsaLEcFZC8mWRbJgGwZOd/s1920/Last-of-the-Red-Hot-Lovers-Renee-Taylor-Alan-Arkin-1972.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTc_3_FhzCi_0ckHKiJWz6eAGcIcW9oZj-y19XJ_ZQdMuQ0UgFgAZYbq2xFGmQGt5O51AHhDzxane0oAMjIH4D05mr1Qb0Qxnmo6LvAhI5f6xsCbAon0kfWUoHSFiGdZIxSvYmofpT3zJkTh0meiIGoVfSMsIWGYrtYr-IsaLEcFZC8mWRbJgGwZOd/w435-h244/Last-of-the-Red-Hot-Lovers-Renee-Taylor-Alan-Arkin-1972.png" width="435" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Jeanette - <i>"You're not appalled by the times that we live in? The promiscuity you find everywhere?"</i><br />Barney - <i>"I haven't found it anywhere! I hear a lot about it, but I haven't found it!"</i></b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><div>Last of the Red Hot Lovers gets a bit serious in this final installment. A family friend whose husband is having an affair (Taylor) plummets into a deep depression and solicits the by-now practically predatory Barney for an ill-advised revenge dalliance. In the course of trying to seduce the woman after she's already expressed she's having second thoughts, Barney has a Willy Loman moment where he's confronted with his moral hypocrisy and the very real possibility that he may not be the decent man he prides himself on being. Amidst this, the film seems to make the questionable (but no doubt comforting) leap that before the sexual revolution introduced so many gray areas, America was a bastion of heterosexual monogamy. Conveniently ignoring the decades of smutty sex comedies (some written by Simon himself) satirizing the morality of suburban bed-hopping. </div><div><br /></div><div>In later years, Neil Simon would improve at balancing comedy-drama. But this third act episode, which has Simon's characters dealing with some pretty hard-hitting truths, is written to be the broadest, most farcical sequence of them all. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju8TnjtYQG6gP-pX1C6rwHbjT77CbRAqjPwp7pk7hWh6cU_HnA0d5KaZTPyx9BlfgGvxVfhEjwBD_5hcM3lWZK6fWBU2acsUyGGI_YoKlRakZyul8e0VOinpKhqksVshX9yXN6rQYcqu52uT65x5N0ZGQZTMUYsBdUFPGdDgQfnXWDLK49_kZrjJ7A/s1920/Last-of-the-Red-Hot-Lovers-Alan-Arkin-Renee-Taylor-1972.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju8TnjtYQG6gP-pX1C6rwHbjT77CbRAqjPwp7pk7hWh6cU_HnA0d5KaZTPyx9BlfgGvxVfhEjwBD_5hcM3lWZK6fWBU2acsUyGGI_YoKlRakZyul8e0VOinpKhqksVshX9yXN6rQYcqu52uT65x5N0ZGQZTMUYsBdUFPGdDgQfnXWDLK49_kZrjJ7A/w442-h249/Last-of-the-Red-Hot-Lovers-Alan-Arkin-Renee-Taylor-1972.png" width="442" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Perhaps on stage, it came off better. But with the intimacy of the movie screen, the skill of Renee Taylor's performance only emphasizes the sequence's whiplash shifts in tone. (Taylor is superb. How she manages to be screamingly funny one minute and heart-breakingly real the next is remarkable.) Does it make me laugh? Yes. Between the running gags of Jeanette's handbag and her retreats to the coffee shop, it has me in stitches. Does it work? Intermittently I'd say. </div><div>Once again, I call attention to how good Alan Arkin is, and in this sequence, he has to work with coming off as kind of creepy and unsympathetic. But both actors redeem the material's shortcomings through the authenticity of their characterizations.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUGLMgjqkoYDTz3UBA7w0Z2ILdhpGLt3VLFYewemZTtUXxh6cuDNLL3nwNcBZEq6gkZ1MHqgm7mC9V2IjhSBB_GBFNHj0yYUkqqpxvUbofUQJVt81Av16Y39AGbAMhgeFOiFf6XSbg7OMTlO_Mx9fO8NNsYLp3DTA-ZMVdqgIRxTpXwgSBoix3rwaf/s2325/Last-of-the-Red-Hot-Lovers-Renee-Taylor-Alan-Arkin-1972%20(2).JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1305" data-original-width="2325" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUGLMgjqkoYDTz3UBA7w0Z2ILdhpGLt3VLFYewemZTtUXxh6cuDNLL3nwNcBZEq6gkZ1MHqgm7mC9V2IjhSBB_GBFNHj0yYUkqqpxvUbofUQJVt81Av16Y39AGbAMhgeFOiFf6XSbg7OMTlO_Mx9fO8NNsYLp3DTA-ZMVdqgIRxTpXwgSBoix3rwaf/w437-h246/Last-of-the-Red-Hot-Lovers-Renee-Taylor-Alan-Arkin-1972%20(2).JPG" width="437" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Looking like a flesh and blood Boris Badenov, <br />incognito Barney tries to make it to his mother's apartment unnoticed</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>As a journalist noted at the time, <i>Last of the Red Hot Lovers</i> is a sad comedy about a genuine cultural phenomenon of the time: the youthquake era was the first time adults didn't look to their elders for guidance on how to live their lives, they looked to the young.</div><div>It's hard to know what being middle-aged must have felt like at a time when so much of life around you seemed to be in flux for only the young, but everyone can relate to feeling left out, feeling as though you're missing out, or that the parade is passing by. With <i>Last of the Red Hot Lovers,</i> Neil Simon takes a witty and insightful stab at exploring the experience of a character who had to go too far to learn that being in the middle wasn't so bad.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><div><br /></div><div><b>BONUS MATERIAL</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh-2gWVmG4qQ0z5Q4frz2wC5RFxWXZSVK8aYuL_WrZt3QqpggR6ysyWmXuGe8FecXaoAYk9XeH6YYnxNl-RMXNaDF-0TsjYbcMcciwJxTiI7GGtfpSW4aASOHAN5owPt8i967M7uwdYRt0aSCshVZI5k4RtBqu4n5USp4zWiNSZR5Qs4tY30ZnQg7P8=s1301" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1301" data-original-width="683" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh-2gWVmG4qQ0z5Q4frz2wC5RFxWXZSVK8aYuL_WrZt3QqpggR6ysyWmXuGe8FecXaoAYk9XeH6YYnxNl-RMXNaDF-0TsjYbcMcciwJxTiI7GGtfpSW4aASOHAN5owPt8i967M7uwdYRt0aSCshVZI5k4RtBqu4n5USp4zWiNSZR5Qs4tY30ZnQg7P8=w336-h640" width="336" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Iconic Looks - The Lynx Fur Coat </b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">I really love the look of Sally Kellerman's Elaine in <i>Last of the Red Hot Lovers</i>. Especially her enormous fur coat. As character-defining costuming goes, the lynx fur coat worked overtime in the '60s and '70s. I don't know if they ever went through a phase when they were considered sincerely chic or glamorous. But whenever a character is sporting one in a movie, it always seems to serve as a signifier of a certain kind of brassy, East Coast vulgarity. Living in California, I don't think I've ever seen one in person, but my first screen lynx sighting was in 1967's <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2013/03/wait-until-dark-1967.html" target="_blank">Wait Until Dark</a></i> when it was worn by street-savvy heroin smuggler Samantha Jones (bottom). Next, in 1970s <i>The Owl and the Pussycat,</i> Barbra Streisand's model/actress wore her omnipresent faux fur coat like it was sex-worker armor. </div><b><br /></b></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEioujFuERq9U78G7_lxIkK_1Rj_l-y4uz0M39y2eq4uVAw1ZVaMHIuBLnUulcgyxC6SxekCeAsQIfkZkCscm1ZWkCEe9xKImYaH4Pg6iUevK1zjepWbhW12w-HOCmzAuECRkEHkxFhkrugqfm084jO0bvSknYoQhSu4rbf-hmn1HGJtVCZFGOX0vNAU=s1728" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1292" data-original-width="1728" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEioujFuERq9U78G7_lxIkK_1Rj_l-y4uz0M39y2eq4uVAw1ZVaMHIuBLnUulcgyxC6SxekCeAsQIfkZkCscm1ZWkCEe9xKImYaH4Pg6iUevK1zjepWbhW12w-HOCmzAuECRkEHkxFhkrugqfm084jO0bvSknYoQhSu4rbf-hmn1HGJtVCZFGOX0vNAU=w400-h299" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Sally Kellerman (June 2, 1937 - February 24, 2022)</b></td></tr></tbody></table>The recent death of actress Sally Kellerman is what inspired me to re-watch <i>Last of the Red Hot Lovers. </i>In her 2013 memoir <i>Read My Lips</i>, she cites her performance in the film as one of her proudest accomplishments, and I can't help but agree. The first thing I ever saw Kellerman in was an episode of the Marlo Thomas sitcom <i>That Girl</i> titled "Break a Leg." It was broadcast Thursday, November 10, 1966, and it made an impression on me because I had a 4th-grade teacher I had a crush on who looked just like Kellerman in this episode. Although her most famous role (Margaret "Hot Lips" Houlihan) is from a film I really can't stand (Robert Altman's <i>M*A*S*H</i>), I loved Sally Kellerman in<span style="text-align: center;"> <i>Rafferty and the Gold Dust Twins</i> (1975), <i>Slither </i>(1973), <i>Foxes</i> (1980), </span><span style="text-align: center;"><i>Brewster McCloud</i> (1970), and even 1973's </span><span style="text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/10/lost-horizon-1973.html" target="_blank">Lost Horizon</a></i>.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhrBN47nJkWCb9gOA_w2uges3UwBC9PbHZvWWWirTIaGHfkAFrsbqCwctPPjiBemtgc5ZiEyhr2s1H3d-XoF_TI_UAoo_AxZIL4DD9PrQgH5A1rraC69w0qVXHcnaidnrkiPeMwK7c418qZhbqeCFj--Y0QvegavqE1VDBl5bVvE_IyvwRrdhNbWkXa=s1500" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1179" data-original-width="1500" height="330" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhrBN47nJkWCb9gOA_w2uges3UwBC9PbHZvWWWirTIaGHfkAFrsbqCwctPPjiBemtgc5ZiEyhr2s1H3d-XoF_TI_UAoo_AxZIL4DD9PrQgH5A1rraC69w0qVXHcnaidnrkiPeMwK7c418qZhbqeCFj--Y0QvegavqE1VDBl5bVvE_IyvwRrdhNbWkXa=w419-h330" width="419" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2015/04/neil-simon-voice-of-urban-underdog.html" target="_blank">Neil Simon: Voice of the Urban Underdog</a></b></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div><div>Copyright © Ken Anderson 2009 - 2022</div></div>Ken Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04940648971296673233noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2627032459273165000.post-17320607171504487772022-02-27T03:03:00.037-08:002022-10-20T01:59:30.449-07:00PASSING 2021<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiE34XY2phnnDY7gpMwlYAEY344OUcl_3-H6LJoyRxgXBcYDIj4vMZG9QY8iu3HbATDlSDg4bQepbMZisF2kPqBNiyH73zz5z0R8V6Vsnhgi8o_15OOCSX_gr6sLO9sP5Fo_QPcqSHjYSgwvPG4RnLMV35UQgFFSq89VjGM8NKuViLQHN8LjR5drcVV=s1675" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1299" data-original-width="1675" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiE34XY2phnnDY7gpMwlYAEY344OUcl_3-H6LJoyRxgXBcYDIj4vMZG9QY8iu3HbATDlSDg4bQepbMZisF2kPqBNiyH73zz5z0R8V6Vsnhgi8o_15OOCSX_gr6sLO9sP5Fo_QPcqSHjYSgwvPG4RnLMV35UQgFFSq89VjGM8NKuViLQHN8LjR5drcVV=w400-h310" width="400" /></a></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>“Back home down South, I could do no right. </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>When I moved out West, I could do no wrong.”</i></div><div><br /></div><div>The quote is attributed to my late stepfather—a native Georgian who was light-skinned, green-eyed, and had a natural mane of wavy, reddish “Cab Calloway hair" that (according to him and which I don't doubt for a second) drove the ladies to distraction—on one of the rare occasions he spoke to me about the duality of his experience growing up bi-racial in the segregated Jim Crow America of the ‘40s and ‘50s.</div></div><div>It was typical of my stepdad, the quintessential “man of few words,” to capture the entire swath of his racial reality with such astute economy. When he was young, the inflexible Black-White binary of the segregated South disregarded his mixed ancestry. And though he self-identified as Black, how he presented didn’t fit the accepted (and arbitrary) stereotypical distinctions, so he was regarded with suspicion by Blacks and whites alike. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh7MpXsAr5zw-Ry2uSxTfB4wYe2k-knyhhlpHEmtU5v0jPvkKT8u8C5Qh-9fFe1AwBNyr8QbjvaBi9f--k8KnHru1sNPYphpg4OqVV3KvCWptwSjp259Bvvv7H7S2EtEExJRhjJE94ej4KLF7X_aZIOK-W33g5qCKsDLlivqmrmjuAUPlhHKvJX9uI9=s1738" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1305" data-original-width="1738" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh7MpXsAr5zw-Ry2uSxTfB4wYe2k-knyhhlpHEmtU5v0jPvkKT8u8C5Qh-9fFe1AwBNyr8QbjvaBi9f--k8KnHru1sNPYphpg4OqVV3KvCWptwSjp259Bvvv7H7S2EtEExJRhjJE94ej4KLF7X_aZIOK-W33g5qCKsDLlivqmrmjuAUPlhHKvJX9uI9=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">When he moved to the more integrated shores of California after the war, he discovered anew that how he self-identified was of little real consequence. Not with the ambiguity of his mixed-race appearance making him all things to all people. Integrationist whites, soothed by the familiarity of his European features, embraced him as the safe, “non-threatening” Black man. Among assimilationist Blacks, the toxic legacy of internalized colorism gave him his first taste of light-skin privilege as he was tagged socially as a matrimonial “catch” (“Imagine the beautiful, green-eyed, caramel-colored babies with ‘good’ hair we could have!”) while his white-adjacent appearance granted him unfettered access to professional and educational opportunities his dark-skinned colleagues were denied.</div><div>My stepfather's appearance and Scottish surname would have made it easy for him to pass, even if only on occasion of advantage, but he always claimed that to do so held no interest for him. Indeed, his rejection of his own white ancestry was so vehement (and never discussed) I always suspected it was linked to slavery and its heritage of rape.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgHq4ha5drb5-h8EhXZW_T91ipxx9X9vwTmOA0qK-FY8VsgyHvgWWmY-lZ6T_wHEtegkP9ArRUoiRt5MgLbIah0HbrEoETioOydMMa_j_TQ9Yd6zwEB1WdyH2VeBpcdI1evRRh3ZT1Bbmu0J0afxm_gdloJb_LkHHUvePTokfJFYgctsOdTvGqHjFpZ=s1751" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1292" data-original-width="1751" height="295" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgHq4ha5drb5-h8EhXZW_T91ipxx9X9vwTmOA0qK-FY8VsgyHvgWWmY-lZ6T_wHEtegkP9ArRUoiRt5MgLbIah0HbrEoETioOydMMa_j_TQ9Yd6zwEB1WdyH2VeBpcdI1evRRh3ZT1Bbmu0J0afxm_gdloJb_LkHHUvePTokfJFYgctsOdTvGqHjFpZ=w400-h295" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">The duality of experience born of the disparity between how one racially self-identifies and how one presents (and its emotional and psychological toll) is sensitively explored in <i>Passing</i>, the haunting debut feature film from director/screenwriter Rebecca Hall. Adapted from the 1929 book by Black female novelist Nella Larsen, <i>Passing</i> is a delicate, often heartbreakingly perceptive look at a very ugly American reality: the inherently corrosive nature of that illusory social construct we call race.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEifKgS606i-kTKV-UMBua94blJUdTwkO9Cbjn-ZxeRKS0wma7hq2ZHjgQ4Xchaqfa4XgLNIAmlqR7JBUCP95XbT5zXMTpnHTns1S-COskGkh6GkD_d9nq1V1jepnWteMEcC9MhBYbI1jxSsCb08acAU2G5Pe4NWHnWgVd7JzBv5GwYSxq0FsibhVG3A=s1743" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1298" data-original-width="1743" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEifKgS606i-kTKV-UMBua94blJUdTwkO9Cbjn-ZxeRKS0wma7hq2ZHjgQ4Xchaqfa4XgLNIAmlqR7JBUCP95XbT5zXMTpnHTns1S-COskGkh6GkD_d9nq1V1jepnWteMEcC9MhBYbI1jxSsCb08acAU2G5Pe4NWHnWgVd7JzBv5GwYSxq0FsibhVG3A=w400-h297" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tessa Thompson as Irene Westover-Redfield</td></tr></tbody></table><div><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjst5If77gsllw8PviMPMr-9W_adl5AOyShC_lnRibEcv68VVPgGcqjqMJV8AqXP-DMlC3Wzi6T2jBVH2ll0XgZ51QkofcHCt8IqbQHOkmHJlnR2igH8f5ZHOmxbX2ddc92sN6HtJTMz-6ko_Pheh_fPIiferxJxpr1HA3o-0aVKwFRligKFS3Xno9T=s1739" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1297" data-original-width="1739" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjst5If77gsllw8PviMPMr-9W_adl5AOyShC_lnRibEcv68VVPgGcqjqMJV8AqXP-DMlC3Wzi6T2jBVH2ll0XgZ51QkofcHCt8IqbQHOkmHJlnR2igH8f5ZHOmxbX2ddc92sN6HtJTMz-6ko_Pheh_fPIiferxJxpr1HA3o-0aVKwFRligKFS3Xno9T=w400-h299" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ruth Negga as Clare Kendry-Bellew</td></tr></tbody></table></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiXxj_-XBbpu1cgoLQihYd7rEFezPTlRViYZeyv394-TXYxrWvh7UgZP9fOLyQ9SPjL8JyOnEM0cB4jOBmKopWxSQN6QFLHIY6VAy2VOl-UPJjOCD2BvDvPQcupEk-jPW5ZtwAafOHm6sRluf4HRqHOidiuZ8bbKpLG1CoZsuDTPR2ZmdF199QVjEZD=s1741" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1295" data-original-width="1741" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiXxj_-XBbpu1cgoLQihYd7rEFezPTlRViYZeyv394-TXYxrWvh7UgZP9fOLyQ9SPjL8JyOnEM0cB4jOBmKopWxSQN6QFLHIY6VAy2VOl-UPJjOCD2BvDvPQcupEk-jPW5ZtwAafOHm6sRluf4HRqHOidiuZ8bbKpLG1CoZsuDTPR2ZmdF199QVjEZD=w400-h297" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Andre Holland as Brian Redfield</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgvJFonI_yJSF4lwtfubS5zQGzOSojiFmwcalLo7q0PDKhqV_tSFK98BP8YV4RV_dJpiQUT2WN4LQuya-ZjqY3Ii0F3Wi0su1LMZFYsltDBH3OGLNC4KE2BS5koAFipKuNKtXaby3RC5IYSfGCt-p3qQAXZ4jiGJTaX6sv3DlUueJLpMFp6iZaUup3S=s1750" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1303" data-original-width="1750" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgvJFonI_yJSF4lwtfubS5zQGzOSojiFmwcalLo7q0PDKhqV_tSFK98BP8YV4RV_dJpiQUT2WN4LQuya-ZjqY3Ii0F3Wi0su1LMZFYsltDBH3OGLNC4KE2BS5koAFipKuNKtXaby3RC5IYSfGCt-p3qQAXZ4jiGJTaX6sv3DlUueJLpMFp6iZaUup3S=w400-h297" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alexander Skarsgard as John Bellew</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><i>Passing </i>examines the complex dynamic that develops between two women, former childhood friends, who renew their association years after their adult lives have taken them on very different paths. The intimate interplay of contrast, curiosity, envy, and attraction that filters through their relationship also sets the stage for an insightful study of the many subtle, and not-so-subtle ways race, class, identity, sexuality, gender roles, and colorism intersect in a society that relies on labels and classification to decide who is and who is not allowed access to rights and freedom.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i> “Definitions belong to the definers, not the defined.”</i> - Toni Morrison (<i>Beloved</i> 1987)</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEieWFXNbz2FtpxIcFCm9cyXjly7i_TxTL-8PuhR9s40nxg9M6XvthL-bH7qACBJWfFW0jJeOyB2ToBRR1DaR7RvFoK5kd42diSllRMik4ik4xluHcaKoMw9CBLCFfepvUVfgG5l7zDCZvTTXFXQOvMax46FF6e1PaM7lMvkYZJMmGL1wKKEzu9IjMLL=s1749" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1305" data-original-width="1749" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEieWFXNbz2FtpxIcFCm9cyXjly7i_TxTL-8PuhR9s40nxg9M6XvthL-bH7qACBJWfFW0jJeOyB2ToBRR1DaR7RvFoK5kd42diSllRMik4ik4xluHcaKoMw9CBLCFfepvUVfgG5l7zDCZvTTXFXQOvMax46FF6e1PaM7lMvkYZJMmGL1wKKEzu9IjMLL=w416-h311" width="416" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">A member of the Black bourgeoisie and a model of racial uplift, Irene Redfield (Tessa Thompson) lives in the affluent Sugar Hill district of Harlem with her physician husband and two children. She spends her days in charity work (The Negro Welfare League), doting on her sons, and imperiously overseeing her had-it-up-to-here-with-your-snooty-attitude housekeeper Zulena. Irene’s sense of self is linked to her class, her fastidiously ordered life (<i>"Ginger-ale and three drops of Scotch. Scotch first, then the ice, then the ginger ale"</i>), and in having a keen awareness of the “rightness” of things. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">But like the ceiling directly above her bed, there are cracks in the perfect façade. For one, her husband Brian (André Holland) longs to uproot the family to Brazil (whose absence of segregation fueled a prevailing Harlem Renaissance-era myth of it being a racial democracy). While Irene, who sleeps a lot and suffers from migraines, is given to saying things like <i>“I have everything I’ve ever wanted”</i> with the kind of unwavering certainly found only in the truly dissatisfied.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEglY1raXxTPR6FzPrM4NC_PZFAWQhAiOw5makFGo6pe0rPq81tZs2-R7tu1m7V67ooi7iWZde2MuSOBr-rGU5KmNSPq7ZFrcelgNKCFBI2M4I9gSc7dq7zrBD5U5Jmter_WI6NrVkDe3PtvSTRlDRKrv-TUdThHQqgsxyexHJADYdemO8Z8T8DK8FuV=s1749" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1301" data-original-width="1749" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEglY1raXxTPR6FzPrM4NC_PZFAWQhAiOw5makFGo6pe0rPq81tZs2-R7tu1m7V67ooi7iWZde2MuSOBr-rGU5KmNSPq7ZFrcelgNKCFBI2M4I9gSc7dq7zrBD5U5Jmter_WI6NrVkDe3PtvSTRlDRKrv-TUdThHQqgsxyexHJADYdemO8Z8T8DK8FuV=w400-h297" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Irene’s sense of self is also linked to her identity as a Black woman...or more to the point, her identity as a middle-class Black woman. But, unlike her dark-skinned husband and children who have no choice but to confront the day-to-day racism she would prefer not to dwell upon, she can pass as white and does so on occasion, only temporarily, “for the convenience.” It’s on just such an occasion—with Irene occupying a whites-only space while “disguised as a white woman”—that Clare (Ruth Negga), childhood acquaintance and fearless (reckless?) force of nature, reenters Irene’s life. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjBFYCKoKRHi0opTTMxozBFNl0j1Fh2Mrtb6o4tZIDj-G5362ZqKOaALBRC9RsH9XTLHqnHqfIH04WGjvJ8AivetlzINYpsxG1PGhRbq3zZ7qTxuB1qIQvFBjvOD6T1Pz0cJiwDgfwQ1DvSQJLuOF0fgzTzpLK9xrkCNtdnH0K1gMgAF0wlhDGxUM6C=s1737" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1301" data-original-width="1737" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjBFYCKoKRHi0opTTMxozBFNl0j1Fh2Mrtb6o4tZIDj-G5362ZqKOaALBRC9RsH9XTLHqnHqfIH04WGjvJ8AivetlzINYpsxG1PGhRbq3zZ7qTxuB1qIQvFBjvOD6T1Pz0cJiwDgfwQ1DvSQJLuOF0fgzTzpLK9xrkCNtdnH0K1gMgAF0wlhDGxUM6C=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">So many years have passed that it takes Irene some time to even recognize Clare. But Clare (in a cinematic moment my mind instantly branded as iconic) sees Irene immediately and knows her. The unselfconscious directness of Clare's gaze reveals volumes about the kind of woman she is and why such indomitable assurance makes her both appealing and a little bit frightening. An effortless charmer and flirt, upon their meeting, Clare is all breezy self-possession to Irene's reticent geniality. </div><div style="text-align: left;">Although to be fair, Irene is the one who has the most to unpack in trying to process Clare's casual disclosure that for the past 12 years she has been living as a white woman. The former Clare Kendry of Harlem, daughter of a college-educated apartment house janitor, has cast aside her Black identity and reinvented herself as Clare Bellew of Chicago, wealthy wife and mother married to a successful (and staunchly racist) banker (Alexander Skarsgård).</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgAmtmuTnBDcsMvnjS1S4x9B_dge37NybmiFvknYcDFnyF-Py1roMk-orvG_r59YJgBpKNhp1oWAs-89oCbtn1TQLjqdzrEpjXdP3kMcGaFLP0SToSxTm3wTrq_zx2NY_cENZKzE_t-l9eXo27xIcdsLykUC1bfh4XqUJpIiQHfGRj8c5rv7ti78npV=s1740" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1302" data-original-width="1740" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgAmtmuTnBDcsMvnjS1S4x9B_dge37NybmiFvknYcDFnyF-Py1roMk-orvG_r59YJgBpKNhp1oWAs-89oCbtn1TQLjqdzrEpjXdP3kMcGaFLP0SToSxTm3wTrq_zx2NY_cENZKzE_t-l9eXo27xIcdsLykUC1bfh4XqUJpIiQHfGRj8c5rv7ti78npV=w400-h299" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><i>"Fancy meeting you here. It's simply too lucky!"</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">What Clare calls lucky is running into “Rene” at a time in her life when the gains of passing (security and an avoidance of the marginalization and violence of racism) are beginning to feel unequal to the cost (literal and figurative self-erasure). Eager to reconnect with the community and racial identity she thought she’d be happier without, Clare aggressively pursues a relationship with the cautious Irene. Meanwhile, Irene, who feels attracted and repelled by Clare in equal, internally confounding measure, is concerned about Clare’s apparent indifference to the dangers of the course she’s embarking on.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> And from this arises one of <i>Passing</i>’s central dramatic conflicts: The woman who has everything she ever wanted (and will do anything to maintain that stability) meets the woman who gets everything she ever went after (and will do anything to secure it for herself). The presumptive tease of the film's title suggests that the Black woman passing for white is the one living a lie. But the film reveals there are many ways to live one's life inauthentically.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjKlHVE-2vJkA5feur6MZOOQ2W8noz7rtIQTKu_1tWVnxxVRk9irlgPiOSyRDvuL9DSM3GBHFtP9EOxaTLV2ws8KbrMtjnRMXl1aSQvY4iocA1RwbfOEhnMM35-Hpb5qZwnWS7p7JiKc16_iW4z-uKMiefcSl83NGqS1jtBXKCo5AVFYMRAh76i-idP=s1749" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1299" data-original-width="1749" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjKlHVE-2vJkA5feur6MZOOQ2W8noz7rtIQTKu_1tWVnxxVRk9irlgPiOSyRDvuL9DSM3GBHFtP9EOxaTLV2ws8KbrMtjnRMXl1aSQvY4iocA1RwbfOEhnMM35-Hpb5qZwnWS7p7JiKc16_iW4z-uKMiefcSl83NGqS1jtBXKCo5AVFYMRAh76i-idP=w400-h297" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><b>WHAT I LOVE ABOUT THIS FILM</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div>I’d neither heard of nor read Nella Larsen’s book <i>Passing</i> before seeing Rebecca Hall’s exceptional film (the most accomplished first screenwriting/directing effort I’ve seen since Kasi Lemmons’ <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/03/eves-bayou-1997.html" target="_blank">Eve’s Bayou</a></i> - 1997). I found the film to be absolutely riveting from start to finish, my emotional stake in the fates of the characters and outcome of the story fairly turning the film into a nail-biting thriller. The threat of violence is so entrenched in America's perpetuation of the racial hierarchy that a story touching on the topic of Black autonomy and self-governance feels (a term repeated often in the film) not safe.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgPrPgCWj0vC3TP-nQNIGkIlluOfYvb6slDP-PIzp7t_cCbzkyc2XqniymvM9Qo4u_HCu78TxxqTHjNUdyruzMrNPt8s5w4I_oXlsgWCv_GGnd5wtcM4NvqZ2SHfONpowj06qT3NZ98irIdeOz6BUgjLT5H9gW-X8lO_bL5n8EBnGNsVEFcm0GIwIIQ=s1745" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1745" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgPrPgCWj0vC3TP-nQNIGkIlluOfYvb6slDP-PIzp7t_cCbzkyc2XqniymvM9Qo4u_HCu78TxxqTHjNUdyruzMrNPt8s5w4I_oXlsgWCv_GGnd5wtcM4NvqZ2SHfONpowj06qT3NZ98irIdeOz6BUgjLT5H9gW-X8lO_bL5n8EBnGNsVEFcm0GIwIIQ=w400-h297" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The Talk</b><br /><b>Though Irene devotes her time to Black causes, she remains defiantly resistant to her two boys learning anything about what she calls "The race problem." Meanwhile, her husband contends that being in denial about the very real dangers their two sons face in America's violent climate of lynching and racial terrorism only serves to put them at higher risk.</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>From its dominant Black female perspective to its tackling of queer themes and racial ambiguity, <i>Passing</i> is unlike any other film I've ever seen. So floored by it all, my reaction to <i>Passing</i> was so effusively enthusiastic that my partner (in an effort to get me to stop talking about it, I suspect) surprised me with a copy of Larsen’s novella that following day. I raced through it and emerged with even greater respect for the miracle that Hall and her talented collaborators achieved in bringing it to the screen. I feel it's a motion picture and topic that couldn't have been made as effectively at any other time in history. How remarkable that a book written almost 100 years ago feels as though it was written yesterday. I’ve since seen <i>Passing </i>a total of four times and I still can’t stop thinking about it. And I’m not sure I want to. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj0PO5gHFnNbA9R2uXVRaugM4eT5ppAQzkWK13pdRWpZ8w-MFtC9bIv6mBL4bFDRn505D26VOQe-J8WiDmedLfvp-O-Q1GcSiVZX9rRGXArdfVN7DSVatyjMWKUbEtjz0tASxUkmn-FuFeyDr-49tE653lyNWVPVEXQXsh1emIxojvzFAa0SBhaaJCt=s1549" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="579" data-original-width="1549" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj0PO5gHFnNbA9R2uXVRaugM4eT5ppAQzkWK13pdRWpZ8w-MFtC9bIv6mBL4bFDRn505D26VOQe-J8WiDmedLfvp-O-Q1GcSiVZX9rRGXArdfVN7DSVatyjMWKUbEtjz0tASxUkmn-FuFeyDr-49tE653lyNWVPVEXQXsh1emIxojvzFAa0SBhaaJCt=w462-h173" width="462" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Nothing is Black & White<br />I found it so moving the way the film begins in summer and is all a blazing glare of whites and grays. Then, as the film progresses, the images grow increasingly darker until its final scenes, set in winter, are so high-contrast B&W they look expressionistic<br /></b></td></tr></tbody></table><br />One obvious reason <i>Passing</i> keeps replaying itself over and over in my head is that it is such an extraordinarily beautiful film. The striking B&W cinematography by Eduard Grau (<i>A Single Man</i> – 2009) evocatively augments the film’s themes via images that poetically illuminate the many shades of gray that exist between the binary poles of black and white.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjasvXEqjzso_I8hKoyCO0loBbq0jGa_sCYvU3RPx5cqfv5-tUCDL-qMqLyJQJ7beZ2heHSVaUgQF6Y-TP0BNQpdWtQh8ENoqOGzJA-90-YpXYxRbsP4yocoFRuZPO7ZVtMNih3XQ0tkC2mBvFloULasAgdzRzJ7_zVfIk9A-x1pvB0UtyU0sXSEx7E=s1739" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1298" data-original-width="1739" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjasvXEqjzso_I8hKoyCO0loBbq0jGa_sCYvU3RPx5cqfv5-tUCDL-qMqLyJQJ7beZ2heHSVaUgQF6Y-TP0BNQpdWtQh8ENoqOGzJA-90-YpXYxRbsP4yocoFRuZPO7ZVtMNih3XQ0tkC2mBvFloULasAgdzRzJ7_zVfIk9A-x1pvB0UtyU0sXSEx7E=w400-h299" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Class and Colorism<br />The film leaves the viewer to make up their own mind as to what degree either, both, or none play into Irene's uneasy relationship with her housekeeper Zulena (Ashley Ware Jenkins). Whatever it is, it's an obstacle Clare has no trouble surmounting </b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My fondness for films about women has been well-documented on these pages. Likewise, a sizable number of my most revered favorites have been movies exploring the dual nature of personality and the flexible margins of identity.<i> Passing</i> represents something of a jackpot on all fronts, not the least of its joys being that it’s that rarest of rarities, a movie about two Black women. Two Black women of intelligence, depth, and complexity whose actions propel the plot. Whose relationship exists independent of the male gaze and beyond a concern for the white gaze. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj6GJK-NDcW1Tgkq1LngEUqXd6Pwi3sGh8ur_GZiMvPAQRci6Lv07_ZoLNSxwCRmhMP-GkJqMOkkPn6ZGuZM_J2nOaf_vHaBOVdM69i7INAyr4UodMniTyak6ZcJGInTyWoJ81ceEJNGvvc5HlER4yU9CQ9C5sDI6pWKDZaYx4b7WKdq7lSbGq6DaOC=s1760" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1301" data-original-width="1760" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj6GJK-NDcW1Tgkq1LngEUqXd6Pwi3sGh8ur_GZiMvPAQRci6Lv07_ZoLNSxwCRmhMP-GkJqMOkkPn6ZGuZM_J2nOaf_vHaBOVdM69i7INAyr4UodMniTyak6ZcJGInTyWoJ81ceEJNGvvc5HlER4yU9CQ9C5sDI6pWKDZaYx4b7WKdq7lSbGq6DaOC=w400-h296" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The lovingly-rendered old-fashioned look of <i>Passing </i>had me imagining Classic Hollywood Black actresses like Dorothy Dandrige and Fredi Washington in the roles. But the deftness with which Hall's film addresses matters of gender, sexual identity, and attraction is beyond even what Pre-Code Hollywood would have taken a chance on.</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>THE STUFF OF DREAMS</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>Passing</i>'s command of visual storytelling.</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjH6PuOe-U8yJRBDv2SCCYWUbJ_yqVotDfVyAyPvTAk1Q-BXFT0iBCzcYS5kZRSUfNcJFKnvePcv_VQd_CReoBiY0YSe2_sQXdJPNa-s-SBOzpbsvpQ_JU5MCKc6xtwNAOOxTb1ecLv9NlTi7x2Ss3WpZeDt6mV_c2q9kTbHUKya-eyMZz5AyvOXjcL=s1391" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1032" data-original-width="1391" height="327" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjH6PuOe-U8yJRBDv2SCCYWUbJ_yqVotDfVyAyPvTAk1Q-BXFT0iBCzcYS5kZRSUfNcJFKnvePcv_VQd_CReoBiY0YSe2_sQXdJPNa-s-SBOzpbsvpQ_JU5MCKc6xtwNAOOxTb1ecLv9NlTi7x2Ss3WpZeDt6mV_c2q9kTbHUKya-eyMZz5AyvOXjcL=w442-h327" width="442" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>Passing </i>is told from Irene's perspective. Whether it's the blurry fog we encounter when she's waking up from one of her many naps, or the admiring gaze cast Clare's way when she's not looking, the camera frequently provides insight into what Irene is feeling. The destabilizing effect Clare has on Irene is conveyed by showing events first as Irene sees them: the two images on the top and bottom left reflect Irene's internal certainty that her husband has succumbed to Clare's obvious charms. Then, as the events truly are: the top and bottom right images exhibit the spatial truth of the compressed mirror images that play tricks on Irene's eyes.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>The Human Touch</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhBxGp0TzeBs6sw7MxRw1vcCWTYKANHZlelIZkRpAbV6Moig60m-Lye9qYPMJ_aznbGK6HSHWcCEDVFIgqdaiQrTwz5zdmvp0mf53ZSgrhn2-msB7o8QgAfYT7Q9GrKEAuSmvHCnG5n9JFD_i79XCUTwFDJHfF7gbit2nWeOYM-i7b_RjMcfgJ4UMcO=s1402" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1050" data-original-width="1402" height="329" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhBxGp0TzeBs6sw7MxRw1vcCWTYKANHZlelIZkRpAbV6Moig60m-Lye9qYPMJ_aznbGK6HSHWcCEDVFIgqdaiQrTwz5zdmvp0mf53ZSgrhn2-msB7o8QgAfYT7Q9GrKEAuSmvHCnG5n9JFD_i79XCUTwFDJHfF7gbit2nWeOYM-i7b_RjMcfgJ4UMcO=w439-h329" width="439" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">(top l.) When Irene and Clare first meet in the tea room, Clare places her hand on Irene's only to have her withdraw from Clare's touch. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">(top r.) Sometime later at a dance, Irene lets her defenses down enough to access her attraction to Clare, and reaches out and holds her hand.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">(bottom l.) Much later in their association, Irene's suppressed feelings and overall discomfiture are funneled into an unfocused fear of a loss, manifesting in an uncontrollable trembling in that same right hand. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">(bottom r.) Irene's right hand - <i>"What happened next, Irene Redfield never afterwards allowed herself to remember. Never clearly."</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>"I only had to break it and I was free of it forever."</b></div><div style="text-align: center;">Potted Plant Teapot</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhubv7kHxlbc3cPRgZJ4_kuGHg8at1Zh3M8r_TzXTRdk8rjSW14fgZ_qEZtDCirbg2lic8rje3NemQOW84O8JC1m6ARB-bRbgT141qVBn-FIo7p16m_MPKfHJJd2MKn6HRUJ8OqyPPJ6Kt9Ruh3S52Ud2NClOO3taY6SSpmB5pcVzocGfsg6HOYQ_MV=s2414" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="888" data-original-width="2414" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhubv7kHxlbc3cPRgZJ4_kuGHg8at1Zh3M8r_TzXTRdk8rjSW14fgZ_qEZtDCirbg2lic8rje3NemQOW84O8JC1m6ARB-bRbgT141qVBn-FIo7p16m_MPKfHJJd2MKn6HRUJ8OqyPPJ6Kt9Ruh3S52Ud2NClOO3taY6SSpmB5pcVzocGfsg6HOYQ_MV=w447-h166" width="447" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Unsafe Irene Breaks Things</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Passing</i>'s bleak suggestion that for some, absolute destruction is preferable to having to confront a painful and inconvenient truth finds its correlative in America's current socio-political climate where normalized fascism reveals a country's willingness to destroy democracy rather than confront illusion-shattering truths about its history. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>PERFORMANCES</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjzc_XWqvnz249cpdYt1VEBgx2jSX23W3R12s688SbReIu3kpS2MS7p0IWjogC0KpcZS24j3-JORdP8sQCPDLhVcY8aegqZu6E97q1_NiiZQU4z_l-ANwkqWj36x66uQZcfIpzsvJ11AsLFhuanssVb40JSaNpAnaEgKl-9mn7mAIP1KSkSxzlPGZEt=s1739" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1295" data-original-width="1739" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjzc_XWqvnz249cpdYt1VEBgx2jSX23W3R12s688SbReIu3kpS2MS7p0IWjogC0KpcZS24j3-JORdP8sQCPDLhVcY8aegqZu6E97q1_NiiZQU4z_l-ANwkqWj36x66uQZcfIpzsvJ11AsLFhuanssVb40JSaNpAnaEgKl-9mn7mAIP1KSkSxzlPGZEt=w400-h297" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">My earlier comparison of <i>Passing</i> to <i>Eve's Bayou </i>doesn't stop with their shared brilliance and rare look at a side and condition of Black life rarely depicted in films. They also have in common the dubious (and maddening) distinction of being critically well-regarded films totally ignored by the Academy Awards. But when it comes to films made by women and films about the Black experience, unless the woman is a domestic or slave and/or her life is characterized by the spectacle of suffering and trauma, awards never really seem to tell the whole story, do they?</div></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjzqYFg1n76iiF14tn3Ec6huPWHtqe8nvOfGUYGBFfq4fnH1APGXala-u6U1xo9yvjbatl7oTUDuNXie9QdN3g2s6NS-ks5EGT9U4MGXopcwNGgOuFEagpPNj-yOHfD7fUKK1-dchcgSODey8Is1fDnfrC3u4i_cKMvkX9piSEuTWrVIsEmN3HoWXii=s1739" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1295" data-original-width="1739" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjzqYFg1n76iiF14tn3Ec6huPWHtqe8nvOfGUYGBFfq4fnH1APGXala-u6U1xo9yvjbatl7oTUDuNXie9QdN3g2s6NS-ks5EGT9U4MGXopcwNGgOuFEagpPNj-yOHfD7fUKK1-dchcgSODey8Is1fDnfrC3u4i_cKMvkX9piSEuTWrVIsEmN3HoWXii=w400-h297" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Irene and her friend author Hugh Wentworth (Bill Camp). Passing.</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Both lead actresses give nuanced and memorable performances in <i>Passing. </i>If I had my way Ruth Negga would WIN the Oscar for that tea room scene alone. She is phenomenal. She owns that scene in a way that's almost criminal. She's that good. She imbues Clare with a catlike canniness that is a touching balance of steely self-possession and vulnerability. A clearly fun gal to hang out with, Clare is like a Black Southern Belle, all extravagant gestures and florid expressions, capturing every eye effortlessly. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh2o7hJSEyngIdSxNfKYDDxOPHIxK7LDlZRtM6vjEXqvR3L5o7QkoUWaMWYDKWxSVYmNwSkxnpMqaV57WTAqAybMiXaaora4y9iD4uKOIYhtbLTVlpJWeh8JpUBuIfOyRvZSOUodXl7qeg8via3BKOTSFolJIlDhZCV6eSHdvpg0j-6Z4OaNkBIPWIT=s1740" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1303" data-original-width="1740" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh2o7hJSEyngIdSxNfKYDDxOPHIxK7LDlZRtM6vjEXqvR3L5o7QkoUWaMWYDKWxSVYmNwSkxnpMqaV57WTAqAybMiXaaora4y9iD4uKOIYhtbLTVlpJWeh8JpUBuIfOyRvZSOUodXl7qeg8via3BKOTSFolJIlDhZCV6eSHdvpg0j-6Z4OaNkBIPWIT=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">The radiant Tessa Thompson gives what I think is her best performance to date in an increasingly impressive career. She does so much with her eyes! It's a marvel to me how she does it, but she makes clear Irene's most subtle feelings and thoughts, taking us in and helping us to understand a character who doesn't fully understand herself.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgaRlDNDkl1fa83WGLYwFNllS1HjIB6B1cidZ6hQ1oPPzM1ZQ3YH5WGnY72sJCEtiylWPBOSusa-zongVFIDRTfP60r2eMBWLYCQvxzCfeJUI1amO3ljSbi1K8-1uI3zBnUy6THw7eebgrh8dPY5qSdE6Jcw-yPnGs7lRgE6rhvdnGE-pk1tlBAoFmp=s1740" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1309" data-original-width="1740" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgaRlDNDkl1fa83WGLYwFNllS1HjIB6B1cidZ6hQ1oPPzM1ZQ3YH5WGnY72sJCEtiylWPBOSusa-zongVFIDRTfP60r2eMBWLYCQvxzCfeJUI1amO3ljSbi1K8-1uI3zBnUy6THw7eebgrh8dPY5qSdE6Jcw-yPnGs7lRgE6rhvdnGE-pk1tlBAoFmp=w400-h301" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">In interviews, <i>Passing</i> director Rebecca Hall often stated that one of the questions she wanted to explore through her film is: What is the emotional legacy and psychological toll of a life lived in hiding? I think the arresting and challenging <i>Passing</i> offers many very compelling answers. Better still, it inspires a great many more questions.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgu_DFw6GcNAXaVG9rE-qs8wc7zuc1kikTIFQ70WDaOMHOC_6kxQM669LV_nvyRPFZ3fKYXIEXHoqBmdvPPAhKkylHg4ffcYcO65ovPNESmdaW3E0a55oZNE1wAGvaY_91NKq_WIborXie_BdF8kw1mXlX3YsB1QEkFON6xgeOBa74iIPEKPn6NIlTh=s1740" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1301" data-original-width="1740" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgu_DFw6GcNAXaVG9rE-qs8wc7zuc1kikTIFQ70WDaOMHOC_6kxQM669LV_nvyRPFZ3fKYXIEXHoqBmdvPPAhKkylHg4ffcYcO65ovPNESmdaW3E0a55oZNE1wAGvaY_91NKq_WIborXie_BdF8kw1mXlX3YsB1QEkFON6xgeOBa74iIPEKPn6NIlTh=w400-h299" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="line-height: 107%; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="line-height: 107%; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></div><div><b>BONUS MATERIAL</b></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg8aQE9v9YkcisGrzhaSD71LKHC6wegUJcK_2ie4AcftJCB5pkY6TdVBUP4sNfWLaskLlQINf45azKW-ZbXli_WbpprrJzm4LBb-IIE2QVii2gF7gtzIJtX1tnR-IMuPhpOMmWyF-wlL_Ls60d1iPTAlRWnrUFECKYC3AAWXiOiIllV-7wTYV1sRo8z=s1328" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1328" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg8aQE9v9YkcisGrzhaSD71LKHC6wegUJcK_2ie4AcftJCB5pkY6TdVBUP4sNfWLaskLlQINf45azKW-ZbXli_WbpprrJzm4LBb-IIE2QVii2gF7gtzIJtX1tnR-IMuPhpOMmWyF-wlL_Ls60d1iPTAlRWnrUFECKYC3AAWXiOiIllV-7wTYV1sRo8z=s320" width="241" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dona Drake (1914 - 1989)</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><div>A fascinating tale of real-life “passing” can be found in the life story of one of my favorite screen supporting personalities. Dona Drake (nee Eunice Westmoreland), a Black, Florida-born actress, singer, dancer, and bandleader who passed for the entirety of her career. Though both parents were of Black ancestry, studio publicity declared Drake (who went by the names Una Villon, Rita Novella, Rita Shaw, and Rita Rio at various stages of her career) hailed from Mexico and was of French/Irish extraction. The beautiful and vivacious performer went on to be cast as "exotics" in a number of films throughout the '40s and '50s, principally as a musical-comedy performer, but occasionally given a dramatic role (she played Bette Davis’ Indigenous housekeeper in 1949s <a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2016/10/beyond-forest-1949.html" style="font-style: italic;" target="_blank">Beyond the Forest</a>).</div><div>Another level of "passing" was added to Don Drake’s already fabricated biography when in 1940 she wed gay costume designer William Travilla (Oscar and Emmy-winning designer of <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/09/valley-of-dolls-1967.html" target="_blank">Valley of the Dolls</a></i> and Marilyn Monroe fame) in what is believed to have been a mutually-beneficial, studio-arranged marriage. You can read more about Dona Drake’s life and career <a href="https://travillalegacy.wordpress.com/2013/11/07/the-real-mrs-william-travilla-dona-drake/" target="_blank">HERE</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiNG0zRam0R7QWl1gp9QTf1Ex1oubahQOIOpw0OlRCgqTuBQZ0T1_iSuZQo9EO8T7zumEkeKVityyJb7DccVFer2rCBM-MngW6kukX_UR8bPvYQHvNNbo7hrTADXegRQjvLduMQEFhAzHsPQlHpuLEL4jcfxs827T9_pL1ipWSSTq24FEK5rV0hkBHM=s1280" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiNG0zRam0R7QWl1gp9QTf1Ex1oubahQOIOpw0OlRCgqTuBQZ0T1_iSuZQo9EO8T7zumEkeKVityyJb7DccVFer2rCBM-MngW6kukX_UR8bPvYQHvNNbo7hrTADXegRQjvLduMQEFhAzHsPQlHpuLEL4jcfxs827T9_pL1ipWSSTq24FEK5rV0hkBHM=w462-h260" width="462" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Copyright © Ken Anderson 2009 - 2022</div></div></div></div>Ken Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04940648971296673233noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2627032459273165000.post-19608900649614791312022-01-24T15:13:00.019-08:002023-06-03T03:05:12.943-07:00PAYDAY 1973<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgt2T00CjTAJMR2PTCCtVbkQ0u-dTssMeI8Y05IZFvaQL3vFjzL3XJQBIHium5OvOXRBFAIOWj6MSbI2Oc1usZHjtZ_TB600g0TGiMssXmxicRscs_HxdDdIAJ56ue5rsjbuuijR4x_Po02kEMyfig3o9uwLH_1eZrac6FuwUHSlQ9XCyZ4iI8XAU_j=s2452" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1297" data-original-width="2452" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgt2T00CjTAJMR2PTCCtVbkQ0u-dTssMeI8Y05IZFvaQL3vFjzL3XJQBIHium5OvOXRBFAIOWj6MSbI2Oc1usZHjtZ_TB600g0TGiMssXmxicRscs_HxdDdIAJ56ue5rsjbuuijR4x_Po02kEMyfig3o9uwLH_1eZrac6FuwUHSlQ9XCyZ4iI8XAU_j=w400-h211" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>"We only pass this way once, might as well pass by in a Cadillac."</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div>Two years before Robert Altman’s <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/09/nashville-1975.html" target="_blank">Nashville </a></i>(1975) gave us an epic vision of America viewed through the “politics is show-biz” prism of the Country & Western music scene, Canadian television producer/director Daryl Duke (<i>The Silent Partner</i> -1978) and novelist Don Carpenter (<i>Hard Rain Falling</i> - 1966) made their collective feature film debuts with the audacious indie character-study<i> Payday</i>. </div><div>Chronicling 36 full-throttle hours in the life of hell-raising, second-tier country music star Maury Dann (Rip Torn), the focus of <i>Payday</i>’s lens may be narrower than <i>Nashville</i>’s, but in its depiction of the squalid glamour of an entertainer’s life on the road—fast money, fast food, & fast-living—it provides a picture of '70s American culture that is no less funny, raw, or keenly-observed. And thanks to Torn's career-best performance, it feels considerably more authentic. For this road-movie odyssey (described by one critic as “A study in amorality without a moral”) Duke and Carpenter have devised a wittily apt visual metaphor for Nixon-era America: an all-white Cadillac speeding heedlessly along a highway at 95-miles-an-hour on a path predetermined to be the road to success, but is just as likely a collision course headed straightaway to a dead-end.</div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiFSrXS6iRftmz8klw7ji2zcnc_K0tIDP9VRh9Zpn1q_wR9GvmlbEAqZcbI-NRz224IlUYduEnEzm2o2Zmg0XJ5Tz3nEDERhC9Os8qLpEHCNzlOfdxEOwD_7oVfq4kkzmM4jdZhsJM7nkdVrTVo7sDGQIhubk6gv78WMQZlCNT_3b6QhszPruNva0te=s2446" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1301" data-original-width="2446" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiFSrXS6iRftmz8klw7ji2zcnc_K0tIDP9VRh9Zpn1q_wR9GvmlbEAqZcbI-NRz224IlUYduEnEzm2o2Zmg0XJ5Tz3nEDERhC9Os8qLpEHCNzlOfdxEOwD_7oVfq4kkzmM4jdZhsJM7nkdVrTVo7sDGQIhubk6gv78WMQZlCNT_3b6QhszPruNva0te=w400-h213" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Rip Torn as Maury Dann</b></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjoqXQq0eg8vXB1jmMHYeoTlJUkFn79tLR6u3n7DndFe0DF7LW4FPS7gd39APWNScu_FJ5VOcTGimSKeeFHTPymRVQqOTA2sNgWId_jsvuVdI1dg_3m6jNv4aKhwbUQLNFdS64JVKPyPffjO0tDxOyBO_HnPbUU5uAYG6tZ2vAinliJWkcXJ6CKvRwl=s2453" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1303" data-original-width="2453" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjoqXQq0eg8vXB1jmMHYeoTlJUkFn79tLR6u3n7DndFe0DF7LW4FPS7gd39APWNScu_FJ5VOcTGimSKeeFHTPymRVQqOTA2sNgWId_jsvuVdI1dg_3m6jNv4aKhwbUQLNFdS64JVKPyPffjO0tDxOyBO_HnPbUU5uAYG6tZ2vAinliJWkcXJ6CKvRwl=w400-h213" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Ahna Capri as Mayleen Travis</b></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgfIYEULJ64Vs3HwuS8sBqmv6hCpmYY3htt88gYzL_7t_JYuGPELwot8MITLeaXyUErIpvF9eEs-j_aYNZNJYLbpG-QwZdAsqg6kNWFc9ObXCnfSlTbm66sBH5I7IeT29KylIT66l-bZCsoIYuk0EiknUJu47CmqCt5cxUjYy4GZYoZI3NpnUtjLjj5=s2450" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1298" data-original-width="2450" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgfIYEULJ64Vs3HwuS8sBqmv6hCpmYY3htt88gYzL_7t_JYuGPELwot8MITLeaXyUErIpvF9eEs-j_aYNZNJYLbpG-QwZdAsqg6kNWFc9ObXCnfSlTbm66sBH5I7IeT29KylIT66l-bZCsoIYuk0EiknUJu47CmqCt5cxUjYy4GZYoZI3NpnUtjLjj5=w400-h213" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Michael C. Gwynne as Clarence McGinty</b></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhSwJbcb1ygiQPIDt-CfzihnnzOs5FxmYw2Q0PtIgRVUN5f6wbRFf5R0R1ozGcUAGBljdyw6ZaDlNauDDp1DCxtWmfr45-p5R1ydaWeKHicF1Siv_JsIALsFyNPgVeE56-ubwTJncNEXccicoh2ddkz6sZ4YQZKPDqbin1ZQtZTcaAc0nCcIfKF2ORV=s2449" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1304" data-original-width="2449" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhSwJbcb1ygiQPIDt-CfzihnnzOs5FxmYw2Q0PtIgRVUN5f6wbRFf5R0R1ozGcUAGBljdyw6ZaDlNauDDp1DCxtWmfr45-p5R1ydaWeKHicF1Siv_JsIALsFyNPgVeE56-ubwTJncNEXccicoh2ddkz6sZ4YQZKPDqbin1ZQtZTcaAc0nCcIfKF2ORV=w400-h213" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Elayne Heilveil as Rosamund McClintock</b></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjV8mFUA_ziLaLOHAzjNjgQG7W-ita4S6nx7bgNdt6wOwAnIYcxVEye7QTERd46svBMogfMruBipjnBC4pK6jU-K6MuLyZRBnsIfYfC8gno4qiICvGqtpcGDR_xli4RwIui3AHCLvrELsdcWxr6N97JsrKGeSRGujtR-nUrSm6DbheZqG0dyLvJ_Mn7=s2445" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1297" data-original-width="2445" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjV8mFUA_ziLaLOHAzjNjgQG7W-ita4S6nx7bgNdt6wOwAnIYcxVEye7QTERd46svBMogfMruBipjnBC4pK6jU-K6MuLyZRBnsIfYfC8gno4qiICvGqtpcGDR_xli4RwIui3AHCLvrELsdcWxr6N97JsrKGeSRGujtR-nUrSm6DbheZqG0dyLvJ_Mn7=w400-h213" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Cliff Emmich as Chicago</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>Imagine a <i>Nashville </i>sequel that abandons the ensemble format and instead focuses entirely on Keith Carradine’s callous, womanizing balladeer, Tom Frank—his future, burn-out years—and you’ve got a pretty good idea of what <i>Payday </i>is like. </div><div>Maury Dann is a 35-year-old country-western singer/songwriter who’s achieved an appreciable degree of success in his career (his face recognizable enough to get him out of speeding tickets, his name drawing sizable crowds and an unbroken chain of disposable, star-struck groupies to his roadhouse gigs); but he’s nonetheless driven just a little bit crazy by his so-close-you-can-almost-touch-it proximity to the " big time." </div><div><br /></div><div>A growly crooner of shrewdly sincere songs of homespun virtues, the oilily charismatic Dann...a toxic combination of hard-working and hard-living…tours the one-night-stand honkytonk circuit of the Deep South in his chauffeured, cowhide-interior Cadillac, girlfriend-of-the-moment in tow, subsisting on pot, pills, booze, junk food, and sex. More savvy businessman than impassioned artist, Dann is not without talent, but ambition, greed, and love of the perks of privilege have him living for the payday. And it’s not difficult to understand why. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgPtlYqgUY0GmS6L0JydgEIyrpfTZM8l0UTNIl43qbkK_tVAK-7issR5PL-rimDSugsw_-pjMv1txHom3sq40ekW9y53ai8W3ItbpdSGv13rH1LocLi3nqldnJ0Cu4C3RIHLnLIY97DsV0qY3rUd55AXAfTsrxNAAtnwixNihxY6yIUHoGkZ35aW9S9=s2450" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1299" data-original-width="2450" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgPtlYqgUY0GmS6L0JydgEIyrpfTZM8l0UTNIl43qbkK_tVAK-7issR5PL-rimDSugsw_-pjMv1txHom3sq40ekW9y53ai8W3ItbpdSGv13rH1LocLi3nqldnJ0Cu4C3RIHLnLIY97DsV0qY3rUd55AXAfTsrxNAAtnwixNihxY6yIUHoGkZ35aW9S9=w400-h213" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Maury Dann & the Dandies</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">Cocooned from both truth and consequences by a small but selflessly loyal entourage of enablers, Dann’s fame and wealth afford him both the means and wherewithal to support his ex-wife and three children (whose ages he can’t keep straight) while providing his pill-popping mother with ample supplies of amphetamines. All with plenty left over for payola payouts to influential disc jockeys and buying himself out of the numerous scrapes his hair-trigger temper and violent mood swings get him into.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div><i>Payday </i>kicks off with Dann already three months into his breakneck tour, in Alabama and headed for Nashville where the success he’s desperate for beckons in the form of a vaguely promised appearance on Johnny Cash’s TV special (Dann bitterly hints that he and Cash have been kicking around for roughly the same amount of time). The goal is clear, but the challenge faced is whether or not Maury Dann can steer clear of self-destruct mode long enough to make it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhSForEdbt5DJdlEen9LAnJwjBZW5xz7cbYlDtj5I8mBUzTGN1-FM7JnyJ9wFNx3jTq7wFJHKkVbgjkRipxx9MCQkK7zPLw3dIej4b6LHXnx4uD3LnUVbh0ekM74ObzbMrMe2DAL8cPWnz0k5YNm3mGYXuCX8lgbQpC42nzf2khnyJpbAaSGt7Wd_hJ=s2450" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1300" data-original-width="2450" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhSForEdbt5DJdlEen9LAnJwjBZW5xz7cbYlDtj5I8mBUzTGN1-FM7JnyJ9wFNx3jTq7wFJHKkVbgjkRipxx9MCQkK7zPLw3dIej4b6LHXnx4uD3LnUVbh0ekM74ObzbMrMe2DAL8cPWnz0k5YNm3mGYXuCX8lgbQpC42nzf2khnyJpbAaSGt7Wd_hJ=w400-h213" width="400" /></a></div><div>Were someone to ask me what I like so much about ‘70s films and what I think distinguishes them from motion pictures made in any other era, I would point to <i>Payday</i> as a film representative of precisely those inarticulable qualities I love so much, gravitate to, and often only find in the movies made during the New Hollywood years. What I mean is that I like when a movie feels as though it were made because the filmmaker had a story they wanted to tell. Not because of market research, the desire to make a mint, or as a result of lawyers fashioning a "package" out of the merging of mutual advantage contracts.</div><div><i>Payday </i>suffered at the box-office because it didn't fit into any particular genre and its distributor couldn't find a way to market it. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjzn__C4e_rEDr-eB8luDtDITw3JKMKxBVHBbr7rKKSVZfC4G6k0cwhwECuOPRm2WIa7VDDoqttyzQzq-6wxCyo73kJUPm4bXqIq99Yf34MfurVxbmzFG9xkpv4d2GcIOD2BnTQQyazTxerwiOKWn45pSY_YDiCGey1vh6bWPWUhT2V408CWpYilvFG=s2455" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1301" data-original-width="2455" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjzn__C4e_rEDr-eB8luDtDITw3JKMKxBVHBbr7rKKSVZfC4G6k0cwhwECuOPRm2WIa7VDDoqttyzQzq-6wxCyo73kJUPm4bXqIq99Yf34MfurVxbmzFG9xkpv4d2GcIOD2BnTQQyazTxerwiOKWn45pSY_YDiCGey1vh6bWPWUhT2V408CWpYilvFG=w400-h213" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Henry O. Arnold as Ted Blankenship</b><br />A former waiter and longtime Maury Dann fan who aspires to be a songwriter<br /></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><br /></div><div>With so many of today's movies being greenlit only after their market viability has been analyzed to the nth degree, my perhaps rose-colored nostalgia for the '70s stems from the number of unique, personal, difficult-to-categorize, and downright weird movies that came out of that era. </div><div>That being said, how is it then that I only got around to seeing <i>Payday</i> for the first time just a couple of years ago?</div><div>I remember when <i>Payday </i>came out in 1973. It was one of a spate of intimate, personal films released during the Vietnam/Nixon years that sought to challenge Hollywood’s outsized and outdated “mythic hero” tradition by training its lens on the small, often ineffectual lives of ordinary people (<i>Kansas City Bomber</i>, <i>The Last American Hero</i>, <i>Play it As it Lays</i>, <i>Electra Glide in Blue</i>). </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgHVCivac_-dWD9wQJCttxcW9iY6nhsJtS74g31MwGkJfy2qNG00rV3nyhTQd5BUg9OblUStRGoT3c5jq99ew7okno_aegc5zTbL-7SMZ7BAFlNCm7M0-65TdNi4APl8yOgdAF3BauzxujkAPQ7FPIBD4Mhl26kh3ncyFkSIJZyxlK5FKXUMOWdFXZa=s2444" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1307" data-original-width="2444" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgHVCivac_-dWD9wQJCttxcW9iY6nhsJtS74g31MwGkJfy2qNG00rV3nyhTQd5BUg9OblUStRGoT3c5jq99ew7okno_aegc5zTbL-7SMZ7BAFlNCm7M0-65TdNi4APl8yOgdAF3BauzxujkAPQ7FPIBD4Mhl26kh3ncyFkSIJZyxlK5FKXUMOWdFXZa=w400-h214" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Jeff Morris as Bob Talley, a member of Maury Dann's band<br /></b>Actor Jeff Morris would play another country boy named Bob in 1980s <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2019/01/the-blues-brothers-1980.html" target="_blank">The Blues Brothers</a></i> <br />- proprietor of the roadhouse Bob's Country Bunker<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>Payday</i>--whose newspaper ads targeted the arthouse crowd in urban markets while (misleadingly) pitching itself as a Burt Reynolds-style redneck romp in rural districts--received laudatory reviews on its release, was selected to be shown out of competition at the Cannes Film Festival, and at the end of the year, appeared on many critics' Ten Best lists. Yet despite bearing all the potential earmarks of becoming a sleeper hit or "critic's darling" underdog during awards season, nominations were not forthcoming, audiences stayed away in droves, and <i>Payday</i> wound up disappearing from theaters faster than a knife fight in a phone booth. (Just keepin' in the spirit of things.)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgYNg1HN0A6XfnDQP4miNHetfJY59Hs_OYGZxjIhhXokcZ8hBZEnTYjRjUFk_QSsmSic_TQdatH2ihg80IyB-CMi1lStnHo12Aj6U6nUCfyosJOCN9E18Q6u2hvoLutg2OZn3bYnpbIwk7DEw2nPy-WjCzfYkV5tfi6aY4GAr_9Z5N4cuVxpDbM1iT9=s1200" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgYNg1HN0A6XfnDQP4miNHetfJY59Hs_OYGZxjIhhXokcZ8hBZEnTYjRjUFk_QSsmSic_TQdatH2ihg80IyB-CMi1lStnHo12Aj6U6nUCfyosJOCN9E18Q6u2hvoLutg2OZn3bYnpbIwk7DEw2nPy-WjCzfYkV5tfi6aY4GAr_9Z5N4cuVxpDbM1iT9=w334-h400" width="334" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Why didn’t I see it? Well for one, there were considerably bigger cinema fish for this teenage movie buff to fry in '73: <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2013/08/the-exorcist-1973.html" target="_blank">The Exorcist</a></i>, <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2015/02/the-last-of-sheila-1973.html" target="_blank">The Last of Sheila</a></i>, <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/09/jesus-christ-superstar-1973.html" target="_blank">Jesus Christ Superstar</a></i>, <i>The Way We Were</i>, <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/10/lost-horizon-1973.html" target="_blank">Lost Horizon</a></i>. Second, not only did the idea of a movie set in the world of country music fail to grab me (it would take <i>Nashville </i>to kickstart my love of country music), but I didn’t know anything about its director, and the only person in the cast I’d ever heard of was Rip Torn. And what little I’d seen of him in supporting roles in <i>Sweet Bird of Youth</i> (1962) and <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/10/youre-big-boy-now-1966.html" target="_blank">You’re A Big Boy Now </a></i>(1966) was impressive, but not enough to convince me that seeing <i>Payday</i> was a better weekend option than going to see <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2017/11/the-poseidon-adventure-1972.html" target="_blank">The Poseidon Adventure</a> </i>for the fifth time. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjFFQGMNb5Z8Z1mVRrkLEQtLST1IUfgwXw9kK8Bgd4cdtw4PnckIVctCZTwbuxem_tKGxg65aruOP75_n-TdKVYD76htApkCFEbs2isOkO1V1A5CPZYANIffZ7ytNWisoXMFVo8Udujsk4jEiW7vUqCi-z1lWjzdua9QdvPX13ZZFkn6iWFzs1xp6vh=s2449" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1299" data-original-width="2449" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjFFQGMNb5Z8Z1mVRrkLEQtLST1IUfgwXw9kK8Bgd4cdtw4PnckIVctCZTwbuxem_tKGxg65aruOP75_n-TdKVYD76htApkCFEbs2isOkO1V1A5CPZYANIffZ7ytNWisoXMFVo8Udujsk4jEiW7vUqCi-z1lWjzdua9QdvPX13ZZFkn6iWFzs1xp6vh=w400-h213" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>On the Road Again</b><br />Dann and his ever-busy road manager McGinty</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">Of course, after finally seeing <i>Payday </i>(three times, so far), I truly regret having missed out on the opportunity to see it on the big screen. And I wonder how seeing it would have impacted my experience of <i>Nashville</i> two years later. <i>Payday </i>impressed me with the way it manages to be so familiar (<i>A Face in the Crowd</i>, <i>The Rose</i>, <i>I Saw The Light: The Story of Hank Williams</i>), yet via its dimensional characterizations and insightful script, was capable of catching me totally off guard. Narratively, nothing went where I expected. I know my 15-year-old self would have been thoroughly enraptured by it all. I think <i>Payday</i> is one of the best films of 1973, and Rip Torn was robbed of a Best Actor Oscar nomination (especially when I think of Robert Redford's department store mannequin performance in <i>The Sting </i>clogging up the category that year). </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiLniIGWdvhKDtHBDM8zlHOYDRUdW1T0_oMo-zw-OoDmQ2J16xYQ0-M7dChrJ1gitogykYu3xvNgjHEtNh1m-LczbLxlK9EJpFEr2TXKmJ9-Ox-IVHYzA9DRFytu4rP-BuOkTlyccv7eMj1-qdykDgSy1JSSZ2fQ7DeVYtUHMa3kUwRW8RntN_iPpIv=s2451" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1295" data-original-width="2451" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiLniIGWdvhKDtHBDM8zlHOYDRUdW1T0_oMo-zw-OoDmQ2J16xYQ0-M7dChrJ1gitogykYu3xvNgjHEtNh1m-LczbLxlK9EJpFEr2TXKmJ9-Ox-IVHYzA9DRFytu4rP-BuOkTlyccv7eMj1-qdykDgSy1JSSZ2fQ7DeVYtUHMa3kUwRW8RntN_iPpIv=w400-h211" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>In one of the film's best scenes, real-life Tennessee disc jockey Earl Trigg portrays an unctuously coercive fictional radio DJ named Bob Dickey. Earl Trigg is a former child actor (billed as "Tookie" Trigg) who appeared in some 30 features and Our Gang comedies.</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div><b>WHAT I LOVE ABOUT THIS FILM</b></div><div>Out of a naïve-but-purposeful desire to be in a music star’s orbit, a central character in <i>Payday</i> allows herself to be swept up in the counterfeit glamour of Maury Dann’s chaos-addiction lifestyle, whisked away in his Cadillac headed for god-knows-where…without money, a change of clothes, or notice given to the 5 and Dime where her cashier services are anticipated the following day. </div><div>Watching <i>Payday</i> for the first time felt a little like that.</div><div><i>Payday</i> unfolds in a non-stop, barely-time-to-catch-your-breath style ideally suited to the subject matter. An intimate, almost documentary style that made me feel as though I had been invited to see a country singer perform (I’m crazy about Rip Torn’s voice! It’s not good, but it’s right) only to find myself the unwitting recipient of a front-row seat to the spectacle of a dishonorable man’s disintegration.</div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgF-JQSrUOTQGMMhZ_WtQdtuJYLANNN2_7yYhqnz0al1lSMFMjz-aL0tYARw1Wdi4H17rhU4EHvbhPgPRV2oH9f7uGoQQv1PvUBUajuyWQIHSv0lIXGuF2YXXDZh4dHnps06MWVOm0KgV408y6NTB4fxBVCSRyBZcLFfzz1R97UvckVJntBMSxjk5WG=s2450" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1302" data-original-width="2450" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgF-JQSrUOTQGMMhZ_WtQdtuJYLANNN2_7yYhqnz0al1lSMFMjz-aL0tYARw1Wdi4H17rhU4EHvbhPgPRV2oH9f7uGoQQv1PvUBUajuyWQIHSv0lIXGuF2YXXDZh4dHnps06MWVOm0KgV408y6NTB4fxBVCSRyBZcLFfzz1R97UvckVJntBMSxjk5WG=w436-h232" width="436" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Maury Dann - Living for the Payday</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;">McGinty - (referring to roadhouse owner) <i>He wants a piece of the gate next time out.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;">Dann - <i>People in hell want ice water, too.</i></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div>Like its lead character, <i>Payday </i>hits the ground running and sweeps the viewer up in the garish allure (or morbid curiosity) of its authentically-rendered backstage view of life on the road. A world of grungy motel rooms with wood-paneled walls and chenille bedspreads that play host to after-hours poker parties, informal business meetings, impromptu jam sessions, and drunken sexual assaults cloaked in fame entitlement and groupie expectation. Rooms littered with beer cans, Jack Daniels bottles, cigar butts, Hardee’s cups, and fast-food wrappers. Capturing the isolated, on-the-move, “what town are we in?” feeling of being on tour, <i>Payday </i>depicts Dann’s life as an episodic string of personality-revealing vignettes. A kind of road odyssey of self-confrontation headed down the road toward the inevitable day of reckoning. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiiC2RP9wFaaf9EmDNpv79crkNgT3VZjkEXDG9hUpwMJkvldaflkPWjrVKRisojTv8a8M4VsQfZMxa8UmsgiTBtvS7lGPU1e3wPh_Wr3homG5eHm2eAwcUWPOKaU0sFIVko_m7r1zgeTqFBCck7LNDR8AMxTluSnwA-sEsJd2-tm3KxD9S_3Q6lrBDT=s2000" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1060" data-original-width="2000" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiiC2RP9wFaaf9EmDNpv79crkNgT3VZjkEXDG9hUpwMJkvldaflkPWjrVKRisojTv8a8M4VsQfZMxa8UmsgiTBtvS7lGPU1e3wPh_Wr3homG5eHm2eAwcUWPOKaU0sFIVko_m7r1zgeTqFBCck7LNDR8AMxTluSnwA-sEsJd2-tm3KxD9S_3Q6lrBDT=w453-h241" width="453" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>MEETING IN THE LADIES' ROOM<br />Girlfriend #1 confronts potential girlfriend #2</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">Most movies set in the music industry are about performers who can’t handle success. What eats at Maury Dann is not having achieved the kind of success he thinks he deserves. Indeed, one senses that behind Dann’s manic restlessness, quick-trigger temper, and hell-raising antics, is a man terrified of standing still. As the late Daryl Duke states on the DVD commentary, if Dann ever stopped moving, he'd be forced to confront the fact that he's a failure. Certainly, a failure as a husband and a father and as a human being...but also in failing to achieve the stardom that's obviously so important to him. Realizing that it will forever be out of his reach, fading further into the distance with each passing year.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjzrBTzPqvoFS4pOBDBQCJdXYnZeU1H-wDInjkQhWs32xsjsCjZi33__da0PM3aUe5KwEpEWSxmmCM6p5pfmKg6TvqRJ2InSBUOX7g43xljFmpGMhxmElnFxa7WmbC_aDZJFRo_EaTSjMLtwjF40JyJV7tzEItDaEGa86AeX6uOk9uTpkpasZ8LKy4D=s2449" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1301" data-original-width="2449" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjzrBTzPqvoFS4pOBDBQCJdXYnZeU1H-wDInjkQhWs32xsjsCjZi33__da0PM3aUe5KwEpEWSxmmCM6p5pfmKg6TvqRJ2InSBUOX7g43xljFmpGMhxmElnFxa7WmbC_aDZJFRo_EaTSjMLtwjF40JyJV7tzEItDaEGa86AeX6uOk9uTpkpasZ8LKy4D=w400-h213" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhZVTgecUkhJSSdCEGbmSyLJZ09zhM_otiEavq3HKxAoFQQgm_tNbkTY5RWRQei5A3f_a-aMA5xyvL0k6snkQej999Y70v-mgLM9SlWZ_fGRizD8-qWymAEtLMql2ON-9DxY04oUGJ3XpJRINkZ2K1B7YFT9sLJS0K0WQ5HVRTvBVzBgsfWJc-I99VO=s2458" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1305" data-original-width="2458" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhZVTgecUkhJSSdCEGbmSyLJZ09zhM_otiEavq3HKxAoFQQgm_tNbkTY5RWRQei5A3f_a-aMA5xyvL0k6snkQej999Y70v-mgLM9SlWZ_fGRizD8-qWymAEtLMql2ON-9DxY04oUGJ3XpJRINkZ2K1B7YFT9sLJS0K0WQ5HVRTvBVzBgsfWJc-I99VO=w400-h213" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Just a liquored-up good ol' boy firing a gun out the window of a speeding car for fun</b></div><div style="text-align: center;">Like all malignant narcissists, Maury Dann goes through life challenging</div><div style="text-align: center;"> fate with the dare: What <u><i>can't</i></u> I get away with?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><b>WHAT I LOVE ABOUT THIS FILM</b><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><div>Though my love for dark-themed movies is clear and well-chronicled, I nevertheless understand that most people, when faced with a movie whose main character is a lout and a heel, ask why they would want to spend time in the celluloid company of someone they’d cross the street to avoid in real life. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiN9-hrc85sCwn5ciu9_C26Ig4lAe-qIBgNkA6OJPsmcZGyzaa88L-xMx5YlvXnkvlNyZvaVrLPaaRsmS2f8cEzrw6WIkNoGbt7_xudc8KuA8SqvxHodhREBFLvHDMLRzlTaMnQMk3UAz1l92-tP3pbvbQQ4PT1nwV8tVIDOi8UWyJqF3NhYySzROJP=s2451" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1295" data-original-width="2451" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiN9-hrc85sCwn5ciu9_C26Ig4lAe-qIBgNkA6OJPsmcZGyzaa88L-xMx5YlvXnkvlNyZvaVrLPaaRsmS2f8cEzrw6WIkNoGbt7_xudc8KuA8SqvxHodhREBFLvHDMLRzlTaMnQMk3UAz1l92-tP3pbvbQQ4PT1nwV8tVIDOi8UWyJqF3NhYySzROJP=w400-h211" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Eleanor Fell as Galen Dann</b><br />Maury's ex-wife and mother to Billy, Kitty, and Elmore (Rip Torn's real name)</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">But the anti-hero trend in ‘70s films was always less about liking or even relating to the character in question; it was about confronting the "hero" myths we've bought into and examining the lies we tell ourselves through our traditional screen idols. The purpose served by the heroes of mainstream films was to perpetuate myths of honor and valor that flattered the audience's image of themselves. Hollywood in the '70s continued to lean into metaphorically simple concepts of evil and heroism: villains wore black hats, good guys were white, heteronormative males in the John Wayne tradition.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">But the '70s reality is the same as it is today...the real villains don't wear black hats. They look like the people we had been taught to put our trust in and/or look up to: the politicians, the powerful businessman, the police, the celebrity, the military, the clergy. The '70s anti-hero...a by-product of the betrayals of Vietnam and Watergate, sought to make us look at the dark side of American myth and the traditional hero--in this instance, the family-values country-western singer--and in doing so, look at the dark side of ourselves as a society and a country.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEikNQDBLV93fJBv1Ei_a2HH7nq4Zz4aK2iFuMGEsYfO9vpuiNmVMhtxjWeDq3B_PGIqV1gb_XD1Pz0SNzdj5pgTBAqUjkHJ0U1AzqDQUkDNGGj2Qd4a6nErR7pDDGl-IQEBnz02JqqoRkuSCSTOQvkvPYxKRvv4WbIHcBaJ91TaJk8RdetEk8iSU_Br=s2456" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1301" data-original-width="2456" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEikNQDBLV93fJBv1Ei_a2HH7nq4Zz4aK2iFuMGEsYfO9vpuiNmVMhtxjWeDq3B_PGIqV1gb_XD1Pz0SNzdj5pgTBAqUjkHJ0U1AzqDQUkDNGGj2Qd4a6nErR7pDDGl-IQEBnz02JqqoRkuSCSTOQvkvPYxKRvv4WbIHcBaJ91TaJk8RdetEk8iSU_Br=w420-h224" width="420" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Striking a Deal with the Devil<br />If you're famous and rich in America, there's no moral bottom<br /> you can hit that cannot be forgiven, enabled, or covered up </b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;">In <i>Payday</i> Maury Dann is America. Or rather, those hypocritical aspects of American culture that seem to produce, reward, and encourage the Maury Dann’s of the world while simultaneously lying to itself about the supposed value it places in simpler virtues.</div><div>In Dann's relentless pursuit of money, fame, and the privilege perks of same (aka power) are written the very tenets of America's success ethic. Does it matter that in the achievement of these things, Dann has become a cruel and remorseless monster? Not likely. For Dann has learned--like most politicians, religious "leaders," and pop-culture celebrities--that for a public that loves to be lied to, having the appearance of being principled and moral is far more important than actually being those things.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiCCQFU1ar5kL9Yr2WNhenaUpa1K_w15nqIyp0k7QqKERhsBjAawKU7m_YyNM2Yo8q5nVrDTvymA2Bc0PpkZaQOZ5SWYv0sMdimaeifWg16kwQk1T653bOSM9BdcpCBJSUE4tZ37q8EqTktJs6NRnF4QSIO1ze51rs7IaZpFOJx9T6PArIAI8X5lTBL=s2451" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="2451" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiCCQFU1ar5kL9Yr2WNhenaUpa1K_w15nqIyp0k7QqKERhsBjAawKU7m_YyNM2Yo8q5nVrDTvymA2Bc0PpkZaQOZ5SWYv0sMdimaeifWg16kwQk1T653bOSM9BdcpCBJSUE4tZ37q8EqTktJs6NRnF4QSIO1ze51rs7IaZpFOJx9T6PArIAI8X5lTBL=w434-h229" width="434" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Two Sets of Laws / Two Americas<br />Maury signs an autograph for a starstruck cop and gets out of a ticket in the bargain. <i>Payday</i> features several scenes showing Dann always being able to use his fame and wealth to skirt the law and avoid the consequences of his actions</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It strikes me as both purposeful and perfect that <i>Payday</i> is set in the world of country music. As a genre that has long aligned itself with (and exploited) the so-called Christian, blue-collar, America's heartland, family values myth, it serves as the perfect illustrative metaphor exposing how America's persistent lies to itself have become its truth. The ethics of country singers are no more resistant to the usual temptations and corruptions of wealth and fame. In fact, their tendency to cloak themselves in the flag, the Bible, and those ever-illusory, gun-totin' "family values," likely makes them more susceptible to the sins of duplicity and hypocrisy.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh6MZmsctiDEx0yJ7cy-vNyLqFx_9cUPtMaOpDuubDwvWSLZBggw9y9VJJnlnDk1yPdB0YKfoObFp3pgU903mb_pAiu79aWrlAGT2LSF01CGT3W0HD8KOVLHA8t64Ou9a6bIaGsYnbkEGoTSt3pO3_E1ibTA49fztTaqrKkNK11Dkh5-lPLUOoVFxjM=s2451" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1297" data-original-width="2451" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh6MZmsctiDEx0yJ7cy-vNyLqFx_9cUPtMaOpDuubDwvWSLZBggw9y9VJJnlnDk1yPdB0YKfoObFp3pgU903mb_pAiu79aWrlAGT2LSF01CGT3W0HD8KOVLHA8t64Ou9a6bIaGsYnbkEGoTSt3pO3_E1ibTA49fztTaqrKkNK11Dkh5-lPLUOoVFxjM=w421-h222" width="421" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Sex, Drugs, Country & Western<br /></b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></div><div><b>PERFORMANCES</b></div><div><div>Rip Torn’s raw, lived-in performance is the electrifying core of <i>Payday</i>. Bringing a homegrown gravitas to the character, Torn’s is the type of bravura screen performance given by an actor finally granted a role on scale with his talents (Don Carpenter wrote it with Torn in mind, and it’s hard to imagine anyone else in the role). He's positively riveting. And though it sounds like just the kind of quote-ready critical assessment that movie publicity departments pray for, I genuinely think Rip Torn's performance in <i>Payday </i>is one of the best American screen performances of the '70s. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjf5OWWdC0dXej95oZngqegKO2pbzHsltB-Ee-eM7L2nSOW4CMDJyXFyOVsMKtCQS_Qr2BFYFyfJ3ZU9GZS36KTZ1xgDQFUjdv94nBZc06idMsihEECmEFMhkjSIR1lNiNnraQsYxI6SiVH1F_4VLfY70sn3yVJ8z0mhFdRVLw0l7JH7sIRRIgTsVQ2=s2454" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1301" data-original-width="2454" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjf5OWWdC0dXej95oZngqegKO2pbzHsltB-Ee-eM7L2nSOW4CMDJyXFyOVsMKtCQS_Qr2BFYFyfJ3ZU9GZS36KTZ1xgDQFUjdv94nBZc06idMsihEECmEFMhkjSIR1lNiNnraQsYxI6SiVH1F_4VLfY70sn3yVJ8z0mhFdRVLw0l7JH7sIRRIgTsVQ2=w400-h213" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Adding considerable support is Ahna Capri as Dann’s vigilant girlfriend, whose continued, hawk-eyed efforts to guard her interests are both amusing and reminded me of a pragmatic, more resilient version of Ann-Margret’s Bobbie Templeton in <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2016/12/carnal-knowledge-1971.html" target="_blank">Carnal Knowledge</a></i>. Very strong performances are also given by Elayne Heilveil, Michael Gwynne, and Cliff Emmich.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Payday is the day you get what your earn, what you work for, what you deserve. If you’re lucky, what you have coming to you on payday is what you expect. For the morally and spiritually bankrupt characters in Daryl Duke and Don Carpenter's brilliant first film, <i>Payday</i> might just be Judgement Day.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>BONUS MATERIAL</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh2A2JrSw6cIVaYtm_5E4PBGcFzWm_oMgt8La-WLQV8aX9Ej5udasDnVfDCs6oR5UkEiJGUdUBbhwKav31yWZG6D0JVISFM5F3Wc1N6y6YKpuOK3hG_1ZPrJZflBRrSHf6xn85y0iqHO7VGAg0XRhyDoGkFqwyKVMgX7vXjrjp3bHZWKGdsMWwDmiKd=s1575" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1575" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh2A2JrSw6cIVaYtm_5E4PBGcFzWm_oMgt8La-WLQV8aX9Ej5udasDnVfDCs6oR5UkEiJGUdUBbhwKav31yWZG6D0JVISFM5F3Wc1N6y6YKpuOK3hG_1ZPrJZflBRrSHf6xn85y0iqHO7VGAg0XRhyDoGkFqwyKVMgX7vXjrjp3bHZWKGdsMWwDmiKd=w400-h195" width="400" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Four of the original country songs in <i>Payday</i>’s soundtrack were written by the late, great Shel Silverstein: playwright, poet, cartoonist, author, and Grammy Award-winning songwriter (1969 Best Country Song “A Boy Named Sue”). <i>Payday </i>showcases the Silverstein compositions - “Slowly Fading Circle”, “Baby, Here’s a Dime”, and “Lovin’ You More” (whose chorus “I’m lovin’ you more but you’re enjoying it less” is [for those too young to take notice] a comic takeoff on the 1960’s Camel cigarettes slogan “Are you smoking more but enjoying it less?”). </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My personal favorite is “She's Only a Country Girl,” a catchy, drawling, earworm of a song that got stuck in my head for days after seeing this. It sounds like a song Henry Gibson's Haven Hamilton might have sung in <i>Nashville</i>. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div><i>Payday</i> features three more songs by different composers: “Road to Nashville”, “Flatland”, and “Payday” - leaving me wishing the film had been met with a little more success and produced a soundtrack album.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhMWnjpEDSRU4usgek0VUMIkcEqaVJnowZHi9VmzcRhFblBWAzGAf1zxBW1dp5egzc2Yy0eaL9EgJIPETLcoOlEVvmvVgj2LZlErBWlJWm-CmFp4G2We_304Ifv0SqfkpulQ-e0axhgRC0Po2PwUiW7KMzbZl2dl5gVzm-HF_6gLX-hX2QiSPsPt87N=s2445" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1297" data-original-width="2445" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhMWnjpEDSRU4usgek0VUMIkcEqaVJnowZHi9VmzcRhFblBWAzGAf1zxBW1dp5egzc2Yy0eaL9EgJIPETLcoOlEVvmvVgj2LZlErBWlJWm-CmFp4G2We_304Ifv0SqfkpulQ-e0axhgRC0Po2PwUiW7KMzbZl2dl5gVzm-HF_6gLX-hX2QiSPsPt87N=w400-h213" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhOygzWdVb8ngsc-0rY9F2Q3hyvtss3IEOYxJJGt-kOXonFSWUFgSZj67V9a0kWeq-Oh7CwhSP04iGRhuJYuew2e3nByMHzCYXaRMNijN0BDfFTfdsgfNjEolQuOglXgAv--pfpPhJlQh65mXXqITdhOB9HKqdhX6kOmE6Uio4dseAGwKrpq5ypFcld=s1200" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="628" data-original-width="1200" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhOygzWdVb8ngsc-0rY9F2Q3hyvtss3IEOYxJJGt-kOXonFSWUFgSZj67V9a0kWeq-Oh7CwhSP04iGRhuJYuew2e3nByMHzCYXaRMNijN0BDfFTfdsgfNjEolQuOglXgAv--pfpPhJlQh65mXXqITdhOB9HKqdhX6kOmE6Uio4dseAGwKrpq5ypFcld=w400-h209" width="400" /></a></div>Elayne Heilveil, who portrays the naive-as-a-fox Rosamund McClintock in <i>Payday,</i> was the original Nancy Maitland (later played by Meredith Baxter) in the 1976 miniseries <i>Family</i>. That's her on the far right of this cast portrait that's so oddly staged that I suspect it's a composite. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiqethAsSOn5HQAjQTlCHcUNgwuxOvXfOrJEifKMGTDKlUQYb6ebWHlxUy1E6QiXNECMWtLjCP7taK_-0v0Rg0cnIcslyguIWXB81YlvcNXMDZbkR9F8o9B1ZAnIzSq4-QqUC9inoE_0CDHxp5DcxJLeRxRhsjyKiosn_bqYo2GW8UtWuz7fOE3YSBe=s2450" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1299" data-original-width="2450" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiqethAsSOn5HQAjQTlCHcUNgwuxOvXfOrJEifKMGTDKlUQYb6ebWHlxUy1E6QiXNECMWtLjCP7taK_-0v0Rg0cnIcslyguIWXB81YlvcNXMDZbkR9F8o9B1ZAnIzSq4-QqUC9inoE_0CDHxp5DcxJLeRxRhsjyKiosn_bqYo2GW8UtWuz7fOE3YSBe=w400-h213" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></div>Copyright © Ken Anderson 2009 - 2022Ken Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04940648971296673233noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2627032459273165000.post-64051878684931055102022-01-01T18:16:00.064-08:002023-06-24T12:48:29.327-07:00SETTLE FOR THE DREAM: SONDHEIM IN THE MOVIES<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgIKNZkNkjNpvyDH94PSiLDVoZ1zeh0cSi93UCdpEeW-qgxy2glQzcQedZhsJMB3XOeIanOnhRTJccLlIUkKkekwp51_MqBwX4EpK3B6dxL5QYv7hYInglnSbmoWe1xCr61df9aeRvLLeXwg4F3TnNWiv8hsZOv7QvM8yjTFDJVOqgl38LonxWVwEq-=s1549" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="857" data-original-width="1549" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgIKNZkNkjNpvyDH94PSiLDVoZ1zeh0cSi93UCdpEeW-qgxy2glQzcQedZhsJMB3XOeIanOnhRTJccLlIUkKkekwp51_MqBwX4EpK3B6dxL5QYv7hYInglnSbmoWe1xCr61df9aeRvLLeXwg4F3TnNWiv8hsZOv7QvM8yjTFDJVOqgl38LonxWVwEq-=w431-h238" width="431" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Legendary composer/lyricist Stephen Sondheim appears in remarkably good spirits considering what Elizabeth Taylor is likely doing to one of his songs in this Graham Morris photograph capturing an August 1976 London recording session for the Harold Prince movie adaptation of<i> </i>Sondheim's<i> A Little Night Music</i>.</b><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><div><b>Stephen Sondheim</b></div><div><b>March 22, 1930 - November 26, 2021</b></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj21bZDoHCWeg2z1XcwUHvshOuEgX4AdD6fnNsTPGDpXHzmSsGx7aCHDaJRjp71v4za8cjXWPbqkXywTRA_vZAuFxN_OP41MWI3ta21hAJ9KxsNkqAhXrESDNGn-j5Frmy5gXwHA7h1H3p9Lc7o9QWeB1EeTT0R3iUYCEqx5LCU5u702tnatA9ApVoV=s1353" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="649" data-original-width="1353" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj21bZDoHCWeg2z1XcwUHvshOuEgX4AdD6fnNsTPGDpXHzmSsGx7aCHDaJRjp71v4za8cjXWPbqkXywTRA_vZAuFxN_OP41MWI3ta21hAJ9KxsNkqAhXrESDNGn-j5Frmy5gXwHA7h1H3p9Lc7o9QWeB1EeTT0R3iUYCEqx5LCU5u702tnatA9ApVoV=w456-h217" width="456" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Countless obituaries, tributes, eulogies, and “In Memoriam” articles reiterated the indisputable fact that the death of Broadway legend Stephen Sondheim signaled the end of an era in American Musical Theater. And indeed, the breadth of his impact is difficult to overstate. Stephen Sondheim almost single-handedly changed the look, sound, and content of the American musical. Transforming the popular medium that once strove for nothing deeper than “pleasing the tired businessman” (i.e., to amuse and entertain, not instruct or strain the brain) into a sophisticated and challenging art form illuminating complex societal themes and exploring the darker corners of the human condition. It’s impossible to imagine the likes of his particular genius will ever be seen again. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div>But to me…a gay man who discovered the brilliant composer-lyricist during my floundering adolescence in the Sexual Revolution/Gay Liberation ‘70s, it’s hard not to look upon the obvious tragedy of Stephen Sondheim’s death at age 91 as simultaneously representing a kind of triumph. A triumph of survival, a triumph of the indomitability of the creative voice, and certainly a triumph of a queer artist's personal journey (from being closeted, coming out in his 40s, to [shades of "Marry Me a Little"] getting wed at the age of 87) in a nearly 70-year career. </div><div><br /></div><div>For what’s not triumphant in being a gay man surviving the devastation of the AIDS plague of the ‘80s and living to the astoundingly ripe old age of 91? It’s certainly a triumph that the trajectory of Sondheim’s long career dramatizes the struggle of the American LGBTQ experience: Sondheim’s first Broadway show (1957s <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2021/12/west-side-story-1961.html" target="_blank">West Side Story</a></i>) was the creation of no less than FOUR societally-mandated closeted gay and bisexual men. By the time of his death, Sondheim was an out-and-proud, world-renowned public figure legally wed to his husband of four years.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEij3IYF7DTvkS_nz63Fe-mca7dwCuTreX_PlqhyCvshBiQL0thdVIMrAlyWaXMbPFvBG4pbfYTWFSxibDsfod3pN1nuMVIKRZk2KRZ_c01PT0nFivk_9LiiOH7tVikaL6Q_krdK0MaAs44xIOLzKIlTD6G3uWxlvvHdBSLQK8CkUd4pKe9zWahbSR5k=s1396" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="725" data-original-width="1396" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEij3IYF7DTvkS_nz63Fe-mca7dwCuTreX_PlqhyCvshBiQL0thdVIMrAlyWaXMbPFvBG4pbfYTWFSxibDsfod3pN1nuMVIKRZk2KRZ_c01PT0nFivk_9LiiOH7tVikaL6Q_krdK0MaAs44xIOLzKIlTD6G3uWxlvvHdBSLQK8CkUd4pKe9zWahbSR5k=w400-h208" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Sondheim with the cast of the movie version of <i>Into the Woods</i></b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">As one of Broadway’s most lauded composer-lyricists (8 Tony Award wins - including an Honorary Lifetime Achievement in Theater Award, 8 Grammys, a Pulitzer Prize, a Presidential Medal of Freedom, and more) Hollywood beckoned Sondheim from the start. And of his 18 theatrical productions, six have made it to the screen to date. The work he created specifically for the movies includes composing a score for French director Alain Resnais, writing original songs for several feature films (one even garnering him an Oscar win), and collaborating on the screenplay of a murder mystery with his friend and rumored lover Anthony Perkins. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi1XTSuOa6lsFkqC9_2HS4aR4OcFeF6zIQzGTR6D6jqPdwXR90p4RG4-UXKcNrhe-HcWzr7jMi7dbk1J6iB8XW636WrrreBhK8Qy8J2MpoXEDYS67P9SKOdlTsHgup5i3CZ1ufKTbP2s4a32P3eaKS3AWv825fYZQ02ygWVs7rdQy3BL-Pav7B8rHEu=s1318" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1318" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi1XTSuOa6lsFkqC9_2HS4aR4OcFeF6zIQzGTR6D6jqPdwXR90p4RG4-UXKcNrhe-HcWzr7jMi7dbk1J6iB8XW636WrrreBhK8Qy8J2MpoXEDYS67P9SKOdlTsHgup5i3CZ1ufKTbP2s4a32P3eaKS3AWv825fYZQ02ygWVs7rdQy3BL-Pav7B8rHEu=w400-h278" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>A 1970s Polaroid featuring Anthony Perkins, Pat Ast, and Marisa Berenson surrounding Sondheim at the piano. Sondheim met Tony Perkins in 1966 when he wrote the words & music for <i>Evening Primrose</i>, an original made-for-TV musical starring Perkins and Charmian Carr (of <i>The Sound of Music</i>).</b></td></tr></tbody></table></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The relative or comparative success/failure of Hollywood’s adaptations of Sondheim’s work has sparked much unnecessary debate over the years. In the end, it's Sondheim himself who comes across as the level-headed mediator, what with his understanding of the differences between the mediums of film and theater, and therefore being considerably less bent out of shape than his acolytes by the often necessary compromises required in bringing his theatrical works to the screen. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I think evidence of Sondheim's easygoing philosophy can be found in his music. </div></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><div>One of the more consistent themes running through Sondheim's work is that, while idealism is both an elemental and essential part of being an artist, a lover, a character in a fairy tale, a dreamer, a suburban married couple, or even a sociopathic killer; the achievement of perfection itself is something unattainable. There can never be such a thing as perfection or "happily ever after" where human beings...in all their flawed complexity...are involved.</div><div> </div><div>So many of his musicals end with characters thinking they are “settling” for the less-than-perfect when the overarching theme stresses that once one abandons illusion and fantasy (which makes us question whether we're happy "enough" or if our happiness is the "right kind"), it opens us up to recognizing the often very real happiness that already exists in our lives. Usually, to be found in the only place it can ever truly be: in the here and now, wherever that is, and whatever that may look like. Accepting who we are, what we have, and finding that there is both happiness and contentment within the imperfect, is, I think, the key to happiness and what it means to grow up. <span style="font-family: helvetica;"> </span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgio0G1FGZT_NSKwZZ7kM6CMPxBtXaZGuIT8w0EFJeEvMA9ifG25nLDkYDmwGkmUgghR7_-jRr_7xkmMj_qB9z_d4JLrfDA7zIvkhoSuNSrCm2ffF3_-crq7BVsF2YNo3bIaFQi6dU0kFkGycFuJ9ggSz7yLws4aWU5m6i1mZWhRr405xAb4Vgq1BrK=s1352" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="665" data-original-width="1352" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgio0G1FGZT_NSKwZZ7kM6CMPxBtXaZGuIT8w0EFJeEvMA9ifG25nLDkYDmwGkmUgghR7_-jRr_7xkmMj_qB9z_d4JLrfDA7zIvkhoSuNSrCm2ffF3_-crq7BVsF2YNo3bIaFQi6dU0kFkGycFuJ9ggSz7yLws4aWU5m6i1mZWhRr405xAb4Vgq1BrK=w461-h226" width="461" /></a></div><p style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><i><b>“Feed the plot to the fish. Life is not what the movies make it seem. Still, we got Dorothy Gish. We can lean back and settle for the dream.” </b></i></p></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: right;"><b><i>- </i>"In The Movies" - from Sondheim's first musical <i>Saturday Night</i> - 1955 (unproduced until 1997)</b></div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div>“In the Movies” is a comic musical number calling attention to the discrepancy between life as we know it and life as depicted on the big screen. In the end, the song makes the case that wishing for reality to be more like the movies is an exercise in futility when it’s precisely life’s deficiencies that make movies so pleasurable (and necessary!). Better to relax, sit back, and enjoy these idealized fantasies for what they are. Why dwell on the unhappy thought that life is so seldom as magical as the movies when the greatest gift that movies offer us is the magic of fantasy? Why not just sit back and “settle for the dream”?</div><div><br /></div><div>That repeated lyric, with its echoing of the Sondheimian ethos of accepting things as they are…accepting the things you cannot change, feels just right for the title of my brief look at the uneven cinema legacy of the man who became the face of American Musical Theater. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEguZU98yH7v6rmZBUUnpEPuUAMQVAmSjdmMr0z5LB6AA_yHMRvVpvSPO_dTm6Mq94UHiAVgqbZh3VjdMyTmJicKyTMuaJODPE3tFu1EYBsK7p_YXeGRhjeOzTwagHvA6PJ9bIy7k-gnAtoX50tMtYwfCYXrOHzb3Lp4RRbQNN1mXfjcf92cmuyjb3CN=s3941" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3941" data-original-width="2606" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEguZU98yH7v6rmZBUUnpEPuUAMQVAmSjdmMr0z5LB6AA_yHMRvVpvSPO_dTm6Mq94UHiAVgqbZh3VjdMyTmJicKyTMuaJODPE3tFu1EYBsK7p_YXeGRhjeOzTwagHvA6PJ9bIy7k-gnAtoX50tMtYwfCYXrOHzb3Lp4RRbQNN1mXfjcf92cmuyjb3CN=w265-h400" width="265" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>In 1971 I fell in love with the OBC album of Sondheim's <i>Company </i>(1970). <br />In 1993 got to see the original cast perform it in concert.</b> </td></tr></tbody></table><div>I suspect theater fans will always prefer their Sondheim onstage and lament that his film adaptations inevitably fall short. And I can see their point. Live theater presents the uncompromised vision and is different each time you see it. But live theater is not as available to some as it is to others. Certainly not as available as film. </div><div>I'm a movie guy and a Sondheim fan to boot, so my attitude is that while I would love it if every screen adaptation of a Sondheim show was "perfection," there is no such thing. And certainly, when it comes to film, what's done is done. There's no matinee the following day where problems can be fixed. </div><div><br /></div><div>In any discussion on the topic of whether the movies have ever done justice to the work of Stephen Sondheim, my answer would be a qualified no. But instead of blocking my blessings by playing "It Would Have Been Wonderful," how much better it is for me to sit back and simply appreciate the rare gift it is to have <i>any</i> of Stephen Sondheim's genius preserved on the screen at all. It's a dream I'm more than happy to settle for. <span style="text-align: right;"> </span></div></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEggA-AmA7o_TXS7CHZvPDM-Xp35JwVbn8wuGlDWFvXR61SGyWUtQUv1K5deYKt6wgqQPTHDJy1cz6wVKuCKITunbc2Z3naKlA7AZpuDig7msJrYA0fak49pFVYAIEuIRRwuZrKRt-z2SQFyL6gkIetrYJu3jnWSNFr4PKJkfScpTWvqAqp4qZl3ffRN=s2559" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1171" data-original-width="2559" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEggA-AmA7o_TXS7CHZvPDM-Xp35JwVbn8wuGlDWFvXR61SGyWUtQUv1K5deYKt6wgqQPTHDJy1cz6wVKuCKITunbc2Z3naKlA7AZpuDig7msJrYA0fak49pFVYAIEuIRRwuZrKRt-z2SQFyL6gkIetrYJu3jnWSNFr4PKJkfScpTWvqAqp4qZl3ffRN=w400-h183" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>WEST SIDE STORY - 1961</b></td></tr></tbody></table>Directed by Robert Wise & Jerome Robbins, and adapted from the Tony Award-winning musical that marked Sondheim’s Broadway debut. As I fairly exhausted the topic of <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2021/12/west-side-story-1961.html" target="_blank">West Side Story</a></i> in my previous essay (hint: I'm crazy about this movie) the only thing to add here is that the triumph of this now-classic, Academy Award-winning screen adaptation (a whopping 10 wins including Best Picture and Best Director) still finds Sondheim critical of his own efforts, not the film. Serving as lyricist for Leonard Bernstein’s compositions, Sondheim has said he is embarrassed by the “poetry” of the language he put into the mouths of street kids. He has also stated that many of the changes screenwriter Ernest Lehman brought to the film (specifically as to where certain songs were re-situated) are improvements on the stage version. </div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjQ15PKHjvwY8o5U_z5_czDQraWIm_Aq4QkJ1kTn0IAv96t9drQlyO-hC_3ZIaCYRfH7vzCL3Ypjf2yl8efVUWxExGoMhRoB_MFzZVQ02vSgtk9Y1527R2hgnUZBJkx-VyJr7JmhGKgE4dBdzreBKvrcwf6TMdzYqGrZkZOsowxxPD9vSw5hZ7KOeoH=s2560" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="2560" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjQ15PKHjvwY8o5U_z5_czDQraWIm_Aq4QkJ1kTn0IAv96t9drQlyO-hC_3ZIaCYRfH7vzCL3Ypjf2yl8efVUWxExGoMhRoB_MFzZVQ02vSgtk9Y1527R2hgnUZBJkx-VyJr7JmhGKgE4dBdzreBKvrcwf6TMdzYqGrZkZOsowxxPD9vSw5hZ7KOeoH=w400-h166" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>GYPSY - 1962</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div>Directed by Mervyn Leroy and adapted from the 1959 Ethel Merman Broadway musical. Hitting two for two, Sondheim’s second Broadway hit (this time supplying the lyrics to Jules Stein’s music) became his second movie adaptation and second collaboration with Natalie Wood. Controversially cast in place of the bombastic Merman, the vocally-manipulated Rosalind Russell. A delightful, relatively faithful adaptation, <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2015/12/gypsy-1962.html" target="_blank">Gypsy </a></i>is another film I’ve exhaustively covered in an earlier post (hint: I’m crazy about it), my only gripe being that it cuts one of my favorite songs “Together Wherever We Go.” </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEik9uSs53yNUQ-jxIHNEMdAhTDbVFPHZgmEmwx93YdR8RsAmrjCZT-GAwbD1Oml2o7R8YkjvnvZvJp7BeGeTjoFeZvoDjvLfgaTQLUiY6s975p4WXUXKv7WX9itTf-va5XahqfP-QxcLRA7bWnP8xj1iKUmlH2jF5jgnHbM2bQRZZFsVZ70uLaWA7Rx=s2320" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1261" data-original-width="2320" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEik9uSs53yNUQ-jxIHNEMdAhTDbVFPHZgmEmwx93YdR8RsAmrjCZT-GAwbD1Oml2o7R8YkjvnvZvJp7BeGeTjoFeZvoDjvLfgaTQLUiY6s975p4WXUXKv7WX9itTf-va5XahqfP-QxcLRA7bWnP8xj1iKUmlH2jF5jgnHbM2bQRZZFsVZ70uLaWA7Rx=w400-h217" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>A FUNNY THING HAPPENED ON THE WAY TO THE FORUM - 1966</b></td></tr></tbody></table>Directed by Richard Lester (<i>A Hard Day’s Night</i>) and adapted from the hit 1962 Broadway musical that won 5 Tony Awards including Best Musical. I confess I’ve never been particularly fond of this "Roman farce meets vaudeville schtick" musical comedy. The frenetic mugging and hamminess of Zero Mostel always crack me up, as do the old-fashioned jokes. But the plot and Lester’s shambolic direction and handling of the musical sequences (almost dutifully, as if he’s trying to get them over with as quickly as possible) make this an adaptation I welcome, but don’t necessarily appreciate. “Forum” marked Stephen Sondheim’s first Broadway show as both composer and lyricist. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgUMZFc1pD5Z1lekb6Xd0t0TQjggD7dmsf1p4nhYUA6jbpH_b6fyJhYmpggle9z1ma1s6jWN08q-wSiebLMoquRTNMjHgDqKajlVDk1pVyjjCwfXZR9Hux0hKHNOU1ukXXzWdrHwdU6kwNvbYGRUIr2EVKi-GsJkgD9PsKAFc6NQiHEEzmG-x8q4pkQ=s2317" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="2317" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgUMZFc1pD5Z1lekb6Xd0t0TQjggD7dmsf1p4nhYUA6jbpH_b6fyJhYmpggle9z1ma1s6jWN08q-wSiebLMoquRTNMjHgDqKajlVDk1pVyjjCwfXZR9Hux0hKHNOU1ukXXzWdrHwdU6kwNvbYGRUIr2EVKi-GsJkgD9PsKAFc6NQiHEEzmG-x8q4pkQ=w414-h232" width="414" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>THE LAST OF SHEILA - 1973</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">Directed by Herbert Ross from an original screenplay by Stephen Sondheim and actor Anthony Perkins. Sondheim combined his passion for puzzles and games with his early experience writing for television in the ‘50s (he wrote several episodes of the comedy program <i>Topper</i>) and came up with a doozy of an all-star whodunit set on the French Riviera. The Agatha Christie-style plot is as complex and twisty as any Sondheim melody, and it’s easy to imagine Perkins contributing a great deal to the gossipy, insider feel of the film's movie-industry setting and its cast of unsympathetic opportunists. <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2015/02/the-last-of-sheila-1973.html" target="_blank">The Last of Sheila</a></i> is another film I’ve written about in a previous post…and by now you know the drill. I’m crazy about it.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiZaqaXo4QOo8ii2jCJhGmeNq8--S7xj61EG2GfLcujiL1kcRhvXsO7FrL3DTZD2WgsJ16qgdMSqkNg9zwNq-JXBoP629cN4fMTD0COWGFdmghdtJEaaQdAHcw6N9fNgjoNAQFGbvbfqxi-rEkNHxifof0IZW08qIXm_8wSDoND2Dvc_VgWF09_EGsG=s2209" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1302" data-original-width="2209" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiZaqaXo4QOo8ii2jCJhGmeNq8--S7xj61EG2GfLcujiL1kcRhvXsO7FrL3DTZD2WgsJ16qgdMSqkNg9zwNq-JXBoP629cN4fMTD0COWGFdmghdtJEaaQdAHcw6N9fNgjoNAQFGbvbfqxi-rEkNHxifof0IZW08qIXm_8wSDoND2Dvc_VgWF09_EGsG=w400-h236" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>STAVISKY - 1974</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">Directed by Alain Resnais (<i>Last Year at Marienbad</i>). Sondheim was approached by Resnais (who professed to be a fan of the composer) to write the period score for this stylish crime noir set in the early ‘30s and based on the life of real-life political swindler, Serge Alexandre Stavisky. Resnais’ film is an Art Deco visual feast to which Sondheim contributes a breathtakingly lush, sweepingly romantic score. Even if you never have the opportunity to see the sumptuous motion picture, you owe it to yourself to get your hand on the soundtrack. The music is beyond exquisite. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgDL9iGSUJ9DH5fk2mhNPxs0yL8D4fBk2yy6NOXZb_nyWifwd3SxdifWuRB-82c3ffzli3jYuPGCXFtGg0epcY5o6bA1En-wmJQJZ20y-4cjw9sUkEbsmz_I_FDf8xRRSpR6dqpUUp_e7bhkC4QUaaIzJ4LNMpHZz68WEDF7fn1qWW6PD0yRysIF4y5=s2412" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1290" data-original-width="2412" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgDL9iGSUJ9DH5fk2mhNPxs0yL8D4fBk2yy6NOXZb_nyWifwd3SxdifWuRB-82c3ffzli3jYuPGCXFtGg0epcY5o6bA1En-wmJQJZ20y-4cjw9sUkEbsmz_I_FDf8xRRSpR6dqpUUp_e7bhkC4QUaaIzJ4LNMpHZz68WEDF7fn1qWW6PD0yRysIF4y5=w400-h214" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>THE SEVEN-PER-CENT SOLUTION - 1976</b></td></tr></tbody></table>Directed by Herbert Ross and based on the 1974 Nicholas Meyer novel that posits Sherlock Holmes and Sigmund Freud joining forces to solve a crime. Sondheim contributes a song sung by a high-class madam (French nightclub legend Régine Zylberberg) at a whorehouse soirée. The liltingly raunchy tune “I Never Do Anything Twice (The Madam’s Song)” recalls the comic double-entendre vulgarity of "Can That Boy Foxtrot!" (a song excised from his show <i>Follies). </i>For all its risqué wit "The Madam's Song" is featured for mere seconds in the film. Happily, the song can be heard in its entirety on any number of Sondheim CD collections out there. </div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhqqV7EZGyZ13qaLdlrawWahWJ7azYF5Vp_UvqeL_pBSSYmlKMLKaW2JrVMdHKuWWz9kYOOthZQlZLdNUuTDkKzyBUteoyE9VPfX_aQmQiDHGZnHACKDUmIZtb_uhboQQ4XnlfDJcxau0YK7F10HF4SUh9DJiKxIQzW__LufrJpYbPX7NujTALrVyVP=s1712" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1133" data-original-width="1712" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhqqV7EZGyZ13qaLdlrawWahWJ7azYF5Vp_UvqeL_pBSSYmlKMLKaW2JrVMdHKuWWz9kYOOthZQlZLdNUuTDkKzyBUteoyE9VPfX_aQmQiDHGZnHACKDUmIZtb_uhboQQ4XnlfDJcxau0YK7F10HF4SUh9DJiKxIQzW__LufrJpYbPX7NujTALrVyVP=w400-h265" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>A LITTLE NIGHT MUSIC - 1977</b></td></tr></tbody></table>Based on Ingmar Bergman's 1955 comedy <i>Smiles of a Summer Night</i>, <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2012/12/a-little-night-music-1977.html" target="_blank">A Little Night Music</a></i> won Harold Prince a Tony Award for his direction of the 1973 Broadway production (it won 6 awards total, including Best Musical). But his somewhat lumbering direction of the film adaptation won him nothing but critical brickbats. One of Sondheim’s most popular and accessible shows (a happy ending!) features a score of waltz-time melodies so sublime, that the flaws of the movie adaptation never bothered me. I'm in the majority-of-one camp that finds the film version to be absolutely enchanting, the rewritten song "The Glamorous Life" and new lyrics for "Night Waltz" being worth the effort alone. </div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiSMA_pKueq0RGYT4drTnV3ktIcO9Q3KcxTbS8ec3NNZcFb9FMmcy5_L0c4ExDmY2rfzH1noZJAeZccv2kVdmHouA2HJKIcOyQIhiq2EJjQUEbXRlB5OjCjh-YiEpXgW2HtahfxUJWOdV9A6WkdwvZr7G2LlFmW4xNZK2uNAj7n6kH4fCPZ-Ql7QL3y=s2304" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1309" data-original-width="2304" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiSMA_pKueq0RGYT4drTnV3ktIcO9Q3KcxTbS8ec3NNZcFb9FMmcy5_L0c4ExDmY2rfzH1noZJAeZccv2kVdmHouA2HJKIcOyQIhiq2EJjQUEbXRlB5OjCjh-YiEpXgW2HtahfxUJWOdV9A6WkdwvZr7G2LlFmW4xNZK2uNAj7n6kH4fCPZ-Ql7QL3y=w400-h228" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>REDS - 1981</b></td></tr></tbody></table>Directed by Warren Beatty. Sondheim was originally enlisted to write the entire score for this love story set during the early days of the Russian Revolution. Sondheim declined– score chores then taken over by David Grusin – but did contribute a delicate instrumental theme song “Goodbye for Now.” Instrumental and vocal versions of the song appear in several Sondheim collections. The song's boon and bane is that it does what all movie music should do-- enhance the drama of the story without calling attention to itself. But when it comes to Sondheim, I'm not sure being unaware of him is what I'm after. </div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEinWfDFJ1uAtaYf9okD_4x3cabESiac4x3w1MGm5AKOkmj6AWQJSp4K_tMBpXew_fKiyK2sIfTd_GlhRm3tF7Vv2z5LAydwXiBSq68eU1GOOKczaMt91QwwbkUiNNhqgBc_5Xq_ynbf10tijii7oYmOJ_l7_TxQ9AkzmxLWZVO7VLLQErYjSvKJcidt=s2407" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1305" data-original-width="2407" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEinWfDFJ1uAtaYf9okD_4x3cabESiac4x3w1MGm5AKOkmj6AWQJSp4K_tMBpXew_fKiyK2sIfTd_GlhRm3tF7Vv2z5LAydwXiBSq68eU1GOOKczaMt91QwwbkUiNNhqgBc_5Xq_ynbf10tijii7oYmOJ_l7_TxQ9AkzmxLWZVO7VLLQErYjSvKJcidt=w400-h216" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>DICK TRACY - 1990</b></td></tr></tbody></table>Directed by Warren Beatty. In Sondheim’s second collaboration with Beatty, the director/star again wanted the composer to write the entire score, and again Sondheim declined. Danny Elfman went on to handle that chore in this primary-color action-comedy that brings Chester Gould’s comic strip detective to life. Sondheim contributed five 1930s-inspired songs: “Back in Business”, “What Can You Lose”, “More”, “Live Alone and Like It”, and the torchy “Sooner or Later” which won Sondheim his first and only Oscar.</div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiJ5GyS7JpF-Mh5dfdiD_FaENPcZek_tBZyQVZagHe0cGjQkyOtcupb4NRk-h-mO7B-AFlz_NS-tqXn6WxasYKb18Dndu9noF1jXvBIkrCE5cp4PPAeKvpGdA0wyBS-JglKKBmOev0y5eASO5yGXG6IZ4BlRccpFPq-OzKZDY0db0Y_cgHT5EQQdb6P=s2413" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1301" data-original-width="2413" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiJ5GyS7JpF-Mh5dfdiD_FaENPcZek_tBZyQVZagHe0cGjQkyOtcupb4NRk-h-mO7B-AFlz_NS-tqXn6WxasYKb18Dndu9noF1jXvBIkrCE5cp4PPAeKvpGdA0wyBS-JglKKBmOev0y5eASO5yGXG6IZ4BlRccpFPq-OzKZDY0db0Y_cgHT5EQQdb6P=w400-h216" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>THE BIRDCAGE - 1996</b></td></tr></tbody></table>Directed by Mike Nichols and adapted from the 1973 French play <i>La Cage of Folles</i> which had already been turned into a film in 1978 and a Broadway musical (by outspoken Sondheim critic Jerry Herman) in 1983. My dislike for this fiercely unfunny film knows no bounds, so I’m going to be as terse as possible here. It would take the likes of Hercule Poirot to find the three songs Sondheim contributed to this movie. An original song, “It Takes All Kinds” went unused. Then there's a song titled “Little Dream" that plays for about six seconds. The delectable duet “Love is in the Air” (a song originally written for “Forum”) gets about 45 seconds of screen time. The nip/tuck treatment of Sondheim's music is especially irksome because so much of <i>The Birdcage</i> takes place in a nightclub.</div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjwSmEpNpMo5pIvRvabt47UG7XNU7tk1nZTwzdhtXvDnQ_0x6MG-rKhN9xm_Vd8U6y8SRXy814CemTz7fdH9-ITzy_rvhZA40c3vEQuMwbwwUYcahO9qngJ1NPj5-xJyBITn1tzySNBYu_mDzrMTkjXNJjoZWLAJB0CCqbCXrRmg6qD_e5wcORcN6m5=s2318" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1293" data-original-width="2318" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjwSmEpNpMo5pIvRvabt47UG7XNU7tk1nZTwzdhtXvDnQ_0x6MG-rKhN9xm_Vd8U6y8SRXy814CemTz7fdH9-ITzy_rvhZA40c3vEQuMwbwwUYcahO9qngJ1NPj5-xJyBITn1tzySNBYu_mDzrMTkjXNJjoZWLAJB0CCqbCXrRmg6qD_e5wcORcN6m5=w400-h223" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>SWEENEY TODD: THE DEMON BARBER OF FLEET STREET - 2007</b></td></tr></tbody></table>Directed by Tim Burton and adapted from the 1979 Broadway production that won 8 Tony Awards including Best Musical and Best Score. This blood-soaked Grand Guignol opera is my #1 favorite of all Sondheim’s works, and I’ve listened to it countless times. That I consider it to be his masterpiece might suggest I would find fault with the faithful but severely truncated Tim Burton adaptation. But–weakish lead vocals and humorlessness aside–I think this is a rather splendid adaptation. Granted, I might be cutting this film some slack because a full version of the national touring company with Angela Lansbury & George Hearn had already been committed to video in 1982, so it's not like Burton's movie needs to be the definitive screen version. Also, Burton's version earns points for not being guilty of the musical adaptation sin of having a superfluous new song awkwardly shoehorned into the original score in hopes of garnering an Oscar nomination.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjI0nI_AWY8IwW-nJ17ERhsXOQ9tQvq5R8wMEOtJbvg99fhA9jPkcwHFpJfBaV9mcFhKITLB_jNgfzAFX7yW7ye90u7BFcdqHQ-tlSxpL2kAg-z7llaBhM3byjULhh0pzRU4Kb0DMcbi4txZlOMELm4vVYHMWvi5qciKOmeINgkkZIvs7lJVFPeO-Ts=s2559" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1077" data-original-width="2559" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjI0nI_AWY8IwW-nJ17ERhsXOQ9tQvq5R8wMEOtJbvg99fhA9jPkcwHFpJfBaV9mcFhKITLB_jNgfzAFX7yW7ye90u7BFcdqHQ-tlSxpL2kAg-z7llaBhM3byjULhh0pzRU4Kb0DMcbi4txZlOMELm4vVYHMWvi5qciKOmeINgkkZIvs7lJVFPeO-Ts=w429-h181" width="429" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>INTO THE WOODS - 2014</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div>Directed by Rob Marshall and adapted from the three-time 1987 Tony Award-winning Broadway musical. Remarkably, this film version of Sondheim’s grim adult take on Grimm’s fairy tales marks my first time ever seeing <i>Into The Woods</i> (1984’s <i>Sunday in the Park with George</i> had put me off Sondheim for a bit), so I’m willing to accept the tiresomely patronizing assurances from my theater-geek friends that until I watch the complete production performed by the original Broadway cast for cable TV in 1991, I STILL haven’t seen <i>Into the Woods</i>. Be that as it may, in the spirit of discovery I must say I had the best time watching Marshall's film. Wonderful performances throughout, and that absolutely superb and complex score. Subsequent revisits…with fast-forward remote at the ready… have been less ecstatic. The film was nominated for 3 Oscars.</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjLlbepMo8VXSGbXNEds8a7CpuTvQHKVeU0FGYBYHmZkcSZAR2uUUvZ5aMxbfNoTqpM2ekFQeiDJiaHG-n51sfRShcoFM1e4k63_UIafmuYwYZMxS_kh0TkeMFFMlvztR-8JUEGtFPAXJh15uLMPHIZZk50_PuLuGv__vxQUfhNA7lulAgEoImWSM3_=s2192" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1186" data-original-width="2192" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjLlbepMo8VXSGbXNEds8a7CpuTvQHKVeU0FGYBYHmZkcSZAR2uUUvZ5aMxbfNoTqpM2ekFQeiDJiaHG-n51sfRShcoFM1e4k63_UIafmuYwYZMxS_kh0TkeMFFMlvztR-8JUEGtFPAXJh15uLMPHIZZk50_PuLuGv__vxQUfhNA7lulAgEoImWSM3_=w400-h216" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>CAMP - 2003</b></td></tr></tbody></table>Todd Graff wrote and directed this musical comedy-drama set in a performing arts camp for teenagers. Sondheim donated three of his songs to this low-budget labor of love: “I’m Still Here” and “Losing My Mind” from <i>Follies</i>, and “The Ladies Who Lunch” from <i>Company</i>. (I'm honestly not sure if teens singing these decidedly mature songs was part of the joke ["I'm Still Here"...from what, detention?] I sincerely hope so.) Sondheim also donated his time and gravitas by appearing as himself in a brief cameo. In a sort of <i>Waiting for Guffman</i> moment, the patron saint of musical theater teens arrives at the camp in a limousine with the license plate 4UM, his entrance given an appropriately rockstar welcome.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRA6d3Ycyy-vWzR2Ya0YE6oWzbuygPd6impNeZkRGIsQprm_Cq-ArhFSZvUp4y_8lslCjG3gHEB2IC9flnno4LSMX2retrCBi5cFN95vIZoxHFuy9VaXYkLe-etYRlrHo2Ggn6W3nuVJ1wg_3jaQfCFDhSj7YfLxsDBP-kBhEPxtB-Vw_PEZewm-iT/s2324/West-Side-Story-Ariana-DeBose-David-Alvarez-Stephen-Spielberg-2021.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="968" data-original-width="2324" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRA6d3Ycyy-vWzR2Ya0YE6oWzbuygPd6impNeZkRGIsQprm_Cq-ArhFSZvUp4y_8lslCjG3gHEB2IC9flnno4LSMX2retrCBi5cFN95vIZoxHFuy9VaXYkLe-etYRlrHo2Ggn6W3nuVJ1wg_3jaQfCFDhSj7YfLxsDBP-kBhEPxtB-Vw_PEZewm-iT/w400-h166/West-Side-Story-Ariana-DeBose-David-Alvarez-Stephen-Spielberg-2021.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>WEST SIDE STORY - 2021</b></td></tr></tbody></table>Difficult for me to call Stephen Spielberg's adaptation of Sondheim's <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2022/12/west-side-story-2021.html" target="_blank">West Side Story</a></i> a remake because it feels so fresh. It's more like when great Shakespearean works are revisited...each becomes its own unique interpretation. Given my strong affection for the 1961 film, I wasn't truly expecting to fall in love with this version the way that I ultimately did. It kind of swept me off my feet. Hearing new arrangements of long-familiar songs and seeing an old story told through a younger, more aware, cringe-free prism was a thrilling experience that had me in tears throughout. <div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVYKER2HjaiTNFuaz0QFqV40aHrbGThD9gnBv_p37HgX3IU85Eucka7dLxRWEzSfNVGg8pmSvC1M1SXT41ygAVOPJDyu74HVRF-uZdrcluxll30HRvlN3tMOyYGlhse1A4-IdbZpVHIkE2Jk-e0fX3W3o2XXUvxsVFQdf6BKCYi84C0jTzH0YTa3Ca/s1920/Tick-Tick-Boom-2021-Stephen-Sondheim.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1920" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVYKER2HjaiTNFuaz0QFqV40aHrbGThD9gnBv_p37HgX3IU85Eucka7dLxRWEzSfNVGg8pmSvC1M1SXT41ygAVOPJDyu74HVRF-uZdrcluxll30HRvlN3tMOyYGlhse1A4-IdbZpVHIkE2Jk-e0fX3W3o2XXUvxsVFQdf6BKCYi84C0jTzH0YTa3Ca/w400-h166/Tick-Tick-Boom-2021-Stephen-Sondheim.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>TICK, TICK...BOOM! - 2021</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">I honestly tried, but I found it impossible to make it through even the first 20 minutes of 2021's </span><span style="text-align: left;"><i>Tick, Tick...Boom!, </i>s</span><span style="text-align: left;">o I missed out on experiencing Sondheim's audio-only "cameo" (as himself) in dramatic context (I watched a clip of the scene on YouTube). In a mini-monologue written by Sondheim himself, his voice is heard on an answering machine giving up-and-coming composer Jonathan Larson (Andrew Garfield) a timely pep talk. The film, set in 1999 gives us Stephen Sondheim in the flesh, portrayed by actor Bradley Whitford of <i>Get Out</i> (2017). My personal feelings about the movie aside, </span>I can't imagine a greater testament to Stephen Sondheim's enduring brilliance than his being depicted in this film as an icon of musical theater, a patron saint and inspiration to young artists. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqA0OIP7NwA_69YEyEoE2Vmw_iJIOXae2XEDzGDwauCDGn25tGOLIIo_rNpXUWrzSEM-RUnwXfAjBpFZ-V00OibikrHX52GNG4s8_3k0zQfngvug0URUXaK5oP440vAU-fUWoG882r_Mg9Csl1Z255vjxW9RvzGXJs8Ubz0Q6OQR75xrdHvZ_-HohU/s1536/Stephen-Sondheim-Natascha-Lyonne-Kareem-Abdul-Jabbar-Angela-Lansbury-Among-Us-Zoom-Glass-Onion-2022-Daniel-Craig.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="864" data-original-width="1536" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqA0OIP7NwA_69YEyEoE2Vmw_iJIOXae2XEDzGDwauCDGn25tGOLIIo_rNpXUWrzSEM-RUnwXfAjBpFZ-V00OibikrHX52GNG4s8_3k0zQfngvug0URUXaK5oP440vAU-fUWoG882r_Mg9Csl1Z255vjxW9RvzGXJs8Ubz0Q6OQR75xrdHvZ_-HohU/w400-h225/Stephen-Sondheim-Natascha-Lyonne-Kareem-Abdul-Jabbar-Angela-Lansbury-Among-Us-Zoom-Glass-Onion-2022-Daniel-Craig.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>GLASS ONION - 2022</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"Sorry, Blanc. You're thrown out of the airlock. It's a no-brainer." - </i>Those are the only lines spoken by Stephen Sondheim in this, his last screen appearance. Playing himself, he appears in a COVID lockdown Zoom gathering with Broadway legend Angela Lansbury (also her final screen appearance), NBA All-Star Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, and actress Natasha Lyonne. They are all playing the online video sleuthing game "Among Us" with world-famous fictional detective Benoit Blanc (Daniel Craig) in this, his second screen mystery (following the character's debut in <i>Knives Out</i> - 2019). Sondheim's appearance as gamer "Steve S." is but a cameo, but in context, it's an ideal screen sendoff for one of popular culture's most well-known game-players. A screen farewell made all the more satisfying because Benoit Blanc's fondness for Sondheim music was wittily referenced in <i>Knives Out,</i> and because Rian Johnson's murder mystery <i>Glass Onion</i> consistently pays loving homage to Sondheim & Perkin's twisty & bitchy 1973 whodunit <i>The Last of Sheila.</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;">*****</div><div style="text-align: center;">Stephen Sondheim's legacy for me is indelible and rich. For some reason, he seems to have been the perfect composer to introduce me to musical theater at an impressionable age. He set a very high standard. That his reputation continues to grow and his work is recognized and lauded by an entirely new generation makes me glad that at least a few of his shows have been preserved on film. </div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi6Ib2IUnXcUbgQ1Rc3Sg8UV5Plndbhd2yYTyR1j2Qjutprn7OVNm2gO3XWJRfruSusGRQ-KCrBj7YFM9uiECavMdiIIVYXNnyZg3dtuE4mvXaRdOXT6OgqI_6Rp1mfdDztkIi9uQ-ttSiPTmzuBgqQDoCZ-pqGEAVc2q7Fn1iIS-DuwDoPpUHYLZz0=s1677" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="327" data-original-width="1677" height="93" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi6Ib2IUnXcUbgQ1Rc3Sg8UV5Plndbhd2yYTyR1j2Qjutprn7OVNm2gO3XWJRfruSusGRQ-KCrBj7YFM9uiECavMdiIIVYXNnyZg3dtuE4mvXaRdOXT6OgqI_6Rp1mfdDztkIi9uQ-ttSiPTmzuBgqQDoCZ-pqGEAVc2q7Fn1iIS-DuwDoPpUHYLZz0=w478-h93" width="478" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>My Favorite Stephen Sondheim Musical Scores</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: center;">My Top Five Favorite Sondheim Songs:</div><div style="text-align: center;">"Every Day a Little Death"</div><div style="text-align: center;">"Not While I'm Around" </div><div style="text-align: center;">"Losing My Mind"</div><div style="text-align: center;">"There's Always a Woman"</div><div style="text-align: center;">"Side by Side by Side/What Would We Do Without You?"</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Readers: No one should have to pick a "favorite" from Sondheim's sizeable catalog of impossibly beautiful (and riotously funny) songs, but if you care to share a particular Sondheim composition you enjoy or that means something to you, I'd be interested to know. </b></div><div><br /></div><div><b>BONUS MATERIAL:</b></div><div style="text-align: center;">Liza Minnelli sings Sondheim's "Losing My Mind" - from her <i>Results</i> album -1989</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ruaZarDQfXE" width="320" youtube-src-id="ruaZarDQfXE"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">I know a music video doesn’t officially fit the “Sondheim in the Movies” theme of this tribute, but this is included here because Oscar-winning, Miss Show-Biz herself, Liza Minnelli, delivers more deliriously extravagant drama, anguish, camp, and genuine pathos in 4 ½ minutes than you’ll find in a Douglas Sirk/David Lynch film festival. </div><div style="text-align: left;">For those desperate to make a movie connection; imagine this video as a 20-years-later short film sequel to Minnelli's <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2013/02/the-sterile-cuckoo-1969.html" target="_blank">The Sterile Cuckoo</a></i> (1969) with an adult Pookie Adams still getting herself into obsessive, one-way relationships.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Pet Shop Boys (Neil Tennant, Chris Lowe) produced this infectious synthpop dance version of Sondheim’s torch ballad from <i>Follies</i>. On the strength of Minnelli’s committed, full-throttle performance, I also find this majestically melodramatic music video…which even features a nod to the Emcee in <i>Cabaret</i>…to be delicately moving. Directed by Briant Grant.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjdunruzd1eNnrVa789-m_Lg-qRdjeiZd_QA7oj-yY2oJpAuEBNTGfgsEnNZNEMYhQ5WdScRgjSqdL7V7ncxxbyLEIFxi9Zw-XylLdg2D84fOAZ82CqRGEO1XjEI06LrMGMJuEH4vdJPQa3haKmlj2lUo-pPpg3DPs2iQreOfcyYA0D9Phv-FpehvPN=s2048" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1105" data-original-width="2048" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjdunruzd1eNnrVa789-m_Lg-qRdjeiZd_QA7oj-yY2oJpAuEBNTGfgsEnNZNEMYhQ5WdScRgjSqdL7V7ncxxbyLEIFxi9Zw-XylLdg2D84fOAZ82CqRGEO1XjEI06LrMGMJuEH4vdJPQa3haKmlj2lUo-pPpg3DPs2iQreOfcyYA0D9Phv-FpehvPN=w416-h225" width="416" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>In the comic whodunit <i>Knives Out </i>(2019) Daniel Craig <br />plays a gay master detective with a fondness for Sondheim</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEheChHTwHnJMGehOMIcrvoBKV_W5R8qYQRp2BijJGm_ZcBqxgY2gahMttSuxVwM3QbehHnypmkWFASuDheWcQKYmAPrjAlmb0ryWvGw-Wy7gFiHCZkCJQrjNKhl3HnoaqH8WaSUqnfYl9dbSCDhDbG4bdd0gmh6ZTReEcz2LigxEmVyFBhNZUgInqxB=s1281" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1281" data-original-width="910" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEheChHTwHnJMGehOMIcrvoBKV_W5R8qYQRp2BijJGm_ZcBqxgY2gahMttSuxVwM3QbehHnypmkWFASuDheWcQKYmAPrjAlmb0ryWvGw-Wy7gFiHCZkCJQrjNKhl3HnoaqH8WaSUqnfYl9dbSCDhDbG4bdd0gmh6ZTReEcz2LigxEmVyFBhNZUgInqxB=s320" width="227" /></a></div>Stephen Sondheim made his acting debut in the Oscar Levant-esque role of songwriter Maxie Schwartz in the 1974 TV adaptation of George F. Kaufman's 1929 comedy <i>June Moon</i>. The entire telecast is available for viewing on <a href="https://youtu.be/Zsu5LLv3UO4" target="_blank">YouTube</a> or as part of the Great Performances DVD collection.</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg7_9B4lJZt6fq6eyksQLfMYBEGqV51ht12aTbIV_xrXE6kEMjMdxgoKT6qmBOQqclpfgYRhguxrMQdmF9LFdgfkwsZwRejRAHp1f6UlfTpDh2SksceEyOJY34JGtbqdBT_Lx88K1yjxHi_UN1WYHrxsb0fMYt9nH3zJEjWVfFzW2MLL9swXK3pXnQ9=s1151" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1151" data-original-width="904" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg7_9B4lJZt6fq6eyksQLfMYBEGqV51ht12aTbIV_xrXE6kEMjMdxgoKT6qmBOQqclpfgYRhguxrMQdmF9LFdgfkwsZwRejRAHp1f6UlfTpDh2SksceEyOJY34JGtbqdBT_Lx88K1yjxHi_UN1WYHrxsb0fMYt9nH3zJEjWVfFzW2MLL9swXK3pXnQ9=s320" width="251" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="background: white; font-size: 12pt;">Crazy business this, this life we live in<br /></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="background: white;">Can't complain about the time we're given<br /></span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt;">With so little to be sure of in this world,<br /></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="background: white;">We had a moment<br /></span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="background: white;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">A marvelous moment</span></span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="background: white;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><br /></span></span></span></div></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">-"With So Little To Be Sure Of" - from <i>Anyone Can Whistle</i> - 1964 </span></div><div><br /></div>Copyright © Ken Anderson 2009 - 2022</div>Ken Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04940648971296673233noreply@blogger.com43tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2627032459273165000.post-86845465592364103192021-12-13T04:35:00.418-08:002022-10-29T20:06:41.545-07:00WEST SIDE STORY 1961<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5CKm2BMSYuip4RSK5WhuRwuWsPshJvpbOarhvVGLJ0TxmpgQqBizCCzl62Shzbm3fMS0cOtIDN2ezyIM8NqFVYQEiIIiWfmrN5m4kh9karfmSTyflMFGMZy5LpayUmIHcMxlX4pSEauQ/s2560/West-Side-Story-Saul-Bass-Robert-Wise-1961.JPG" style="font-style: italic; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1167" data-original-width="2560" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5CKm2BMSYuip4RSK5WhuRwuWsPshJvpbOarhvVGLJ0TxmpgQqBizCCzl62Shzbm3fMS0cOtIDN2ezyIM8NqFVYQEiIIiWfmrN5m4kh9karfmSTyflMFGMZy5LpayUmIHcMxlX4pSEauQ/w400-h183/West-Side-Story-Saul-Bass-Robert-Wise-1961.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><i>West Side Story</i> is the first movie I ever OD’d on. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div>It was my first pre-teen movie crush, my first filmic fateful attraction, my first case of movie musical mania. I saw <i>West Side Story </i>when I was in early adolescence and fell for it with the kind of overawed intensity and enthusiasm only the very young and impressionable have the time and stamina to sustain. I was so overwhelmed by the film's soaring music, glorious dancing, and striking visual style, I embarked on a decades-long campaign of self-inflicted <i>West Side Story</i> oversaturation so immersive, I ended up overdosing on it. Over the course of 35 years, I saw and listened to <i>West Side Story</i> so often and on so many different occasions (it was my go-to "comfort food" movie) that I ultimately reached a stage where I couldn’t stand to watch it even one more time. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi4hoowm1zsKyDKPqa1qDO39EoZKl9ol132Ze20iDSi1ja6CIGqIuoyNrFGEN4U2uthxQkjbnq7yFujkOOqazRSR8zbRVRDT5jQke7XvPjS49pGn9MO_J5jwKY5ho8mEAaY2IM6nHvyoJld9_7RpfBkaWtAdHUL-swu1uYNiCGYXp8GzD2MBf2030HW=s2560" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1167" data-original-width="2560" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi4hoowm1zsKyDKPqa1qDO39EoZKl9ol132Ze20iDSi1ja6CIGqIuoyNrFGEN4U2uthxQkjbnq7yFujkOOqazRSR8zbRVRDT5jQke7XvPjS49pGn9MO_J5jwKY5ho8mEAaY2IM6nHvyoJld9_7RpfBkaWtAdHUL-swu1uYNiCGYXp8GzD2MBf2030HW=w448-h205" width="448" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The Sharks</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">The last time I saw <i>West Side Story</i> in its entirety was way back in 2003 when the Special Collector’s Edition DVD boxed set was released. I think I watched it then about three or four times before finally hitting a wall.</div><div>But here I am in 2021, the year marking <i>West Side Story</i>’s 60th Anniversary, the death of Broadway legend Stephen Sondheim (WSS’s lyricist), and the release of Steven Spielberg’s long-delayed, eagerly-anticipated reimagining of the iconic film. No better time for me to fall off the wagon, acquire <i>West Side Story</i> in yet another home entertainment format (VHS to Blu-ray) and revisit the 1961 classic before my initial thoughts and memories risk becoming entwined, influenced, and shaped by comparisons and reactions to the latest adaptation. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg95kkJbCQNL81rYE9iw4G7dRwywO8Rgd5ysnBecbqdzYiircNF_LruNi_m6hwS9pBcY_sqIX1W2EtBqBizlTPEYJByXBKsIYByS7NiBR8x0LP_0SHtyp6ZD2f7jMmccL7Bkd_cZqyJG8Zo1IEe7Jd-AJwnnaY4HPMTOQ893Ozst6_PhBy2swfpYlqO=s2555" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1170" data-original-width="2555" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg95kkJbCQNL81rYE9iw4G7dRwywO8Rgd5ysnBecbqdzYiircNF_LruNi_m6hwS9pBcY_sqIX1W2EtBqBizlTPEYJByXBKsIYByS7NiBR8x0LP_0SHtyp6ZD2f7jMmccL7Bkd_cZqyJG8Zo1IEe7Jd-AJwnnaY4HPMTOQ893Ozst6_PhBy2swfpYlqO=w451-h208" width="451" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The Jets</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">The groundbreaking musical <i>West Side Story</i>—the show that introduced the world to dancing street gangs and balletic inner-city combat—premiered on Broadway on September 6, 1957. Conceived, directed & choreographed by Jerome Robbins, this seminal theatrical production was a reimagining of Shakespeare’s <i>Romeo & Juliet</i> as a contemporary star-crossed love story set against the violent backdrop of turf wars and racial conflict between rival New York street gangs. With a book by Arthur Laurents, music by Leonard Bernstein, and lyrics by 27-year-old Oscar Hammerstein protégé Stephen Sondheim (his Broadway debut), <i>West Side Story</i> was an innovation in the advancement of the realistic musical. A gritty fusion of ballet and operatic romantic tragedy in a production that moved ensemble dance to the forefront.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div>Although I was around at the time (I was born roughly two weeks after <i>West Side Story </i>opened on Broadway) I was only four years old when the much-heralded Jerome Robbins-Robert Wise co-directed feature film was released, so I have no memory at all of what a big deal it must have been at the time. I don't even know if my parents went to see it.</div><div>In trying to recall when I first became aware of <i>West Side Story, </i>my earliest memory places me at about six or seven years old and the <i>West Side Story </i>original Broadway cast album being one of a couple of unopened LPs in my parent's record collection (in the days of mail-order record clubs that automatically sent members a monthly featured LP unless a "decline" card was mailed in time, it was quite common for families to have a couple of albums they just weren't interested in but couldn't bother to send back). </div><div> </div><div>As for me, I, too, ignored the <i>West Side Story</i> OBC album, my six-year-old sensibilities accurately gleaning from its cover art that it contained no songs to which I could do The Twist.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjAFzk0B95-eGtAXlLg0aVLy35cnKAseGDMAwxmBWluOUiraYI4CDcS5ipdjqvuWHeENYl3nHqJ9fQD0pubPDPrDgH91WdeieKB2tQUVI1vd4jwEg1Uoq6VAm9LMqGJKurwk_GB24_VaN71xHWeYYhBYOcxnss4CKRXC6sXc5Bzqqyj66QKHva6SEDl=s2560" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1175" data-original-width="2560" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjAFzk0B95-eGtAXlLg0aVLy35cnKAseGDMAwxmBWluOUiraYI4CDcS5ipdjqvuWHeENYl3nHqJ9fQD0pubPDPrDgH91WdeieKB2tQUVI1vd4jwEg1Uoq6VAm9LMqGJKurwk_GB24_VaN71xHWeYYhBYOcxnss4CKRXC6sXc5Bzqqyj66QKHva6SEDl=w426-h196" width="426" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Natalie Wood as Maria</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhmKOyv6jZ4Y6n1DOtFiWMdafTEZ3GO2uDMlJoQGxLCRxPZvtuDdbK6ZGxo7jE06NZhnJLiVFVhgfPFqOojWTjlcIwM3fa10h1Xig5iYZP5Ug4Z9RbnhSaYt6AZUG2FR1z9gHsgshLysx5DFx_jza7PgySlPEYCJ99OEHT7dNGebtYhqLE15iYtMh3m=s2558" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1169" data-original-width="2558" height="194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhmKOyv6jZ4Y6n1DOtFiWMdafTEZ3GO2uDMlJoQGxLCRxPZvtuDdbK6ZGxo7jE06NZhnJLiVFVhgfPFqOojWTjlcIwM3fa10h1Xig5iYZP5Ug4Z9RbnhSaYt6AZUG2FR1z9gHsgshLysx5DFx_jza7PgySlPEYCJ99OEHT7dNGebtYhqLE15iYtMh3m=w423-h194" width="423" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Richard Beymer as Tony</b><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">The opportunity to see <i>West Side Story</i> for the first time came in the fall of 1968 when the 10-time Oscar-winning film was given a national re-release before being sold to television (and to coincide with/cash-in-on the October 1968 release of Franco Zeffirelli's <i>Romeo and Juliet</i>). I was then 11 years old and remember <i>West Side Story</i> was playing at our neighborhood movie house (the Castro Theater in San Francisco) for a single one-week engagement during the Thanksgiving holiday. In a rare gesture inspired, I suspect, by the theater’s close proximity and the prolonged underfoot proximity of a bunch of restless kids at home on Thanksgiving break; my parents decided to treat us all (me and my three sisters) to a rare family night out at the movies. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhm8d1CRptxSl6GvcK58bxkZ3y5GNOupE1ZE8_skyBhib927n9PwOEIqgwVkXNopzbRjYRKNOVbzbYYUVKJpEfvrmf0SsHoE0Uq4vJwE7DtFg3jLbHAaWK_9jFgNFlaKCEuZGTA9IDwlFgYcGy8OWbY67XW76K3V0YtTDFkn6ZHFYPlpZbBFunzrKIv=s2560" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1170" data-original-width="2560" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhm8d1CRptxSl6GvcK58bxkZ3y5GNOupE1ZE8_skyBhib927n9PwOEIqgwVkXNopzbRjYRKNOVbzbYYUVKJpEfvrmf0SsHoE0Uq4vJwE7DtFg3jLbHAaWK_9jFgNFlaKCEuZGTA9IDwlFgYcGy8OWbY67XW76K3V0YtTDFkn6ZHFYPlpZbBFunzrKIv=w433-h198" width="433" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Rita Moreno as Anita</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgzIkiUBlYZ_cqrbpBRM5gPdU5tIK-L6Y0fH3sMnonOSFS2GA0PIPyKXTPzrHx8-mxkYJdVCTJbBVYG42bcxUWdq_YZRn_jOav5lYQBVvxI-F5EN50BmPvnPjcUthG3YcXIN1GT2oj5Vdi7eNb1GbuaadBal_Gj4sbwJVmld29cmeG2rdWTfdn2aQ3n=s2560" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1169" data-original-width="2560" height="197" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgzIkiUBlYZ_cqrbpBRM5gPdU5tIK-L6Y0fH3sMnonOSFS2GA0PIPyKXTPzrHx8-mxkYJdVCTJbBVYG42bcxUWdq_YZRn_jOav5lYQBVvxI-F5EN50BmPvnPjcUthG3YcXIN1GT2oj5Vdi7eNb1GbuaadBal_Gj4sbwJVmld29cmeG2rdWTfdn2aQ3n=w431-h197" width="431" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>George Chakiris as Bernardo</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">Going to the movies at night with my parents always felt like a big event and a little magical to me. For one, we all had to get dressed up. Plus, it was nice going by warm car instead of walking or having to catch a bus. But my favorite thing, and what really made going to the movies at night feel magical was the bright neon and colored lights of the theater marquee and lobby. As often as we kids had attended screenings at the Castro on weekend afternoons, the familiarly ornate theater looked totally different at night. More like a palace or castle. With parents along, we didn't have to ration out our allowance money for popcorn and candy, and best of all, we got the major thrill of being able to sit in the balcony. A place our parents forbid us to go when we were on our own because—according to mom—the balcony is where all the troublemaking kids sat. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh6W73hwW1U9fFjg7B-6fTNEBDvq_WMbAAbuzDv7FxvTzL2Ub6rYEkRMFHmL6h2isfV0XSJnvxvhwX_sSEUmzGP2kDtUQFM7g1Msu-ZnDCkYvNDHghFMs9VYhQ1jubAmCq9g1wNCGA9NXCFDc_74Rk7gLfBnUIL5mJ9yawbnIB65GbDf9yF2LSqc6ot=s2560" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1170" data-original-width="2560" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh6W73hwW1U9fFjg7B-6fTNEBDvq_WMbAAbuzDv7FxvTzL2Ub6rYEkRMFHmL6h2isfV0XSJnvxvhwX_sSEUmzGP2kDtUQFM7g1Msu-ZnDCkYvNDHghFMs9VYhQ1jubAmCq9g1wNCGA9NXCFDc_74Rk7gLfBnUIL5mJ9yawbnIB65GbDf9yF2LSqc6ot=w417-h191" width="417" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Russ Tamblyn as Riff</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">While I was overjoyed to be going to the movies that night, I don’t recall being particularly enthusiastic about seeing <i>West Side Story</i>. I still didn't know much about it, and what little I did (shots of Natalie Wood & Richard Beymer clinging to each other with their mouths open on a fire escape) didn't suggest a whole lot of laughs. But having gone to see Peter Sellers several times in <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2010/08/casino-royale-1967.html" target="_blank">Casino Royale</a></i> (1967) earlier that year and later in <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2018/11/the-world-of-henry-orient-1964.html" target="_blank">The World of Henry Orient</a></i> (1964) on TV, the movie I was most excited about seeing was the one the Castro paired with <i>West Side Story</i> on a double-bill: Blake Edwards' <i>The Party</i> (1968) - in which Peter Sellers plays an Indian actor who comically destroys a Hollywood party<i>.</i><i> </i></div><div style="text-align: left;">Screened first, I loved <i>The Party </i>and think it's one of Sellers' best. However, looking back I have to say that was one weird double-feature: Welcome to four full hours of ethnic cosplay and brownface!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">(On a side note: the movie booked to follow <i>West Side Story</i>’s one-week engagement at the Castro was <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/09/rosemarys-baby-1968.html" target="_blank">Rosemary’s Baby</a></i>. So being traumatized by that film's spooky theatrical trailer was another memory I took away with me that evening.)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhmekeQjcSXzxPrTCHiW40SFH8tBeL9FNmb-dJm3Si_X5yl4oxWSW5OBjpizRkehEy75X9wZNUFiI0jpKRamjzbn79uvNciHi7Jx7IqLKQ5UZbNR43ROdr7BXTpEqY2KSrTJK0g2o_mqcAe9MUh_mea3kWSVV1y1NXpia2-uCpNLXwberhEFki7aNcN=s2559" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1181" data-original-width="2559" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhmekeQjcSXzxPrTCHiW40SFH8tBeL9FNmb-dJm3Si_X5yl4oxWSW5OBjpizRkehEy75X9wZNUFiI0jpKRamjzbn79uvNciHi7Jx7IqLKQ5UZbNR43ROdr7BXTpEqY2KSrTJK0g2o_mqcAe9MUh_mea3kWSVV1y1NXpia2-uCpNLXwberhEFki7aNcN=w434-h201" width="434" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The 1968 <i>West Side Story</i> re-release was shown minus the overture and intermission of its 1961 roadshow engagements, but it was presented in breathtaking widescreen (a welcome change from our 20-inch B&W console TV), eye-popping color (growing up seeing 95% of all entertainments in grayscale, a bigger thrill than you might think), and with stereo sound that fairly lifted me out of my seat. But none of these things would have mattered if the film they buttressed hadn’t measured up to the fanfare. And on that score, <i>West Side Story </i>fairly blew the roof off the Castro Theater that night.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiqbbO8CxOKJ8D2CGxEiRjoExVBBtV6ZoC-4bZ547Sw2ADpjUJMfxyHUhaBarph-Ve_QdWoSSrcSExpz9eNNgDufj-aIvoEKNfPZmaZRXv4CNYCis7twmcvD3g2PCdTpYHqtQLQCYHIe8_hthpDEYydg1XIggJ6Wyly41ij7QzCtKcqIDmyzyrZS-a5=s2560" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1169" data-original-width="2560" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiqbbO8CxOKJ8D2CGxEiRjoExVBBtV6ZoC-4bZ547Sw2ADpjUJMfxyHUhaBarph-Ve_QdWoSSrcSExpz9eNNgDufj-aIvoEKNfPZmaZRXv4CNYCis7twmcvD3g2PCdTpYHqtQLQCYHIe8_hthpDEYydg1XIggJ6Wyly41ij7QzCtKcqIDmyzyrZS-a5=w422-h193" width="422" /></a></div><div>A phenomenal film experience, <i>West Side Story</i> was like nothing I’d ever seen (granted, at 11, the list of things I'd never seen was pretty extensive, but you get my point). I couldn't think of any movies I'd seen that looked even remotely like <i>West Side Story.</i> From that astounding 8-minute Prologue that sets the stage and establishes the film's stylized realism and visual vocabulary of saturated colors, to the vivid elegance of its cinematography and evocative use of music, it was obvious from <i>West Side Story'</i>s jaw-dropping first frames (those aerial views of New York!) that it was a breed apart from the kind of musicals being turned into films at the time (<i>Bells Are Ringing</i>, <i>Flower Drum Song</i>, <i>The Music Man</i>). Even its innovative score…classical, operatic, jazzy...one unforgettable song after another--didn’t sound much like the other musicals (<i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2013/03/bye-bye-birdie-1963.html" target="_blank">Bye Bye Birdie</a></i>, <i>The Sound of Music</i>). </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjqgZ6dP_XVjkFJP2E4EoASKsCPpI8be9mW9RCdulT3HHLN7jvnyvqwuMf-lVrswfPjECs9y5mM8GBYZj2irSxpmmH-qpgQTq3WpP9r2OPw8gyx1xq3WddpclZNBJirf09oTiCnktGkdO28XJw6SkiFu4EXRjBnFI_ly27ehU0heqUanGzuXtApBzDS=s2559" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1173" data-original-width="2559" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjqgZ6dP_XVjkFJP2E4EoASKsCPpI8be9mW9RCdulT3HHLN7jvnyvqwuMf-lVrswfPjECs9y5mM8GBYZj2irSxpmmH-qpgQTq3WpP9r2OPw8gyx1xq3WddpclZNBJirf09oTiCnktGkdO28XJw6SkiFu4EXRjBnFI_ly27ehU0heqUanGzuXtApBzDS=w442-h203" width="442" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">And the dancing. Had there ever been such engagingly witty, extraordinarily exhilarating dance sequences? Electrifying ensemble dance numbers that were genuine showstoppers, not because of empty spectacle, but because dance, music, cinematography, and editing were in simultaneous, seamless service to character, emotion, and the dramatic flow of the narrative. In the large-scare numbers, every dancer is doing more than dancing...they're acting, they're revealing character, they're giving a performance. There's so much detail to take in and so much "business" going on in every corner of the frame, it feels like this 1961 movie was made for the digital age of the freeze-frame. To watch the way Rita Moreno and George Chakiris look at each other when they dance is to learn everything you need to know about the relationship between Anita and Bernardo.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEil2WegV52G34yT1h7Nk5OoJoPIna16ZXBJ4wKImo27QLxyUlKHgOZ4-4ulm5u9w3Qg7SEZ3NMIyNLQQcQgqYZEoUwdfaS428AHADgEy7p2MXqBv9a9bBegkuCKC31Fx6Cfl2pDRNt0TFbvm1IfNjRZvuhIpBajLelVv9xjLHmtPqpHb27dHueIYPAH=s2560" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1169" data-original-width="2560" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEil2WegV52G34yT1h7Nk5OoJoPIna16ZXBJ4wKImo27QLxyUlKHgOZ4-4ulm5u9w3Qg7SEZ3NMIyNLQQcQgqYZEoUwdfaS428AHADgEy7p2MXqBv9a9bBegkuCKC31Fx6Cfl2pDRNt0TFbvm1IfNjRZvuhIpBajLelVv9xjLHmtPqpHb27dHueIYPAH=w435-h199" width="435" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>My first goosebump moment in the movie came when <i>West Side Story, </i>heretofore rooted in a kind of lyrical reality, bursts into magical fantasy when Maria's twirl in the dress shop leads to one of the heavenly scene transitions in musical cinema.</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>I’ve recounted in earlier essays how averse to age-appropriate movies I was when I was young. That's how I missed out on seeing <i>Funny Girl</i>, <i>The Sound of Musi</i>c, and <i>Mary Poppins</i>...I thought they were all "kiddie movies" or worse, movies deemed “fun for the whole family.” <i>West Side Stor</i>y won my heart in no small part due to it being a grown-up musical. Grown-up by ‘60s movie musical standards, anyway. The film was pretty dated and tame in some ways. I mean, the Jets—direct descendants of The Bowery Boys and Dead End Kids who pronounced “world” as “woild” and spoke in the colorful bop-slang patois of those low-budget ‘50s juvenile delinquent movies my sisters and I devoured on Saturday afternoon TV (“Daddy-o!”)—were harmless hoodlums. (The Jets' cartoonishness had the perhaps intentional effect of softening the distastefulness of their "Make The West Side Great Again" racism.)</div><div><br /></div><div>But this was also a movie, a musical, no less, that was critical of what was wrong with American society and referenced mature themes like racism, drugs, poverty, gang violence, prostitution, rape, and police corruption. It even had good-girl Natalie Wood having sex without benefit of marriage (although I admit, at the time, I thought Maria and Tony had just spent the night cuddling). </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgMfQUyVLZ5tL3KI68i-k1-t7vlDArkx9edK7hmXzIEHHWWSJQbUk78hzM73m-ZCMjKssxsowvFsnodBppi51CTMIMCXbn4j_71OFzCZODY5IEWm0Rh-n5Vevq4NjZeD--bsL20BDEZquFKi2ujieMsV1_I0f04eNOsJlV4cyMYfrlxNR5o0qe3nVpl=s2558" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1173" data-original-width="2558" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgMfQUyVLZ5tL3KI68i-k1-t7vlDArkx9edK7hmXzIEHHWWSJQbUk78hzM73m-ZCMjKssxsowvFsnodBppi51CTMIMCXbn4j_71OFzCZODY5IEWm0Rh-n5Vevq4NjZeD--bsL20BDEZquFKi2ujieMsV1_I0f04eNOsJlV4cyMYfrlxNR5o0qe3nVpl=w416-h191" width="416" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The Delicate Delinquent</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">Speaking of things I'd never seen before, gay Ken, whom I hadn't yet been properly introduced to, never saw ANYTHING like George Chakiris. I don’t quite know what I did with the feelings aroused by the sight of Bernardo in that purple shirt and skinny tie, but I suspect they were tucked away in the same place I put my unconscious identification with/recognition of the queer-coded character of Baby John. </div><div style="text-align: left;">(Ask Anybodys: For those who don't know, the creators of <i>West Side Story</i> - Laurents, Bernstein, Sondheim, and Robbins - were all gay or bisexual men in various stages of closeted/denial. Too bad at least one of them wasn't also Puerto Rican.)</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgGJn2GblFDVvB60vTvsme13cJjyuoDz2dnw4xtdKLh2cjd6PWH9Zae67lUS4_wWG2IEMcScSnRo3N7hD68W8obJOJyPkZWrGGQ4-PCqDpk9IRZx_ke3WQpAkjnOZPDEQFdFh7-e5OBa1ynyatEjzmIhIpH0DJIR1Z4DZNZZ3DGtcXAllF_ttq3eB4b=s2560" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1177" data-original-width="2560" height="197" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgGJn2GblFDVvB60vTvsme13cJjyuoDz2dnw4xtdKLh2cjd6PWH9Zae67lUS4_wWG2IEMcScSnRo3N7hD68W8obJOJyPkZWrGGQ4-PCqDpk9IRZx_ke3WQpAkjnOZPDEQFdFh7-e5OBa1ynyatEjzmIhIpH0DJIR1Z4DZNZZ3DGtcXAllF_ttq3eB4b=w428-h197" width="428" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Somewhere<br />As the song that best expresses what co-creator Arthur Laurents described as <i>West Side Story</i>'s theme: <i>"How can love survive in a violent world of prejudice?"</i> --<i>Somewhere</i> has gone on to become a pop standard and a gay anthem. The latter confirmed when The Pet Shop Boys reworked it into a <a href="https://youtu.be/OLQjJOhQFPM" target="_blank">synth-pop dance tune</a>.</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;">My earlier use of the word "dated" wasn't intended as a pejorative. As it relates to my impression of <i>West Side Story</i> as a product of the past, a film reflecting the perspective, aesthetics, and concerns (and occasional cluelessness) of a very distinct point in time, I see it as one of <i>West Side Story</i>'s strengths. The same way I would mean it if I referred to the films of Fred Astaire and many of the classic MGM musicals as dated. They are of the time they were created and reflect a kind of past urgency or vitality that can't be wrested into another era.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>West Side Story</i> being behind-the-times in some aspects (while simultaneously raising and setting the bar of innovation in others) lends the film an air of parable or fairy tale. Its themes are rooted in realism, but the world depicted is very different from reality. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiHGVxMs9k0N-byE86AeLPcRrUdfPOj1idEYK4kIZyZdPDxYU8qff0prv20ckcrRsuos0ukcUHmkL7QPnbuJRzqzJqHeopXYOw4IoLXQguuu4ltI2UefJPgzwLnchM36P0vIxa9KyeNiglUWYzvb4TMDC0z6Jn7SRd1kidgvpPdUZR55-GSAcm8xrRh=s2560" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1181" data-original-width="2560" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiHGVxMs9k0N-byE86AeLPcRrUdfPOj1idEYK4kIZyZdPDxYU8qff0prv20ckcrRsuos0ukcUHmkL7QPnbuJRzqzJqHeopXYOw4IoLXQguuu4ltI2UefJPgzwLnchM36P0vIxa9KyeNiglUWYzvb4TMDC0z6Jn7SRd1kidgvpPdUZR55-GSAcm8xrRh=w450-h208" width="450" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>One scene in <i>West Side Story</i> is far from dated and is so firmly rooted in contemporary reality I no longer watch it. Although it's one of the strongest and most pivotal scenes in the film, sometime during the Reagan '80s I lost my taste for the sequence where Anita is assaulted in Doc's drugstore by the Jets. The pain in Rita Moreno's eyes and the vulnerability of her performance is a little too raw. The look on the faces of the Jets, a look I've seen too often in my life. It's the look of Charlottesville tiki-torch bearers. The scene is powerful and Moreno and Ned Glass as Doc are terrific, but it's too ugly and too prevalent a face of America. I fast-forward past it. </b><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The world had changed a great deal between the time <i>West Side Story</i> first appeared on screens and the time I saw it. It wasn't a seven-year gap, it was a lifetime. Even as a kid I thought the film's depiction of a world where restless youths (just how the hell old ARE the Jets and Sharks supposed to be?) blew off steam by having turf wars and zip-gun rumbles seemed as remote as Neverland when contrasted with the what young people were dealing with in 1968: Two political assassinations in 1968 alone, race riots, the Vietnam War, police brutality, campus protests.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Yet the film still spoke to me. And I think that's because the things it talks about (even in its clumsy '50s jargon) is still real for young people. And it has been since the days of Romeo and Juliet. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEik8fUz7uzi5FOtQSCpJDIKCN4D5zWMwJB-XA7zQW1zMx1LN2tYeFQ5fq1Ce-dKT3ATMgIMxBUEZp7ldK2MVTZGXddKfnX8aZ_svlkAZ4zHu_EUszKA9ZW0QIDEeWjwZ-psq75YVhj7KYk94UAPZabuiYzx5a_hs5pD1gypcWQOtnK5x9p1jkAyUpDt=s2553" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1161" data-original-width="2553" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEik8fUz7uzi5FOtQSCpJDIKCN4D5zWMwJB-XA7zQW1zMx1LN2tYeFQ5fq1Ce-dKT3ATMgIMxBUEZp7ldK2MVTZGXddKfnX8aZ_svlkAZ4zHu_EUszKA9ZW0QIDEeWjwZ-psq75YVhj7KYk94UAPZabuiYzx5a_hs5pD1gypcWQOtnK5x9p1jkAyUpDt=w437-h200" width="437" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Cool Never Goes Out Of Style <br />For a maddeningly long time after seeing this epic number, my sisters and I got into the annoying habit of preceding every question and answer with - <i>"Boy, boy, crazy boy."</i> <br />Mom: Did you take the garbage out? - Me: Boy, boy, crazy boy...I'll do it right now.<br /> I don't know how our parents stood it.</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Looking back, I feel so lucky to have seen <i>West Side Story</i> for the first time with no idea of its significance, no sense of its legacy, and no prior exposure to its music (I HAD heard the lilting "I Feel Pretty" on some variety show, and was so surprised to learn it came from this show). I’ve never forgotten what it was like experiencing this innovative, visually dazzling, and highly entertaining musical as a journey of complete discovery. I was taken on a real emotional roller coaster that night, from the ecstasy heights of those fabulous numbers to that ending that gave me major waterworks (I think you always cry harder in movies if you see your mom is crying, too) everything came together so beautifully. <i>West Side Story</i> was without a doubt a most extraordinary movie experience.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>I Saw You and The World Went Away</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh1JEJdDXC3JcM9Zl1V3xIf_qzcvflJF5MpFwtAUneYInbwX93dFTaEa4gDnXyFd23Ob0uXuWcXzxdu5ydzm-NsCDiopfO6VGG0PC64LKt6ZXpWrf6cTL0Gd_UuWooEiODkeI7mi2WEiWL-41qIVPbgVTPdu5ZPulqOjNz1YirapddVnZGSgGfeGOd1=s1500" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="1384" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh1JEJdDXC3JcM9Zl1V3xIf_qzcvflJF5MpFwtAUneYInbwX93dFTaEa4gDnXyFd23Ob0uXuWcXzxdu5ydzm-NsCDiopfO6VGG0PC64LKt6ZXpWrf6cTL0Gd_UuWooEiODkeI7mi2WEiWL-41qIVPbgVTPdu5ZPulqOjNz1YirapddVnZGSgGfeGOd1=w369-h400" width="369" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>West Side Story</i> remained an ongoing passion and fan favorite for lo these many years. The visual aid purpose of this collage is to show not only how much fun I had being a <i>West Side Story</i> fan, but also illustrate how I came to reach such an oversaturation point. And if you're wondering about that TV Guide ad at the bottom that has nothing to do with <i>West Side Story</i>, let me put it this way... there's a reason I say dreams are what the cinema is for.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The year 1985 (five years after the movie <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/08/xanadu-1980.html" target="_blank">Xanadu</a></i> inspired me to study dance) found me on a cordoned-off city block in Los Angeles--folks watching from behind barriers, massive speakers blaring musical playback, a camera on a crane---dancing as a member of a terpsichorean street gang in a <i>West Side Story</i>-inspired musical fantasy sequence for a <i>CBS Schoolbreak Special: Ace Hits the Big Time</i>. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The hilariously cheesy number was more nightmare than dream sequence, and my dancing in it didn't give George Chakiris any sleepless nights, but for that entire day I felt as though it wasn't really happening...that it was all a fantasy playing out in the head of 11-year-old Ken sitting in the balcony of the Castro movie theater.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>Gee, Officer Krupke</b></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEicTUBfX3ZTHnxSH41TuVCxGmldIcD3i1wfT-OLaw1sgZQQ-vi8uQGqahMatOLR-DsawhV9sWn37YJ0iKwrGB2j4l-tGoBKkJNXX_P7ugJtvUNKCXfoBufDS7q_MdqjXztA9L_t-zArmq48L91GaOFFIKowOo6ZFD9RbXA2PPk5uox5cpreR1JM1kn-=s2560" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1170" data-original-width="2560" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEicTUBfX3ZTHnxSH41TuVCxGmldIcD3i1wfT-OLaw1sgZQQ-vi8uQGqahMatOLR-DsawhV9sWn37YJ0iKwrGB2j4l-tGoBKkJNXX_P7ugJtvUNKCXfoBufDS7q_MdqjXztA9L_t-zArmq48L91GaOFFIKowOo6ZFD9RbXA2PPk5uox5cpreR1JM1kn-=w420-h192" width="420" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Always thought Russ Tamblyn deserved an Oscar or Golden Globe nomination</b></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjcp7Wo8Y5wr-el-YFrYD1hXVFf_3KO45zsm5mNUqe5maa3CJlZUA77319MvuVRlfqtWZEySu_lAvMVc76C59fRryALirfEqvYnIrw-Da0mqERWj8rGcxogS1rzqvKd3-K4ofg3mQ_LwcXKMjjUgmQJX41CaIV4YqrB9S85JG63X4bPxVSVewMJa6QP=s2560" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1169" data-original-width="2560" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjcp7Wo8Y5wr-el-YFrYD1hXVFf_3KO45zsm5mNUqe5maa3CJlZUA77319MvuVRlfqtWZEySu_lAvMVc76C59fRryALirfEqvYnIrw-Da0mqERWj8rGcxogS1rzqvKd3-K4ofg3mQ_LwcXKMjjUgmQJX41CaIV4YqrB9S85JG63X4bPxVSVewMJa6QP=w433-h198" width="433" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Nobody does a flip-out like Natalie Wood. I really adore her in this movie, and she's at her strongest in this scene. The way she yells <i>"Don't you touch him!"</i> is heart-wrenching. Cue the waterworks.<br /></b></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhJLXdVakdMqlck0Xi-07658l_cQ3C69OdfxkbvRFeCjSzPCEPBTPU1vk-ln8HY2lQ25D6TyqjyCWihPBWuhkdIU077IU0Vzgi6nN8l7NFXtkagfpRnEgErmxtWXc8W7R0yZmk0l6AkkeWBaV35LKh6psjMA_pd7FiQd0uwr8tWHjpnt4Mc3-0a9aXP=s2560" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1153" data-original-width="2560" height="194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhJLXdVakdMqlck0Xi-07658l_cQ3C69OdfxkbvRFeCjSzPCEPBTPU1vk-ln8HY2lQ25D6TyqjyCWihPBWuhkdIU077IU0Vzgi6nN8l7NFXtkagfpRnEgErmxtWXc8W7R0yZmk0l6AkkeWBaV35LKh6psjMA_pd7FiQd0uwr8tWHjpnt4Mc3-0a9aXP=w431-h194" width="431" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Anita's Gonna Get Her Kicks<br />Perhaps it's been run into the ground, but there's no getting past Rita Moreno really bringing it and earning her Oscar and Golden Globe wins. The only Puerto Rican in the cast, her performance has humor, authenticity, grit, and tragedy.</b><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: right;"><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgMXkEaYN4DiXCnmpUhiMYUTTkwljtSp3o5yn_RQBzAyXJjhqszgjatIapUJ6i1TaXO59L63CZme27QYy0klEcyFQpbwWegdEEK62Ndbf3uD1O3IyEXJGvxJHtQBV5zm6f06lVlP1VsPDXZKWAcjZ2bh5gIErD6bZKaicIpzLfXfnacXW5zZU9AHdTB=s2558" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1173" data-original-width="2558" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgMXkEaYN4DiXCnmpUhiMYUTTkwljtSp3o5yn_RQBzAyXJjhqszgjatIapUJ6i1TaXO59L63CZme27QYy0klEcyFQpbwWegdEEK62Ndbf3uD1O3IyEXJGvxJHtQBV5zm6f06lVlP1VsPDXZKWAcjZ2bh5gIErD6bZKaicIpzLfXfnacXW5zZU9AHdTB=w418-h192" width="418" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>I didn't expect to be as moved by seeing <i>West Side Story</i> again after so many years. In fact, each musical number left me as something of an emotional wreck. It was nice to see these old friends again. Especially Maria and Tony.</b> <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i>WEST SIDE STORY</i> INFLUENCE & INSPIRATION</b></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-style: italic; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjVdwmTNUNGFsWBwWPNJ_cwU68vL2AetKIUVrRD9vFufUuIbazYRJoVOH5PcUqztmx__R6fs25g3xYY9AjrJVNr5FIl-tfk-gdu0ZRz7XS05_mOlkLx6itu4tFNE3P5E0CTldiJQsehMsTRXYRoczf-grrdBh5x3XsnzArFUB7g9Yy79bzGsN8w5C06=s1492" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1492" data-original-width="1414" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjVdwmTNUNGFsWBwWPNJ_cwU68vL2AetKIUVrRD9vFufUuIbazYRJoVOH5PcUqztmx__R6fs25g3xYY9AjrJVNr5FIl-tfk-gdu0ZRz7XS05_mOlkLx6itu4tFNE3P5E0CTldiJQsehMsTRXYRoczf-grrdBh5x3XsnzArFUB7g9Yy79bzGsN8w5C06=w379-h400" width="379" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">(Top - Tony Mordente as Action). This quotable admonition, in addition to the Jets' stare-down, finger-snapping response to authority figures, found its way into the 1967 teen musical <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2012/08/the-cool-ones-1967.html" target="_blank">The Cool Ones</a></i>, choreographed by <i>West Side Story</i>'s David Winters (A-rab). </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-style: italic; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjAFo2kQPDbpKnZ-Nz84_3rAyejS8D6rpAxd7sqhEud2mP3twIUBs29nIg1FZqHaM_ub7SomlRaRgtxgRapzZYLKMiiJ4JdO6toyFBVQSmQL14dedcnW1dl1TlCfgArXHah8x8fdnYKECrvqKDKm_sJFjcIkeSMKjcjeQ_Kp09oIsbstxF3ivflBS3p=s1498" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1498" data-original-width="1413" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjAFo2kQPDbpKnZ-Nz84_3rAyejS8D6rpAxd7sqhEud2mP3twIUBs29nIg1FZqHaM_ub7SomlRaRgtxgRapzZYLKMiiJ4JdO6toyFBVQSmQL14dedcnW1dl1TlCfgArXHah8x8fdnYKECrvqKDKm_sJFjcIkeSMKjcjeQ_Kp09oIsbstxF3ivflBS3p=w378-h400" width="378" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Critics couldn't make up their minds as to whether Bob Fosse's rooftop staging of "There's Gotta Be Something Better Than This" in <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/03/sweet-charity-1969.html" target="_blank">Sweet Charity</a></i> was a skirt-flipping homage or blatant rip-off. The same with his decision to stage the "Rhythm of Life" number in a subterranean parking structure (a la <i>West Side Story</i>'s "Cool").</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-style: italic; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj02PiqQcqWL2RIjE51JDrZnHEhiGFI41ykdxAzCkGBQ-wcrT22Vl4HKcosAsxTFirK1FRoD7J7LChnE9UQSJp8sI-uRw9irh7TTVRf_ZTbY0mTnDKpAbvX2MvVgI-3x4HNBYTTuDnEAlyRaHtO85uTJfFDNGO2uPNmLwbRgOxDQlweCBRkVBWiD3Ad=s1497" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1497" data-original-width="1414" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj02PiqQcqWL2RIjE51JDrZnHEhiGFI41ykdxAzCkGBQ-wcrT22Vl4HKcosAsxTFirK1FRoD7J7LChnE9UQSJp8sI-uRw9irh7TTVRf_ZTbY0mTnDKpAbvX2MvVgI-3x4HNBYTTuDnEAlyRaHtO85uTJfFDNGO2uPNmLwbRgOxDQlweCBRkVBWiD3Ad=w378-h400" width="378" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's not unusual for artists to be unfamiliar with the trailblazers and innovators in their field. Indeed, in many cases, ignorance behooves the young artist, lest they find out their trumpeted originality is often just history repeating (see: Lady Gaga, Bette Midler, and a singing mermaid named Delores DeLago).</div><div style="text-align: left;">But director Bob Giraldi's persistent claim that his music video for<i> Beat It</i> (featuring dancing rival street gangs - complete with singer-snaps and a choreographed rumble) was not influenced by <i>West Side Story</i> is both laughably unconvincing and blatantly disingenuous. And (the most likely option) the kind of cagey deception one engages in to sidestep potential legal hassles.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> In any event, Rita Moreno once relayed in an interview how Michael Jackson approached her at a social function and proclaimed to be such a huge <i>West Side Story</i> fan that the film inspired the song, concept, and choreography of the music video.</div></div></div></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgxPnzYviD1Z8CMLBFiD4mcXHiK1yiLlZSv1cMl5350S_paH79jd2bXY3rgYJ5PuhiMojtk6jkFsVt_UyrE_ASrWlpl4W_rSyuTYsc4KwO-BQ7j-ZAiiu078kBmvcc2H6_0Hn_mSc0VJjIWirhrRrRv6f9vQMiR6oKy88lWUYnWfj96rv-hUlVAQLS6=s2557" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1047" data-original-width="2557" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgxPnzYviD1Z8CMLBFiD4mcXHiK1yiLlZSv1cMl5350S_paH79jd2bXY3rgYJ5PuhiMojtk6jkFsVt_UyrE_ASrWlpl4W_rSyuTYsc4KwO-BQ7j-ZAiiu078kBmvcc2H6_0Hn_mSc0VJjIWirhrRrRv6f9vQMiR6oKy88lWUYnWfj96rv-hUlVAQLS6=w439-h180" width="439" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Premiere at Grauman's Chinese Theater on Wednesday, December 13, 1961. A week earlier, on December 5th, Natalie Wood had her footprints placed in the cement in the theater's forecourt. </b><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table> <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>BONUS MATERIAL</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr19RRiMeqPAqLs7Y2S_XdO18Q1nu2EzUPzLxNuEcIGfYJB9enN3OepRN20Iry6C-wZH8FW19zUW4EOsLaiatzimIGI9xZiqBnnXFuPFFKl0mnul06y4CyhoMM9JcLADQG8t4-kOLC4hw/s2558/Jose-DeVega-Natalie-Wood-Elaine-Joyce-Richard-Beymer-West-Side-Story-1961.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1180" data-original-width="2558" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr19RRiMeqPAqLs7Y2S_XdO18Q1nu2EzUPzLxNuEcIGfYJB9enN3OepRN20Iry6C-wZH8FW19zUW4EOsLaiatzimIGI9xZiqBnnXFuPFFKl0mnul06y4CyhoMM9JcLADQG8t4-kOLC4hw/w400-h185/Jose-DeVega-Natalie-Wood-Elaine-Joyce-Richard-Beymer-West-Side-Story-1961.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Actress, singer, dancer, and TV game-show stalwart <br />Elaine Joyce making her uncredited film debut</b></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj6VJu6LPQK1dJRfCSNB_aDlkXnp9pmdX1-Z8Sosnm2Qo2Nr-K0cK3WUtyCnk2oa7Zms-GlMgmF5VF2rc62A06i9BNtzj5yrECLR-5xlxhQo3wsTsZkUsDcixQ0bCR58Mf3g18-8IlW1rLznvPSUTl_ssWXnyKOD5RdpsRdAXk9fX-XcKIAnL1lK7Sb=s1000" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="556" data-original-width="1000" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj6VJu6LPQK1dJRfCSNB_aDlkXnp9pmdX1-Z8Sosnm2Qo2Nr-K0cK3WUtyCnk2oa7Zms-GlMgmF5VF2rc62A06i9BNtzj5yrECLR-5xlxhQo3wsTsZkUsDcixQ0bCR58Mf3g18-8IlW1rLznvPSUTl_ssWXnyKOD5RdpsRdAXk9fX-XcKIAnL1lK7Sb=w400-h223" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Womb to Tomb<br />Former Jets Russ Tamblyn and Richard Beymer appeared in the <br />David Lynch series <i>Twin Peaks</i> in 1990 and its 2017 return.</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-ZsbfEjPcEUjuTwvf7q-XNLpYHAzSBgU0iZsk2nMwzRrz6Gh1vMXOqYrbPV8Uy0SFz2DUNkQYFg7R1r0rvjq_2JyTJgWbg61TgKDwIYuP5ZN6PbwxZD2qxlB2TLYeJjPG1pRtNQAi59c/s2560/West-Side-Story-Jay-Norman-George-Chakiris-Eddie-Verso-1961.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1170" data-original-width="2560" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-ZsbfEjPcEUjuTwvf7q-XNLpYHAzSBgU0iZsk2nMwzRrz6Gh1vMXOqYrbPV8Uy0SFz2DUNkQYFg7R1r0rvjq_2JyTJgWbg61TgKDwIYuP5ZN6PbwxZD2qxlB2TLYeJjPG1pRtNQAi59c/w400-h183/West-Side-Story-Jay-Norman-George-Chakiris-Eddie-Verso-1961.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div>I promised myself that I wasn't going to post this somewhat overworked image, but I have to concede that there's a very good reason for its popularity. The tenement backdrop, the natural light, the low camera angle (accomplished by digging a pit in the asphalt), and the graceful athleticism of the dancers as they execute a grand battement à la seconde in relevé...is pure visual poetry. With their faces lifted to the sun and their bodies literally rising above their gritty reality, this image perfectly captures the aspirational spirit that is the essence of <i>West Side Story</i>'s "Somewhere." </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Copyright © Ken Anderson 2009 - 2021</div></div>Ken Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04940648971296673233noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2627032459273165000.post-6316360892898983732021-11-20T00:53:00.011-08:002021-12-08T11:02:34.847-08:00THAT'S A STRETCH: Actors Playing Against Type<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNiny9n0ml9nkoFHSExaoifWiY5xpUDjWlDU2kw2KzMam6DpM60cU0V6OiHVY2O-sYhx_F-AJobUxYZiw9S3NShrRV80VAJIDvYc-9m8d0VWxkIO7uUCr3t20c5Kp_RTVrMDarHKU7DoI/s2558/Denzel-Washington-Training-Day-2001.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1085" data-original-width="2558" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNiny9n0ml9nkoFHSExaoifWiY5xpUDjWlDU2kw2KzMam6DpM60cU0V6OiHVY2O-sYhx_F-AJobUxYZiw9S3NShrRV80VAJIDvYc-9m8d0VWxkIO7uUCr3t20c5Kp_RTVrMDarHKU7DoI/w400-h170/Denzel-Washington-Training-Day-2001.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Training Day </i>(2001)<br />Denzel Washington played his first villain and won a Best Actor Academy Award<br /> for his electrifying (and to me, his best) against-type performance</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div>If you’ve ever read a celebrity memoir, sat through an episode of Inside The Actors Studio, or listened to an Academy Award acceptance speech, you know that artistic challenges are the raison d’être of the working actor. At least to hear them tell it. Sometimes after listening to these luminaries wax exhaustively about their commitment to creative risk-taking and honing their “instrument,” I’m compelled to go to my computer and check out IMDB to remind myself that yes, indeed, that WAS Ms. or Mr. Master Thespian I last saw reprising that stock character for the umpteenth time in the newest installment of “Name That Overworked Movie Franchise.”</div><div><div>I’m not making light of the seriousness with which actors approach their work. Certainly not in this day and age when the Marvel and DC movie universes have me nostalgically pining for the now very distant past when actors spent more time in acting classes than in gyms. No, I’m just making an observation about how the “industry” side of the movie industry has a way of countering what I presume is the actors’ natural artistic impulse—to have their work reflect a creative range and versatility…</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">TOOTSIE (1982)</div><div style="text-align: center;">Casting Director: <i>“We’re looking for somebody different.” </i></div><div style="text-align: center;">Michael Dorsey: <i>“I can be different.”</i></div><div><br /></div><div>…with words more appropriate to a supermarket: Give me something I can sell.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfFtkLIWdoEbxEI7EivU1wRnIUOsVQ9Lf60pKkhlGKzDpeAa9K8DersCs1TJLE1OTntPazpqvCmsvmo1JgOMroBblU2ZlmNVYzXqCPorPFs69N85PHLX0jUeuhd0paI43NUj0jSc-_IhA/s1738/June-Allyson-Shrike-1955.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1305" data-original-width="1738" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfFtkLIWdoEbxEI7EivU1wRnIUOsVQ9Lf60pKkhlGKzDpeAa9K8DersCs1TJLE1OTntPazpqvCmsvmo1JgOMroBblU2ZlmNVYzXqCPorPFs69N85PHLX0jUeuhd0paI43NUj0jSc-_IhA/w400-h300/June-Allyson-Shrike-1955.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>The Shrike</i> (1955)<br />I loved seeing perennial girl-next-door June Allyson drop the Peter Pan collars and put her dimpled smile in escrow to play the sort of woman once described as "a hard article.</b>" </td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div>The studio system may be long dead but the star system lingers on. And no matter how talented or versatile an actor is, big screen employability consistently boils down to being a marketable “type.” A reality of the movie business that most actors seem to accept (or reconcile themselves to). That is, until being too closely associated with a specific image or too often identified as a particular type leads to the kind of role-selection pigeonholing that ends up in being typecast. </div><div><br /></div><div>As the careers of many of Hollywood’s biggest stars, past and present, would attest, typecasting in and of itself isn't necessarily a bad thing for careers. Say the names Cagney, Day, Wayne, Dietrich, and a particular kind of role pops into mind. That's how movie stars are made and how Hollywood was born. And certainly, amongst those factions of pop-culture consumers who crave a steady diet of the exact same thing (<i>Fast and Furious</i>, <i>Halloween</i>, <i>Transformers</i>, et al.), typecasting is essential and doesn't detract from one's enjoyment of the franchise "brand."</div><div>Me, I don’t mind a bit of typecasting now and then, but on the whole, I tend to lean toward the axiom that what’s good for business is often bad for art.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisEsshSLX82tvoTvL3TesXpH6a3aB5WgZSQw7n3fb9SUhmEIYMSRWQlaP-Ivcq5npx-WxasEzQS-Tqsj_X7A0XpkKp93B0X9yKYVMDbR-EkZ_r5UDjazjFRB_s2qD8GchC5kFBmA4MgE0/s2048/All-Night-Long-Barbra-Streisand-1981+.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1115" data-original-width="2048" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisEsshSLX82tvoTvL3TesXpH6a3aB5WgZSQw7n3fb9SUhmEIYMSRWQlaP-Ivcq5npx-WxasEzQS-Tqsj_X7A0XpkKp93B0X9yKYVMDbR-EkZ_r5UDjazjFRB_s2qD8GchC5kFBmA4MgE0/w430-h233/All-Night-Long-Barbra-Streisand-1981+.jpg" width="430" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>All Night Long</i> (1981) <br />Too bad the film's flat script lets her down, because Barbra Streisand's rare excursion into character work (playing a bullied housewife and wannabe entertainer who can't sing) is an absolute delight.</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>When it works, typecasting serves as a sort of visual shorthand for the audience and has actors playing to their strengths (the fits-like-a-glove casting of Shelley Duvall as Olive Oyl in Robert Altman's <i>Popeye</i> - 1980 ). At its worst, it leads to acting's #1 cardinal sin: being boring. Few things make you feel the passing of every ticking second than witnessing an actor on cruise control giving the same, stale, by-the-numbers performance they’ve given several times before.</div><div>When typecasting results in actors playing it safe, it reinforces the familiar and undercuts the essential element of surprise that gives all good performances authenticity and immediacy. This is why I love it when actors occasionally break away from what they’re used to and take the risk of playing against type. The results can be astoundingly good or jaw-droppingly awful, but they’re fresh. Even if I don’t like the end, I tend to respect the moxie it took to go artistically out on a limb.</div><div><br /></div><div>Limiting my selections to the films in my collection, here - in no particular order - are my </div><div>TOP TEN FAVORITE AGAINST-TYPE PERFORMANCES.</div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb9qcHa0qDZA4d44rqRTvD-SUi2jPZa9ubAeNyFgoVy3-vvwVmoViVbnG1fnMs8tEhxNRb2gFyExZuN9006gBC_LrSzWJAv84Xku2Ppm79gPul2rHxy59ljoeCwwxpHh5_pBjInA8ZU1A/s2048/Ordinary-People-Mary-Tyler-Moore-1980.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1105" data-original-width="2048" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb9qcHa0qDZA4d44rqRTvD-SUi2jPZa9ubAeNyFgoVy3-vvwVmoViVbnG1fnMs8tEhxNRb2gFyExZuN9006gBC_LrSzWJAv84Xku2Ppm79gPul2rHxy59ljoeCwwxpHh5_pBjInA8ZU1A/w400-h216/Ordinary-People-Mary-Tyler-Moore-1980.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><b>Mary Tyler Moore in <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2018/03/ordinary-people-1980.html" target="_blank">Ordinary People</a></i> (1980)</b><div>Having heretofore assumed sitcom sobbing and crying out <i>"Oh, Rob!"</i> in a quavering voice to represent the full scope of Moore's dramatic ability, you can imagine how gobsmacked I was by the raw honesty she was able to bring to her Oscar-nominated performance as the emotionally-rigid matriarch of a dysfunctional suburban family in Robert Redford's directorial debut. The highest compliment I can pay is to say that while watching her performance, I never once thought of Laura Petrie or Mary Richards. <div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghGN3uZCUJ9ReJ0L9uS5WJXjRc35SBkhyphenhyphenld_VZgpf4xnSU-PSNPVpDOeSJRMmhq86tbh7duyYAkVIHEVse5wFMdz8gOMpjjm6joLIrYLZJWoWZHnC0sgKy95B8FkNaKiK-WNlaa9empcA/s2048/Diahann-Carroll-Claudine_1974.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1106" data-original-width="2048" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghGN3uZCUJ9ReJ0L9uS5WJXjRc35SBkhyphenhyphenld_VZgpf4xnSU-PSNPVpDOeSJRMmhq86tbh7duyYAkVIHEVse5wFMdz8gOMpjjm6joLIrYLZJWoWZHnC0sgKy95B8FkNaKiK-WNlaa9empcA/w400-h216/Diahann-Carroll-Claudine_1974.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><b>Diahann Carroll in <i>Claudine</i> (1974)</b></div><div>Carroll’s sole Academy Award nomination was for a performance in a film the actress/singer with the aristocratic bearing would never have been considered but for the insistence of best friend Diana Sands (originally cast, she fell ill during filming and died of cancer shortly after). Playing a single mother of six trying to make ends meet as a housekeeper, Carroll is relaxed and accessible in a way I hadn’t seen before. Given the opportunity to play a character of some complexity, she proved there was more to her than sequined gowns and impeccable bone structure.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNqUfrBE-N3PQoMD-4rDx39qCApyOfpsLz_6S9dE8lAbmfNDShI2LY2KMroJIyGU2SjG3agbhXOjg-5lnin_IJfcbXLvxLnlp9hkFA512MywVtrFug3Ijt9vLh9GAUXeAkT9QMqYsx7O4/s2048/Mia-Farrow-Broadway-Danny-Rose-1984.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1105" data-original-width="2048" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNqUfrBE-N3PQoMD-4rDx39qCApyOfpsLz_6S9dE8lAbmfNDShI2LY2KMroJIyGU2SjG3agbhXOjg-5lnin_IJfcbXLvxLnlp9hkFA512MywVtrFug3Ijt9vLh9GAUXeAkT9QMqYsx7O4/w400-h216/Mia-Farrow-Broadway-Danny-Rose-1984.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><b>Mia Farrow in <i>Broadway Danny Rose</i> (1984)</b></div><div>Mia & Woody. In retrospect perhaps it took a relationship as fucked-up as theirs for it ever to occur to someone to cast cinema's eternally fey flower child as the tough-as-nails mistress of a borscht belt lounge crooner. Farrow’s transformation—from body language, voice, to her heretofore untapped gift for characterization—is nothing short of startling. I was floored when she wasn't Oscar-nominated. (I always wondered if her hilariously coarse portrayal was in any way inspired by the wives and mistresses of Frank Sinatra's Vegas cronies she must have encountered during their brief marriage.)</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_OUinhIt9cADeNMNEU9GBLvt_1pIcHUMHiRppUwEheUPBbKR9aVae3pm_1M_g6YuioXGGUv0F3IbCQHRUPuz4i3p67hua4fJTUXLnnGW7QznI-XJw29wa-GqnPZj3pgQofbatFHQE5JE/s2048/Elizabeth-Hartmen-You%2527re-a-Big-Boy_Now_1966.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1128" data-original-width="2048" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_OUinhIt9cADeNMNEU9GBLvt_1pIcHUMHiRppUwEheUPBbKR9aVae3pm_1M_g6YuioXGGUv0F3IbCQHRUPuz4i3p67hua4fJTUXLnnGW7QznI-XJw29wa-GqnPZj3pgQofbatFHQE5JE/w400-h220/Elizabeth-Hartmen-You%2527re-a-Big-Boy_Now_1966.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><b>Elizabeth Hartman in <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/10/youre-big-boy-now-1966.html" target="_blank">You're a Big Boy Now</a></i> (1966)</b></div><div>Playing a narcissistic go-go dancer with a sadistic streak and a temper as short as her miniskirts, Hartman being cast as the unattainable dream girl Barbara Darling was hailed by Life magazine as the single crowning inspiration of novice director Francis Ford Coppola’s film. And they’re right. Pigeonholed early in her career as the introverted, luckless type, Hartman’s performance is a textbook example of the surprising things that can be unleashed in an actor when typecasting is thrown out the window.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOG89oLc-QvC2XgGkyHfPcvP2izFe4lDRp9XT4zFYL3mT99441ubm74_qk5pBCE89MxyAmX75RGcntfW61YT87O8w_w_W0OECJWmBbFUbaxxeqQMTMHRFNLwBLArp52LjSwA886XgrSoo/s2048/Harry-Belafonte-Kansas-City-1996.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1137" data-original-width="2048" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOG89oLc-QvC2XgGkyHfPcvP2izFe4lDRp9XT4zFYL3mT99441ubm74_qk5pBCE89MxyAmX75RGcntfW61YT87O8w_w_W0OECJWmBbFUbaxxeqQMTMHRFNLwBLArp52LjSwA886XgrSoo/w400-h223/Harry-Belafonte-Kansas-City-1996.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><b>Harry Belafonte in <i>Kansas City</i> (1996)</b></div><div>The element of the unexpected plays a big part in why legendary humanitarian and charismatic nice guy Harry Belafonte is so unsettling as a brutal mob boss in Robert Altman’s 1930s crime noir. As the slick gangster kingpin Seldom Seen, Belafonte (who wrote most of his dialogue) is so chillingly dignified in his benevolent menace (nothing's scarier than a cool-headed murderer), the film surrounding him can never quite keep up. His superb performance won the New York Film Critics Award<b>. </b></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKq1ld4Xv-NiwcYD0MNNtXMSihH3jy54TBnAkyd3T3Cwut_5JUgmbSpjNkz_FJbS2fZ149VXIaNIZkuXNUvn03COnLaMRfmFPj36lLAJzGcWy181quns9D4-SnyNpm6BHJYPgcVecfkrE/s2328/Love-Me-Or-Leave-Me-Doris-Day-1955.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="914" data-original-width="2328" height="158" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKq1ld4Xv-NiwcYD0MNNtXMSihH3jy54TBnAkyd3T3Cwut_5JUgmbSpjNkz_FJbS2fZ149VXIaNIZkuXNUvn03COnLaMRfmFPj36lLAJzGcWy181quns9D4-SnyNpm6BHJYPgcVecfkrE/w400-h158/Love-Me-Or-Leave-Me-Doris-Day-1955.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><b>Doris Day in <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2013/04/love-me-or-leave-me-1955.html" target="_blank">Love Me or Leave Me</a> </i>(1955)</b></div><div>So indelibly linked to a particular image, at least two Broadway musicals that I know of (<i>Do I Hear a Waltz?</i>, <i>Grease</i>) feature songs that use the name Doris Day as a satiric synonym for wholesome blandness. Well, neither is much in evidence in this welcome departure that finds Doris taking a walk on the darker side of her sunny persona to deliver a gangbusters performance as torch singer Ruth Etting. Day has appeared to good effect in dramatic roles before, but the somewhat unsympathetic nature of her character here is a first. And a favorite. <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyX0JRm4g8_V9i9OFtu0C662DYnheFJadBcvxWn7MH4hJQHrR4LO3vCjzKdLa0psOIDFNn2H48-k4fz_YNRzipDBuvsVfKbi9umRVlarZzs4PuPSc4HAgFQBEne_V0fz80eDaQCphyYm0/s2048/Nichelle-Nichols-Truck-Turner_1974.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1103" data-original-width="2048" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyX0JRm4g8_V9i9OFtu0C662DYnheFJadBcvxWn7MH4hJQHrR4LO3vCjzKdLa0psOIDFNn2H48-k4fz_YNRzipDBuvsVfKbi9umRVlarZzs4PuPSc4HAgFQBEne_V0fz80eDaQCphyYm0/w400-h215/Nichelle-Nichols-Truck-Turner_1974.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><b>Nichelle Nichols in <i>Truck Turner</i> (1974)</b></div><div>As embodied by Nichelle Nichols, <i>Star Trek</i>’s Lieutenant Commander Uhura was one of the most beautiful, eloquent, and downright classy ladies on TV in the ‘60s. Which is precisely why I had to be picked up off the floor after seeing her performance as Dorinda, the provocatively dressed, homicidally ruthless, astoundingly foul-mouthed whorehouse madam in this entertaining Isaac Hayes action flick. Strong-arming and bitch-slapping her way through the fulfillment of a crime vendetta, Nichols appears to be enjoying herself as she shoots for the stars and boldly goes where her talents have never gone before.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDU4CudeBunuMpQxotKCFqY3BK1RtzB0Vlg4PkKRP4WiPMy2uBKNuAA_xDodcjTT8bQjfNi8gwEo9LAEIlDe8X2Chmf9j-fhsLFyoJgul3SvP2e-Ie_Sv1MklwqjmClcaZvVzAUM6S8u8/s2048/Looking-For-Mr-Goodbar-Diane-Keaton-1977.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1164" data-original-width="2048" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDU4CudeBunuMpQxotKCFqY3BK1RtzB0Vlg4PkKRP4WiPMy2uBKNuAA_xDodcjTT8bQjfNi8gwEo9LAEIlDe8X2Chmf9j-fhsLFyoJgul3SvP2e-Ie_Sv1MklwqjmClcaZvVzAUM6S8u8/w400-h228/Looking-For-Mr-Goodbar-Diane-Keaton-1977.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><b>Diane Keaton in <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2014/07/looking-for-mr-goodbar-1977.html" target="_blank">Looking for Mr. Goodbar</a> </i>(1977)</b></div><div>The more Keaton’s recent screen output has felt committed to reasserting her career-long image as a loveable kook, the more grateful I am that when faced with an opportunity to take a creative risk so early in her career, she not only seized upon it but soared. Giving what remains hands-down my absolute favorite performance of her career, the forcefulness of Keaton's emotional honesty in this difficult dramatic role hasn’t diminished for me iota since first seeing it some 40-plus years ago.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfTwDajMc_wuFD4VH9gs9pkQ5NMIPPYX-bz5DntouWvGJwvSv6WrUeloMN_Mwr-Y2DTch-JZ7Z8RoaiYd_W8H0NA0UCfPXLiQV8FUu6IEhXwBaZROnMQE7e3RBUFhBQiOBKtLuEJrUDLI/s2048/What%2527s-the-Matter-with-Helen-Debbie-Reynolds-1971.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1117" data-original-width="2048" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfTwDajMc_wuFD4VH9gs9pkQ5NMIPPYX-bz5DntouWvGJwvSv6WrUeloMN_Mwr-Y2DTch-JZ7Z8RoaiYd_W8H0NA0UCfPXLiQV8FUu6IEhXwBaZROnMQE7e3RBUFhBQiOBKtLuEJrUDLI/w400-h219/What%2527s-the-Matter-with-Helen-Debbie-Reynolds-1971.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><b>Debbie Reynolds in <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2014/03/whats-matter-with-helen-1971.html" target="_blank">What's The Matter With Helen? </a></i>(1971)</b></div><div>This isn’t MGM musical-comedy star Debbie Reynolds’ first serious role. But it does represent her first and only go-round in the Grande Dame Guignol annex of the exploitation horror genre, and she acquits herself with steely aplomb. Playing the purposefully hardened yin to Shelley Winters’ nutty-as-a-fruitcake yang, Reynolds is terrifically game in not needing to make her character come across sympathetically. It’s my favorite of her dramatic performances. <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOF9FHXZm9wk5H27QCNsxcs_Ou5srsSUCKCVR6YpwxWs-tBPiQo2e8XE50m0MmcLSmvw9LLX0qLwtlPOHqQsLGQ8wo1JyVF-Rmvs8RqFDV8e80JSkDczAts_onELn28dUaC9st_bX94N4/s2048/Elizabeth-Taylor-Who%2527s-Afraid-of-Virginia-Woolf_1966.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1154" data-original-width="2048" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOF9FHXZm9wk5H27QCNsxcs_Ou5srsSUCKCVR6YpwxWs-tBPiQo2e8XE50m0MmcLSmvw9LLX0qLwtlPOHqQsLGQ8wo1JyVF-Rmvs8RqFDV8e80JSkDczAts_onELn28dUaC9st_bX94N4/w400-h225/Elizabeth-Taylor-Who%2527s-Afraid-of-Virginia-Woolf_1966.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><b>Elizabeth Taylor in <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/10/whos-afraid-of-virginia-woolf-1966.html" target="_blank">Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?</a></i> (1966)</b><br /><div><div>I rarely get to say this, but I was too young to remember the hubbub surrounding celebrated glamour-puss Elizabeth Taylor being cast as the vulgar, boisterous Martha in the film adaptation of Edward Albee’s scorching play. I suspect few doubted she’d have trouble with the vulgar/boisterous part, but at almost twenty years junior to the character as written, Taylor was not exactly a shoo-in casting option.</div><div>Especially since her tabloid high-visibility so tended to overshadow her talent.</div><div>I saved Elizabeth Taylor’s role in <i>Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?</i> for last in this Top Ten List because hers is the only against-type performance I became aware of in reverse. </div><div>When I saw “Woolf” in 1967, I was about 10-years-old and it was my very first Elizabeth Taylor movie. Having no idea of what type she was playing against, I just thought she was really good because she made me cry.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYOJTaY0S9WWrgrVsGgwoG5hngJs1O20njGelYvEgZZZ6r_zrmsZJsAYsFjmNLMvWZj1_HFcDCHBZOlb1D33TMvU8dlqxJy5-0TUonqDzJ8uIrek-dqvQLXolj3yF1DqfdAZwDPuwOiS4/s2048/Elizabeth-Taylor-Who%2527s-Afraid-of-Virginia-Woolf-1966.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1148" data-original-width="2048" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYOJTaY0S9WWrgrVsGgwoG5hngJs1O20njGelYvEgZZZ6r_zrmsZJsAYsFjmNLMvWZj1_HFcDCHBZOlb1D33TMvU8dlqxJy5-0TUonqDzJ8uIrek-dqvQLXolj3yF1DqfdAZwDPuwOiS4/w400-h224/Elizabeth-Taylor-Who%2527s-Afraid-of-Virginia-Woolf-1966.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Not-so-fast forward several decades…by which time I’d seen virtually all of Taylor’s films and rewatched “Woolf” more times than I can count. What's happened is that my gradual after-the-fact awareness of how so NOT like Albee's Martha Elizabeth Taylor was when cast in 1965 has given me a greater respect and appreciation for the degree of risk involved and the range displayed in her performance. And what an Oscar-winning triumph of a funny, raucous, and very touching performance it is. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><b>HONORABLE MENTION</b></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLAVDadhKOKQul341dnV5TFLo3vYCBZT_25WCw9t3-jzCB-kLRddRkOo-vW8v_CLYw2fUKfUX688V9iLfDsziaHP7hrzr7-OidGQZL8R213PZNmFWirbXx7y3laYfWbhkFiXqmfXqgl8o/s2048/Albert-Finney-Night-Must-Fall-1964+.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1230" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLAVDadhKOKQul341dnV5TFLo3vYCBZT_25WCw9t3-jzCB-kLRddRkOo-vW8v_CLYw2fUKfUX688V9iLfDsziaHP7hrzr7-OidGQZL8R213PZNmFWirbXx7y3laYfWbhkFiXqmfXqgl8o/w400-h240/Albert-Finney-Night-Must-Fall-1964+.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Albert Finney - <i>Night Must Fall </i>(1964)</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;">Jane Fonda - <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/06/they-shoot-horses-dont-they-1969.html" target="_blank">They Shoot Horses, Don't They?</a> </i>(1969)</div><div style="text-align: center;">Dean Martin - <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2018/08/toys-in-attic-1963.html" target="_blank">Toys in the Attic</a> </i>(1963)</div><div style="text-align: center;">Patty Duke - <a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/09/valley-of-dolls-1967.html" target="_blank"><i>Valley of the Dolls</i> </a>(1967)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-psSXQalVH_QQjIKcHyvr8ljEV4dbhrEFSHtQ0_a1B1U9S01sURd5jMTbL8cICgnckECwOyUIsKvDhQFB39dXGIJ4AwsGfoFLAiQKcgrlG2VrLnU8qQLbFf0fK02rpwti48ONi-2DNKc/s2048/Halle-Berry-BAPS-1997.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1175" data-original-width="2048" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-psSXQalVH_QQjIKcHyvr8ljEV4dbhrEFSHtQ0_a1B1U9S01sURd5jMTbL8cICgnckECwOyUIsKvDhQFB39dXGIJ4AwsGfoFLAiQKcgrlG2VrLnU8qQLbFf0fK02rpwti48ONi-2DNKc/w400-h230/Halle-Berry-BAPS-1997.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Halle Berry - <i>B.A.P.S</i> (1997)</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;">Candice Bergen - <a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2012/09/starting-over-1979.html" target="_blank"><i>Starting Over</i> </a>(1979)</div></div><div style="text-align: center;">Anthony Perkins - <i>Psycho </i>(1960)</div><div style="text-align: center;">James Darren -<i> Venus in Furs</i> (1969)</div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw3W51pPd0LJkFtAkBv18Qo6KY9ofcLGanX76V68PuX1zIF3DSZ3FgQzc66byCrCUbE75CWqCRL1sXcYxvUWwu-hxyOCcJ0ymp6ijJ2xP5Aedw_jhINRQdSThvO-5NaVymPoNc8L4gy7o/s2048/Cher-Silkwood-1983.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1109" data-original-width="2048" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw3W51pPd0LJkFtAkBv18Qo6KY9ofcLGanX76V68PuX1zIF3DSZ3FgQzc66byCrCUbE75CWqCRL1sXcYxvUWwu-hxyOCcJ0ymp6ijJ2xP5Aedw_jhINRQdSThvO-5NaVymPoNc8L4gy7o/w400-h216/Cher-Silkwood-1983.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Cher - <i>Silkwood</i> (1983)</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;">Raquel Welch - <i>Kansas City Bomber</i> (1972)</div></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">Michael Keaton - <i>Batman </i>(1989)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV-a1XPlNKeBTfsAsIY2M-N6mKtdslO7iRSTxAL3H4dnKaBf98akOmAcPvzGA8ut8jREb2kWiyMO9XrUIqkLcP-djHlDBTOSZQP_XZUXT52NvQThcwD5nx_oFEYPqXCheGAxK5u7O5yQs/s2048/Andy-Griffith-A-+Face-in-the-Crowd_1957.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1101" data-original-width="2048" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV-a1XPlNKeBTfsAsIY2M-N6mKtdslO7iRSTxAL3H4dnKaBf98akOmAcPvzGA8ut8jREb2kWiyMO9XrUIqkLcP-djHlDBTOSZQP_XZUXT52NvQThcwD5nx_oFEYPqXCheGAxK5u7O5yQs/w400-h215/Andy-Griffith-A-+Face-in-the-Crowd_1957.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Andy Griffith - <i>A Face in the Crowd </i>(1957)</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;">Glenn Close - <i>Fatal Attraction </i>(1987)</div></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">Jean Simmons - <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2013/05/angel-face-1953.html" target="_blank">Angel Face</a> </i>((1952)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdWOYj26adwHwoP6sN0rWN05zN1-B_3G_X3F3mm1eUBBhLZB-qwyJcgNhEZa4LsfnLedEZK844cgRYLR5MqKhBQrmfK6_xQgEPQz2ZqCKIzRlEf7B65lDwr0n9z6eq3kzuhQOpjrAM3zM/s2560/Carnal-Knowledge-Ann-Margret-1971.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1091" data-original-width="2560" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdWOYj26adwHwoP6sN0rWN05zN1-B_3G_X3F3mm1eUBBhLZB-qwyJcgNhEZa4LsfnLedEZK844cgRYLR5MqKhBQrmfK6_xQgEPQz2ZqCKIzRlEf7B65lDwr0n9z6eq3kzuhQOpjrAM3zM/w400-h170/Carnal-Knowledge-Ann-Margret-1971.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Ann-Margret - <a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2016/12/carnal-knowledge-1971.html" target="_blank">Carnal Knowledge</a> (1971)</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Readers: </b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b> Good or Bad, what's your favorite playing against type movie performance? </b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO1t2r46iSGk-TUQve4SA09Y8TMiTx06UlTAXn6Rs-NxSTdnDR0kwBvfwqrvmb7OXOdthyphenhyphen1hB518AAPFkwKRz5bYB0PhimH0GhvqzHlXQ6uhqPPHWw0E2NS9_WbdPf8Qfqw4YciLCVI7k/s2559/Elizabeth-Berkely-Showgirls-1995.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1051" data-original-width="2559" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO1t2r46iSGk-TUQve4SA09Y8TMiTx06UlTAXn6Rs-NxSTdnDR0kwBvfwqrvmb7OXOdthyphenhyphen1hB518AAPFkwKRz5bYB0PhimH0GhvqzHlXQ6uhqPPHWw0E2NS9_WbdPf8Qfqw4YciLCVI7k/w446-h183/Elizabeth-Berkely-Showgirls-1995.JPG" width="446" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div>Copyright © Ken Anderson 2009 - 2021</div></div>Ken Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04940648971296673233noreply@blogger.com47tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2627032459273165000.post-26336331073782437812021-11-04T02:47:00.007-07:002021-11-08T15:55:43.067-08:00SUNSET BOULEVARD 1950<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUIEaoj_IX-3S2PEw6pGZZkzZED5gNkxBts38-ZMR0l7uoqMTwu18cw6_uE7MGkiFgIo1lAaV82l1iQzevHeGQcy1aL-EmUwrc10huTVhxhaLMEtXQOs9mpor4Zw5y9gNjMeTMQ6WZFQ8/s1779/Sunset-Blvd--Billy-Wilder-1950.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1290" data-original-width="1779" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUIEaoj_IX-3S2PEw6pGZZkzZED5gNkxBts38-ZMR0l7uoqMTwu18cw6_uE7MGkiFgIo1lAaV82l1iQzevHeGQcy1aL-EmUwrc10huTVhxhaLMEtXQOs9mpor4Zw5y9gNjMeTMQ6WZFQ8/w400-h290/Sunset-Blvd--Billy-Wilder-1950.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>"If the monkey hadn't died, the show </i>[movie] <i>would be over."</i><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Sign backstage during the L.A. run of the musical version of <i>Sunset Blvd. </i></b></div><div style="text-align: right;"><b>"Close-Up on Sunset Boulevard" Sam Staggs 2002</b></div></b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><i>Sunset Boulevard</i> had its broadcast television premiere October 2, 1965, at 9 pm on NBC’s <i>Saturday Night at the Movies</i>. Being just seven years old at the time, this event came and went without incident or notice by me. When I did get around to seeing <i>Sunset Boulevard</i> it was in the early '70s, when I was about 14-years-old and a budding film buff in the first flush of a newfound infatuation with old movies. </div><div>Up until that time, my movie preferences leaned toward age-inappropriate contemporary films oozing with New Hollywood permissiveness. But in 1971 Ken Russell’s <i>The Boy Friend</i> was released, and that film---a visually stunning, spoofish tribute to the musicals of the '20 and '30s that took my breath away--single-handedly inspired me to seek out and discover old movies. </div><div>A personal journey that happened to coincide with the then-peaking nostalgia craze. </div><div>Ignited by the popularity and influence of <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2012/02/bonnie-clyde-1967.html" target="_blank">Bonnie and Clyde</a></i> in the late '60s, America grew increasingly enamored of its recent past. A rose-colored love affair of exploration and escapism (the '70s were no picnic) that found expression in every corner of pop culture from fashion to music. Classic films and their stars were especially popular with the younger generation, who responded enthusiastically to them for their artistry as well as their camp appeal.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6ReN4HgIvHJb62pDool9128NE71tOEz4sPf-aD7SPE1-oomCIZ2phRKQqLKce7-PkYdzW9_UNne0iyoYnitPzphAicxKY1tDarJUS7IXoctusUeAiA0Yxu1qI8iAANQbh97UPNbXQNMY/s1288/Life-Magazine-Feb-1971-Nostalgia-Craze.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1288" data-original-width="1025" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6ReN4HgIvHJb62pDool9128NE71tOEz4sPf-aD7SPE1-oomCIZ2phRKQqLKce7-PkYdzW9_UNne0iyoYnitPzphAicxKY1tDarJUS7IXoctusUeAiA0Yxu1qI8iAANQbh97UPNbXQNMY/s320/Life-Magazine-Feb-1971-Nostalgia-Craze.jpg" width="255" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>1971 - Everything Old Was New Again</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div><div>My own particular interest in nostalgia manifested itself in a fascination with movies headlined by former leading ladies of yesteryear. The more melodramatic, the better. I was especially taken with Grande Dame Guignol, which, if you're not familiar, are essentially monster movies for gay teens.</div><div><br /></div><div>Grande Dame Guignol (or hagsploitation) are sensationalistic melodramas and horror thrillers centered around older actresses in roles that exploit or exaggeratedly play off the star's declined status and advanced age (by Hollywood standards, mind you, which is simply over 30) contrasted with their often over-the-top, prima donna behavior. Recognizable by their formula mix of deglamorization + histrionics + gerontophobia with a dash of kitsch and camp thrown in, their plots tended to be baroque variations on familiar monster movie tropes. Only the "monster" in this instance is usually a middle-aged woman who behaves violently or becomes unhinged after suffering some kind of emotional breakdown or traumatizing social outcast rebuff (imagine Stephen King's <i>Carrie </i>for the AARP set). </div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHS8snXhKNJf86qkAQbV0eYYB-_F7EY98tTXogocdyZeUQV0k1wvDtEVyVXRM23CckzJ6THpvQY-E2hAP-4X8nlAWOdMv3Ay41BqipUljGRSMsZuSBVdIqMWIUKzdPBfsuEM4YssvXeY4/s1278/Scream-Queens-Joan-Crawford-Tallulah-Bankhead-Debbie-Reynolds-Bette-Davis.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1087" data-original-width="1278" height="340" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHS8snXhKNJf86qkAQbV0eYYB-_F7EY98tTXogocdyZeUQV0k1wvDtEVyVXRM23CckzJ6THpvQY-E2hAP-4X8nlAWOdMv3Ay41BqipUljGRSMsZuSBVdIqMWIUKzdPBfsuEM4YssvXeY4/w400-h340/Scream-Queens-Joan-Crawford-Tallulah-Bankhead-Debbie-Reynolds-Bette-Davis.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>In its inability to imagine a fate more terrifying than aging for a woman, Hollywood channeled its misogyny and fear of "La femme vieillissante" into the creation of an entirely new horror genre - The Grande Dame Guignol. Aka: hagsploitation, hag-horror, or the psycho-biddy movie</b>. </td></tr></tbody></table><div><div><br /></div><div>Empathy always drew me to the "villains" in these films: these larger-than-life women who suffered or were driven mad by their unwillingness or inability to surrender their outré, outsized fabulousness to the conformist dictates of age, gender, marital status, childlessness, standards of beauty...or sanity. </div><div>Even when they resorted to murder (which they always did), it was still kind of tough not to feel bad for them since their crimes were almost always pitiable acts of desperation and madness. Besides, from the film's point of view, the real crime these women were guilty of was growing old and ceasing to be desirable to the male gaze. </div></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmyCOhdoKDLW4AQoRPmUOV7y5kt4y9ttyxEhvW6ScjiDtruSIFt_9ouTBgSD1vGjd1oeBvx4nQNFeozdPZW6aQDc2FX8wkPySfoG2mcSrgSV0ako9AUpk3gXGycw3Zhd_y1eIaUQZd0mw/s1786/Sunset-Boulevard-William-Holden-Gloria-Swanson-1950.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1299" data-original-width="1786" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmyCOhdoKDLW4AQoRPmUOV7y5kt4y9ttyxEhvW6ScjiDtruSIFt_9ouTBgSD1vGjd1oeBvx4nQNFeozdPZW6aQDc2FX8wkPySfoG2mcSrgSV0ako9AUpk3gXGycw3Zhd_y1eIaUQZd0mw/w420-h306/Sunset-Boulevard-William-Holden-Gloria-Swanson-1950.JPG" width="420" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Queer Identification in <i>Sunset Boulevard</i> - Approximating the Female Gaze</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMtwV6U60yuyEaEv4ADnjmGTUNtkF674H592xOTP8A1RNKmfonxGC0UzBCwll0Qwmid48V5ggPKFBSeUmh_KR78RxJueVs2kT9wcwCEMtAkbDQi8i9Nb0YU4iLrqTR6TTgfo5NHqYA1Ik/s1784/William-Holden-Gloria-Swanson-Sunset-Boulevard.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1304" data-original-width="1784" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMtwV6U60yuyEaEv4ADnjmGTUNtkF674H592xOTP8A1RNKmfonxGC0UzBCwll0Qwmid48V5ggPKFBSeUmh_KR78RxJueVs2kT9wcwCEMtAkbDQi8i9Nb0YU4iLrqTR6TTgfo5NHqYA1Ik/w416-h305/William-Holden-Gloria-Swanson-Sunset-Boulevard.JPG" width="416" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">As written, the character of Norma Desmond is a direct assault on postwar cinema's reassertion of rigid gender roles. Her dominance, sexual agency, and solitary independence are presented as an appropriation of masculine power; ergo, she's a monster. Joe Gillis' dependent status and physical objectification render him "the male feminized," which, in the eyes of the film is an irredeemable sin.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><span style="text-align: center;">Grand Dame Guignol movies were largely viewed as a </span>comedown for the stars involved, but I credit them with introducing me to: Bette Davis (<i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2016/04/hushhush-sweet-charlotte-1964.html" target="_blank">Hush, Hush, Sweet Charlotte</a></i>), Joan Crawford (<i>What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?</i>), Tallulah Bankhead (<i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2015/06/die-die-my-darling-1965.html" target="_blank">Die! Die! My Darling!</a></i>), Olivia de Havilland (<i>Lady in a Cage</i>), Barbara Stanwyck (<i>The Night Walker</i>), and Eleanor Parker (<i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2012/12/eye-of-cat-1969.html" target="_blank">Eye of the Cat</a></i>).</div></div><div><br /></div><div>I’d never even heard of Gloria Swanson at the time, but when my older sister circled the plot synopsis of <i>Sunset Boulevard </i>in that week’s TV Guide, it sounded exactly like a horror movie to me, so I was looking forward to seeing it. (A weekly ritual my sisters and I shared in rotation was to go through the entire TV Guide when it arrived and circle every “must-see” movie and special scheduled.)</div><div>Of course, the noirish <i>Sunset Boulevard </i>– a grim melodrama that has a struggling screenwriter meet a bad end after hoping to take advantage of the comeback delusions of a fading silent screen star – is neither a horror movie nor an example of Grand Dame Guignol (at least not, to quote Norma, not<i> “in the usual sense of the word”</i>). But it shares enough similarities with those genres for me to have actually mistaken <i>Sunset Boulevard</i> for a hagsploitation horror movie the first time I saw it.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj84IevKBdnrgfiCsc_Hh4E99WkJZQSqxINnv51jnMGEe1rlRa9BkwbMBz8-7S_VMD0qLr6oNZVr2D0KZqce_Z0yv8jaMWJUFI9U2-twD8gYL03JTmtHXCW4ygcx28Vx5rRoKgEAzgiAhk/s1781/Sunset-Boulevard-William-Wyler-Noel-Coward-1950.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1305" data-original-width="1781" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj84IevKBdnrgfiCsc_Hh4E99WkJZQSqxINnv51jnMGEe1rlRa9BkwbMBz8-7S_VMD0qLr6oNZVr2D0KZqce_Z0yv8jaMWJUFI9U2-twD8gYL03JTmtHXCW4ygcx28Vx5rRoKgEAzgiAhk/w427-h313/Sunset-Boulevard-William-Wyler-Noel-Coward-1950.JPG" width="427" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Crazy in Love<br />From Frankenstein to Dracula, the monsters of horror movies have always been the most vulnerable and fragile figures in the story. Over the years, Norma's delusional grand passions (<i>"I wrote that with my heart!"</i>) and emotional vulnerability strike me as saner than Joe's cold opportunism or Betty's pushful ambition.</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikq2pES_YZOsFeY2YdGWBndSs5SHHQj6vPWdnhZ2cKbT69GKR24onKxBKPvAzQ17Az_oepzTcPAD8ql-lL591RAbMwp2h23j1CwZjh97MpC2EC6bzW4HAfPTdiemxygrtjm7zrjzJ74-Y/s1776/Gloria-Swanson-Sunset-Boulevard-1950+%25289%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1295" data-original-width="1776" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikq2pES_YZOsFeY2YdGWBndSs5SHHQj6vPWdnhZ2cKbT69GKR24onKxBKPvAzQ17Az_oepzTcPAD8ql-lL591RAbMwp2h23j1CwZjh97MpC2EC6bzW4HAfPTdiemxygrtjm7zrjzJ74-Y/w400-h291/Gloria-Swanson-Sunset-Boulevard-1950+%25289%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gloria Swanson as Norma Desmond</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoRm3iRzIjNn4d7gEMEGJumbQYebi16abKbmVVK2EDShcCTwa0SbMDn3KUp8KpaVzL75T0NSNcPbau8fuVN44YRGp7jl86yXM_5ormzSpK1ChRUnRiN_bsEzeFec-V8N7rhsWTv9YZmHg/s1782/William-Holden-Sunset-Boulevard-1950.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1300" data-original-width="1782" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoRm3iRzIjNn4d7gEMEGJumbQYebi16abKbmVVK2EDShcCTwa0SbMDn3KUp8KpaVzL75T0NSNcPbau8fuVN44YRGp7jl86yXM_5ormzSpK1ChRUnRiN_bsEzeFec-V8N7rhsWTv9YZmHg/w400-h291/William-Holden-Sunset-Boulevard-1950.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">William Holden as Joe Gillis</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzIlfKIXQ5lgTs0DO-_7UDYY7sgcmJQqTvuJtcztUZvfHrWrSkFuHaups0nwxEb-wBI6HDnIzdSZCaCkim_4sKiw5fkPNggklQUigI9vRS2_p3QSFlTPjNKJu0F86KzpY0jbyvE9ZSI00/s1779/Nancy-Olson-Sunset-Boulevard-1950.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1302" data-original-width="1779" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzIlfKIXQ5lgTs0DO-_7UDYY7sgcmJQqTvuJtcztUZvfHrWrSkFuHaups0nwxEb-wBI6HDnIzdSZCaCkim_4sKiw5fkPNggklQUigI9vRS2_p3QSFlTPjNKJu0F86KzpY0jbyvE9ZSI00/w400-h293/Nancy-Olson-Sunset-Boulevard-1950.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nancy Olson as Betty Schaefer</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2L9h3Dm3Nsqq14dJLl1qY-3zVPzQ5MI1y0dRaXhrkEpkNW7b1pID3HoLE_ujYkokVUH5ZTNvwybJUjzMm5FTG8LpPo_2BT_QPJYStByr2KMR5pfupcsX75bp2LNjA95o-7LRWPeoJM6Y/s1782/Erich-von-Stroheim-Sunset-Boulevard-1950.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1295" data-original-width="1782" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2L9h3Dm3Nsqq14dJLl1qY-3zVPzQ5MI1y0dRaXhrkEpkNW7b1pID3HoLE_ujYkokVUH5ZTNvwybJUjzMm5FTG8LpPo_2BT_QPJYStByr2KMR5pfupcsX75bp2LNjA95o-7LRWPeoJM6Y/w400-h291/Erich-von-Stroheim-Sunset-Boulevard-1950.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Erich von Stroheim as Max Von Mayerling</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><div>Everything about <i>Sunset Boulevard</i>'s set-up (from a screenplay by Wilder, Charles Brackett, and D.M. Marshman) is strictly Gothic Horror 101. The stranger-in-distress who happens upon a crumbling castle occupied by a mad scientist and henchman is a horror movie trope so timeworn it's parodied in <i>The Rocky Horror Picture Show</i> and countless Warner Bros. cartoons. Only in this instance, down-on-his-luck screenwriter Joe Gillis is the stranger in need, a decaying Beverly Hills mansion plays stand-in for the castle, and of course, it doesn’t take much imagination to picture fading silent screen star Norma Desmond as Frank N. Furter and Max as Riff Raff. </div><div>Gothic tradition gives us a mad scientist obsessed with regenerating dead human tissue, <i>Sunset Boulevard</i> has a mad actress obsessed with regenerating a dead career.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwXaGygGRsT_kFuCKLee3-ZvlI9Ha7xtIdn-I5Nr2dURr6P16ThY_DuLVrq712A3OCLDe3wDhX620M01NqwcVtBorUAgL1SgYAzZjlfjLRDDZkwlpOWkS4Q8XoKtlsNqTig-QUuAvUDUI/s1777/Sunset-Boulevard-William-Holden-1950.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1305" data-original-width="1777" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwXaGygGRsT_kFuCKLee3-ZvlI9Ha7xtIdn-I5Nr2dURr6P16ThY_DuLVrq712A3OCLDe3wDhX620M01NqwcVtBorUAgL1SgYAzZjlfjLRDDZkwlpOWkS4Q8XoKtlsNqTig-QUuAvUDUI/w400-h294/Sunset-Boulevard-William-Holden-1950.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div>The horror indicators keep piling up in <i>Sunset Boulevard</i> as the Old Dark House trope morphs into The Villainous Crush device that always leads to the Domestic Incarceration machination from which our hero (antihero in this case) must escape. To my adolescent sensibilities, <i>Sunset Boulevard</i> was every bit as chilling as any horror movie I’d yet seen. More so, in fact. Well into <i>Sunset Boulevard</i>’s 110-minute running time…what with Franz Waxman’s ominous (Oscar-winning) score; John F. Seitz’s stark and shadowy Black-and-White cinematography; and the utterly unique strangeness of Swanson’s raptorial Norma Desmond…I was certain I was watching Creature Features: The Hollywood Edition. </div><div><br /></div><div>So well had an atmosphere of "anything's possible" bizarreness been established that I was convinced there was going to be some kind of 11th-hour “big reveal” moment…something like Joe discovering that the only room in the house with a lock on it contained the mummified remains of Norma’s ex-husbands. Or that the film’s climax would involve an ax-wielding Norma stalking Joe and Betty through the halls of her Addams Family-chic gothic mansion.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpSK00uUdWoznxSx0raSt0VBK1c22eGPSfjqyeSQyWs4n7WXrITfgvhD_Pa8wPHW3S92Xh5hsNELj_LTUFpc2cNkx6PQ0v8EkGxaOf1CH1yonpwIXzVkct-2BFL0Md4hITYzV4abFtz78/s1784/Sunset-Boulevard-Gloria-Swanson-1950+%25282%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1303" data-original-width="1784" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpSK00uUdWoznxSx0raSt0VBK1c22eGPSfjqyeSQyWs4n7WXrITfgvhD_Pa8wPHW3S92Xh5hsNELj_LTUFpc2cNkx6PQ0v8EkGxaOf1CH1yonpwIXzVkct-2BFL0Md4hITYzV4abFtz78/w419-h307/Sunset-Boulevard-Gloria-Swanson-1950+%25282%2529.JPG" width="419" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Norma Desmond, The Hollywood Chimera<br />Age isn't the only reason Hollywood banished Norma Desmond to the scrap heap. The subtleties of Gloria Swanson's extravagantly operatic characterization (and Oscar-worthy performance...she was robbed!) suggest that Norma knows only one channel. Her gestures, manner of speech, & facial expressions are representative of an acting style that had long gone out of fashion. </b><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><div>Despite thwarting my cliché-fed, B-movie horror expectations at every turn, <i>Sunset Boulevard</i> nevertheless proved sufficiently dark of theme and weird of story to give me a good case of the willies that evening and a sleep full of nightmares (Norma’s advance to the camera at the end really freaked me out). </div><div>But numerous viewings over the years haven't truly altered my initial impression of <i>Sunset Boulevard</i> as a horror movie, only the syntax: I no longer see it as a horror movie, but it’s most definitely a horrific movie. A nightmare vision of Hollywood that qualifies as a grim antecedent to <i>The Day of the Locust</i> and <i>They Shoot Horses, Don’t They?</i></div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghrb4GQw8_4zsOQQYKFwkz_IVpRp713v24gHHwICdhveOnoTMPhyphenhyphenDBZu7b4CWCXyQyMFlEtzs0d8MbxIp-iNr6lav_yAuVKq4R7E_2KJ2BoTCllc1OCFWqucIWMb15p2dmVyQgfZwZ9qs/s1954/William-Holden-Sunset-Boulevard-1950-Fedora-q1978.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1954" data-original-width="1548" height="466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghrb4GQw8_4zsOQQYKFwkz_IVpRp713v24gHHwICdhveOnoTMPhyphenhyphenDBZu7b4CWCXyQyMFlEtzs0d8MbxIp-iNr6lav_yAuVKq4R7E_2KJ2BoTCllc1OCFWqucIWMb15p2dmVyQgfZwZ9qs/w371-h466/William-Holden-Sunset-Boulevard-1950-Fedora-q1978.jpg" width="371" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Time Passages<br />Twenty-eight years later and Joe is still hustling to make a buck in Hollywood. Billy Wilder (then 74) and William Holden (59) had their 4th screen collaboration in 1978's <a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2018/07/fedora-1978.html" style="font-style: italic;" target="_blank">Fedora</a>.<i> </i>A movie unrelated to <i>Sunset Boulevard</i> that feebly sought to evoke memories of that superior film with its plot involving a down-on-his-luck movie producer (Holden) and a reclusive screen star (Marthe Keller). Critics felt Wilder would have been better off shooting Norma's <i>Salome</i> script.</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>"There's nothing tragic about being fifty -- not unless you try to be twenty-five."</b></div><div><div>In life, aging and the passing of time are so subtle they're almost imperceptible. When you’re young they’re measured in things acquired: experience, independence, wisdom; as you get older they’re measured in things lost: hair, agility, time. And matters aren’t helped any by the fact that one’s chronological age (how old one is) and biological age (how old one feels) are rarely--if ever--in sync. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX6Qu_hnJYmag6yAm1EsLauH5D3rJGki2e-htjb2OGnK2ilQzOM5KNiEWFhVmYifvRRtiy19juwt8YhThBGfeIph8Kzmmfp06ng0Ivbbsx1-HwrSferFJ_HRd_5RmicHhxG7WAJV3djAs/s1787/Gloria-Swanson-Sunset-Boulevard-Charlie-Chaplin-1950.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1304" data-original-width="1787" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX6Qu_hnJYmag6yAm1EsLauH5D3rJGki2e-htjb2OGnK2ilQzOM5KNiEWFhVmYifvRRtiy19juwt8YhThBGfeIph8Kzmmfp06ng0Ivbbsx1-HwrSferFJ_HRd_5RmicHhxG7WAJV3djAs/w400-h293/Gloria-Swanson-Sunset-Boulevard-Charlie-Chaplin-1950.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>That's How Young I Feel <br />Anyone thinking Norma's reaction to being a 50-year-old woman in Hollywood is hysterical would do well to remember when the James Bond film<i> Spectre</i> garnered global headlines in 2015 simply for casting 50-year-old Monica Bellucci as 46-year-old Daniel Craig's love interest. </b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><div><br /></div><div>In Hollywood, where time is the enemy and aging is regarded as a bad career move, <i>Sunset Boulevard</i> sees the ironic tragedy in the story of a woman for whom time has stood still being overlooked by an industry that’s literally in the business of stopping time. The Dream Factory paradox is that Hollywood is only able to peddle the fantasy of eternal youth and beauty by callously discarding its manufactured idols the moment their images are tarnished by reality (i.e., age). </div><div>That’s where the horrific part of the Hollywood nightmare comes in. Are the stars who mutilate and starve themselves in an effort to hold onto youth considered "sane" because doing so keeps them in the game and they understand that's how the game is played? Certainly, the public seems to think so. </div><div>In 2015, social media drew the ire of the late Carrie Fisher when <i>Star Wars</i> fans deemed the then-59-year-old actor to have "aged badly" since her Princess Leia in a metal bikini days. Her response: <i>"Youth and beauty are not accomplishments. They are the temporary happy by-products of time and/or DNA. Don't hold your breath for either."</i> </div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnsdhBqHPFniPTQXEkEjw3NB6TyzJKSJ6ByWr5R_epytFFHYTM07nO7v_otgs2UI3WNlnuSxL2GuwBWyaHWVUvqX45MupPgs_fZO7pgJlQNx0V7bcyu9jR4BFLNGnXDupuWL9XNZwkcX4/s1786/Gloria-Swanson-Sunset-Boulevard-Norma-Desmond-1950.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1305" data-original-width="1786" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnsdhBqHPFniPTQXEkEjw3NB6TyzJKSJ6ByWr5R_epytFFHYTM07nO7v_otgs2UI3WNlnuSxL2GuwBWyaHWVUvqX45MupPgs_fZO7pgJlQNx0V7bcyu9jR4BFLNGnXDupuWL9XNZwkcX4/w400-h293/Gloria-Swanson-Sunset-Boulevard-Norma-Desmond-1950.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Is Norma's insanity that she can't distinguish fantasy from reality, <br />or simply that she learned Hollywood's lessons all too well?</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>"All cardboard, all hollow, all phony, all done with mirrors."</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div><i>Sunset Boulevard</i>’s allegorical use of Hollywood’s artificiality serves to underscore its themes related to our susceptibility to fantasy, the importance of maintaining one's authenticity, the easy corruptibility of our values, and the price of losing touch with reality. </div><div>And indeed, between the film’s use of genuine, Hollywood locations (Schwab's Pharmacy), real movie industry personalities appearing as themselves (Cecil B DeMille, Hedda Hopper), and silent-era star Gloria Swanson and silent-era director Erich von Stroheim playing characters that are NOT themselves, but kinda are… <i>Sunset Boulevard</i> blurs the line between fantasy and reality as freely as Norma herself.</div><div>In the 70-plus years since <i>Sunset Boulevard</i>’s release, Hollywood really hasn’t changed all that much. But the world HAS become a bit more like Norma.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUqI_6tlX8sXYxCccwQSmD3xhWfFUa5H8Fdhp6LqmP2wPUaSVVRr1sdb5ykM4Wsib1CN1br5WhxefH-MuV75P0OS_CJBEokayFwMcAOIWJFVxM6redsIV6Rsb2m147IncqMAXFWyP80PM/s1784/Gloria-Swanson-Sunset-Boulevard-1950-Norma-Desmond.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1289" data-original-width="1784" height="302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUqI_6tlX8sXYxCccwQSmD3xhWfFUa5H8Fdhp6LqmP2wPUaSVVRr1sdb5ykM4Wsib1CN1br5WhxefH-MuV75P0OS_CJBEokayFwMcAOIWJFVxM6redsIV6Rsb2m147IncqMAXFWyP80PM/w418-h302/Gloria-Swanson-Sunset-Boulevard-1950-Norma-Desmond.JPG" width="418" /></a></div>Norma's cocooned narcissism finds its contemporary corollary in the normalized self-absorption of social media selfie culture where delusions are allowed to run rampant in Instagram and Tik Tok accounts devoted exclusively to self-enchanted images of oneself. Norma would love it. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF9ABUiXKmUg2v8jZW5UtV7Hp-k3QyALgW8LCWzYbLOH0A_TJZroNQdUY-ezzWE7vbnCyfaNQWzAaC9AxS9n_wSwxo9RamVsrGl_Ndwz9bo17bi1pFGHVKHRyNGPg-yMd0CpMawu54Bdc/s1783/Gloria-Swanson-Sunset-Boulevard-1950-Norma-Desmond-Eternal-Youth+%25282%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1295" data-original-width="1783" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF9ABUiXKmUg2v8jZW5UtV7Hp-k3QyALgW8LCWzYbLOH0A_TJZroNQdUY-ezzWE7vbnCyfaNQWzAaC9AxS9n_wSwxo9RamVsrGl_Ndwz9bo17bi1pFGHVKHRyNGPg-yMd0CpMawu54Bdc/w400-h290/Gloria-Swanson-Sunset-Boulevard-1950-Norma-Desmond-Eternal-Youth+%25282%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">The tortuous regimen Norma undergoes in the name of self-rejuvenation, once the somewhat loony but practical province of those whose livelihoods are predicated on their appearance, is child's play compared to what the average person today is willing to subject themselves to under the marketing-friendly brand of "self-esteem."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Yfz1y7dN8gAZ7l-FuxDVfa3Dyd-bcu_DMxVNAbRGZrANaWVAFwYZjdi9tao8PAHW1Kq9v29yhENv3F5U4pYZBAQj01DRWCie2q50apBlH3S5XKP9k2-eM6e4f8__Q6Z9i0lHHmfskg0/s1785/Sunset-Boulevard-Gloria-Swanson-Norma-Desmond-Shut-up-I%2527m+Rich-1950.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1302" data-original-width="1785" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Yfz1y7dN8gAZ7l-FuxDVfa3Dyd-bcu_DMxVNAbRGZrANaWVAFwYZjdi9tao8PAHW1Kq9v29yhENv3F5U4pYZBAQj01DRWCie2q50apBlH3S5XKP9k2-eM6e4f8__Q6Z9i0lHHmfskg0/w400-h291/Sunset-Boulevard-Gloria-Swanson-Norma-Desmond-Shut-up-I%2527m+Rich-1950.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Perhaps most remarkable of all, fame-culture and its attendant wealth-worship has turned America's working poor into the frontline defenders and protectors of the rich. The quickest way to pick a fight on social media these days is to criticize ostentatiously wealthy celebrities or question whether obscenely rich wealth-hoarders should perhaps pay proportionately as much in taxes as disabled veterans living on Social Security. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDTU3ZPUJ_bmkfEbyXNDF2XwWREMPLXeLif_yItdAyJ5v6uvd3D8gqJTJ0r4QgfTyrfmXVCYmv2TVrBYCe2b7Ip4XN7IIDx9d759b1FNPhNCwTFGhmo3leAUPKCjVvq36Q_eJUF6DHna0/s1786/Gloria-Swanson-Sunset-Boulevard-1950.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1301" data-original-width="1786" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDTU3ZPUJ_bmkfEbyXNDF2XwWREMPLXeLif_yItdAyJ5v6uvd3D8gqJTJ0r4QgfTyrfmXVCYmv2TVrBYCe2b7Ip4XN7IIDx9d759b1FNPhNCwTFGhmo3leAUPKCjVvq36Q_eJUF6DHna0/w400-h291/Gloria-Swanson-Sunset-Boulevard-1950.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">I've been told that when I go off on one of my windy jeremiads about what I deem to be the superiority of '70s films over the movies made today, my arguments can take on a tone not dissimilar to Norma Desmond lamenting post-silent-era cinema's lack of "faces" and bemoaning the smallness of "the pict-chas."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><b>A Most Unusual Picture! - Movie poster tagline for <i>Sunset Boulevard</i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkiVj3KBpyoeKtCTYmZLDYIi_7MospBC2UJ09SvdAOs_qM1vH8OG0iaRdy850_JGxOX6bVXsNn5SH6vZqqFZCX7tz4eIL3Are79Z4tM-0OWmJ1D1YCuOhK4sIL5UmWzl-CfrTnBuEKVtY/s1778/Sunset-Boulevard-Gloria-Swanson-William-Holden-1950.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1297" data-original-width="1778" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkiVj3KBpyoeKtCTYmZLDYIi_7MospBC2UJ09SvdAOs_qM1vH8OG0iaRdy850_JGxOX6bVXsNn5SH6vZqqFZCX7tz4eIL3Are79Z4tM-0OWmJ1D1YCuOhK4sIL5UmWzl-CfrTnBuEKVtY/w400-h291/Sunset-Boulevard-Gloria-Swanson-William-Holden-1950.JPG" width="400" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The quotation that headed this essay - "If the monkey hadn't died, the show would be over" - only partially relates to the narrative logic suggesting that had Norma not been anticipating the arrival of an animal mortician, Joe Gillis would have never made it past Max at the front door. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I think the quote also speaks to the loneliness of Norma's life. Whether she considered the chimp to be a pet, a companion, or a child surrogate, it's easy to conjecture that if the monkey hadn't died, perhaps Norma wouldn't have been so desperately lonely. Arguably, Norma's loneliness is the source of much of her pain and madness. Certainly, loneliness and desperation are what prompt her to go full Grand Dame Guignol and all but kidnap and hold hostage a complete stranger. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Although, when speaking of a complete stranger who looks like William Holden...</div></div></div></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZnoHy4hwfXOJFCbc8_lfJCUCVIPczW2PB3rQG86VeV2POA6RRtYXmjan62cn8iFoUL-8xqtmt9RXcIzUCgTHNtKsc2aJ0R6lqL8Y22CDjkmwdefSUXe6hrzLCyNPliIZjecFxIgknibY/s1785/Sunset-Boulevard-Billy_Wilder-1950.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1305" data-original-width="1785" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZnoHy4hwfXOJFCbc8_lfJCUCVIPczW2PB3rQG86VeV2POA6RRtYXmjan62cn8iFoUL-8xqtmt9RXcIzUCgTHNtKsc2aJ0R6lqL8Y22CDjkmwdefSUXe6hrzLCyNPliIZjecFxIgknibY/w400-h293/Sunset-Boulevard-Billy_Wilder-1950.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>BONUS MATERIAL</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6LxhnkoKZZr8Z6RTgFNzezQ35ZqXTDd9ng_qC5I8XekwZ6_bM_IdYfomZfWqFbpTMhyphenhyphen5PPmtBd4-PCWVN9hNuymK3ODylmJMk4nnmkPFKczze03-BudNrzJ74CG2DNKy1yki2I0V5aYE/s1821/Mary-Astor-Darren-McGavin-TV-Version-Sunset-Boulevard-1956.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1300" data-original-width="1821" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6LxhnkoKZZr8Z6RTgFNzezQ35ZqXTDd9ng_qC5I8XekwZ6_bM_IdYfomZfWqFbpTMhyphenhyphen5PPmtBd4-PCWVN9hNuymK3ODylmJMk4nnmkPFKczze03-BudNrzJ74CG2DNKy1yki2I0V5aYE/w400-h285/Mary-Astor-Darren-McGavin-TV-Version-Sunset-Boulevard-1956.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>This fuzzy screencap looks a bit like Dame Edna Everage is having a go at Norma Desmond (which sounds pretty fab, now that I think of it), but it's actually Mary Astor with Darren McGavin in a one-hour television adaptation of <i>Sunset Boulevard</i>. Broadcast in color on NBC December 3, 1956 as part of the anthology program "Robert Montgomery Presents," it was 2nd made-for-television version of the Paramount film. Available for viewing <a href="https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x6cjanl" target="_blank">HERE</a>.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><b><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5oD6k56bNpBptPTl1qDlybMqnn0w_mi7sKLTN5doENAyllMGUAgKyJnwIt7LsY9W1ij6gkJn9PSmhNxN6UgCyK-jmaNuTcwpRaBCStFp4wHycy5D1UlKHsc56vCJd6NqRy4ivuW4Nh6Q/s1988/Sunset-Blvd-The-Musical-January-1994-Los-Angeles-Shubert-Theater-Glenn-Close.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="744" data-original-width="1988" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5oD6k56bNpBptPTl1qDlybMqnn0w_mi7sKLTN5doENAyllMGUAgKyJnwIt7LsY9W1ij6gkJn9PSmhNxN6UgCyK-jmaNuTcwpRaBCStFp4wHycy5D1UlKHsc56vCJd6NqRy4ivuW4Nh6Q/w482-h181/Sunset-Blvd-The-Musical-January-1994-Los-Angeles-Shubert-Theater-Glenn-Close.jpg" width="482" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Although Gloria Swanson herself had unsuccessfully tried to turn <i>Sunset Boulevard </i>into a musical for years, in 1993 Andrew Lloyd Webber, Don Black, and Christopher Hampton premiered their theatrical musical version of <i>Sunset Boulevard</i> in London's West End with Patti LuPone starring as Norma Desmond. The show had its pre-Broadway US opening December 1993 in Los Angeles at the now-defunct Shubert Theater in Century City with Oscar-nominated actress Glenn Close in the lead. I saw the production in January of 1994 and truly loved it. Especially the breathtakingly elaborate production and set design. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkENrEkfJnZgkTzmVMyIhf89k3-hWkpCThLql8M0RdwSu226lj4IsptAmdMtvZPl1YDRA6UCrro9dzLP8O10uK1I-gNtET8BKnICCTNWKqUWW4hibBly4gkPwEcrKfhJjg0I42N-RjoVc/s1518/Sunset-Blvd-Faye-Dunaway-Andrew-Lloyd-Webber-Shubert-Theater-Los_Angeles_June-1994.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1321" data-original-width="1518" height="365" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkENrEkfJnZgkTzmVMyIhf89k3-hWkpCThLql8M0RdwSu226lj4IsptAmdMtvZPl1YDRA6UCrro9dzLP8O10uK1I-gNtET8BKnICCTNWKqUWW4hibBly4gkPwEcrKfhJjg0I42N-RjoVc/w420-h365/Sunset-Blvd-Faye-Dunaway-Andrew-Lloyd-Webber-Shubert-Theater-Los_Angeles_June-1994.jpg" width="420" /></a></div>As magnificent as Glenn Close was, I was in near hysterics when it was announced on June 15, 1994 that Oscar-winner and personal fave Faye Dunaway was set to don Norma Desmond's turban when Glenn Close took <i>Sunset Blvd.</i> to Broadway (with lots of attendant ugliness involving Webber giving the shiv to role-originator LuPone). It mattered not a whit to me that Dunaway had heretofore never evinced even a glimpse of singing ability. We fans of camp knew exactly what her casting in the role augered: <i>"Mommie Dearest, Live!"</i><div>Alas, it wasn't to be.<div>In an 11th-hour twist worthy of <i>Sunset Boulevard</i> itself (screen star rejected!) on June 24th, word came out that Dunaway's services were no longer required and that <i>Sunset Blvd.</i> was to close. Cue the press circus reporting on the conflicting and litigious reasons for the decision. The trouble-plagued production moved on to Broadway where it was a great success, winning several Tony Awards, among them Best Musical and Best Actress. </div><div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbHtuSMUJKzKHwe7ESlRrwS98D1mMm7NTOR8RJEywnVcqZyzoRgnqRF1qLW9ljtoKFE9uFIsdMa6Di40JEvdcFOXSo9BreGdEiIggtIN0to0Qf_L3jO7GZrwjnZE21PxpH-3vsTHZXrA0/s1787/Sunset-Boulevard-Gloria-Swanson-1950.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1303" data-original-width="1787" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbHtuSMUJKzKHwe7ESlRrwS98D1mMm7NTOR8RJEywnVcqZyzoRgnqRF1qLW9ljtoKFE9uFIsdMa6Di40JEvdcFOXSo9BreGdEiIggtIN0to0Qf_L3jO7GZrwjnZE21PxpH-3vsTHZXrA0/w400-h291/Sunset-Boulevard-Gloria-Swanson-1950.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Copyright © Ken Anderson 2009 - 2021</div></div></div>Ken Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04940648971296673233noreply@blogger.com43tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2627032459273165000.post-40938918991705837702021-09-28T03:38:00.041-07:002022-03-23T06:25:04.857-07:00A THOUSAND WORDS: The Art of the Movie Publicity Still<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdog2kRLdgwYUFen067jes-2v1GibQP0urZn14YwfD60FvKS64p9m3bTec4_-tEUuvxEg1-vwk44PVKiMV-wgcuH_1UMaS0r7zWJf2vkEfDmU3ohk0SxNlzZAyTRaRHMZcrrOOjD-rFFc/s1200/Jane-Fonda-Tony-Perkins-Tall-Story-1960.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="674" data-original-width="1200" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdog2kRLdgwYUFen067jes-2v1GibQP0urZn14YwfD60FvKS64p9m3bTec4_-tEUuvxEg1-vwk44PVKiMV-wgcuH_1UMaS0r7zWJf2vkEfDmU3ohk0SxNlzZAyTRaRHMZcrrOOjD-rFFc/w400-h225/Jane-Fonda-Tony-Perkins-Tall-Story-1960.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>A lovestruck Jane Fonda leaves her mark on a photo of lanky basketball star<br /> Anthony Perkins to publicize her film debut in <i>Tall Story</i> (1960) </b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There really ought to have been a special Academy Award category devoted to the creative artists behind the Classic Hollywood studio publicity still. Tasked with capturing the essence of an entire motion picture via a single photographic image, the resourceful, creative, obviously twisted minds responsible for these memorably dynamic, sometimes downright weird publicity photoshoots were the unsung geniuses of movie marketing. The overlooked masters of visual shorthand.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Unlike traditional movie stills, those on-set, taken-in-the-process-of-filming production photos displayed in movie theater lobbies depicting movie scenes from vantage points approximating the cinematographer's POV—the Hollywood publicity still shares no such allegiance to reality. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq9kFEGsUhMQHQjSa6YP4tXgjcqo8jx-Hu9zaKC8_pugKeVp290SajgZu_bv5SkhYQAMhXZQVz1hlIMNFeVHe8dccbjhZx8THzJpenouH753W7g8_w5XDzYyLdorrEEe7i0KFxi3tWz34/s1566/Nancy-Olsen-Sunset-Blvd-1950.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1566" data-original-width="1241" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq9kFEGsUhMQHQjSa6YP4tXgjcqo8jx-Hu9zaKC8_pugKeVp290SajgZu_bv5SkhYQAMhXZQVz1hlIMNFeVHe8dccbjhZx8THzJpenouH753W7g8_w5XDzYyLdorrEEe7i0KFxi3tWz34/w318-h400/Nancy-Olsen-Sunset-Blvd-1950.jpg" width="318" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>This bafflingly cheery publicity still for the noirish melodrama <i>Sunset Blvd </i>(1950) suggests that perhaps Betty Schaefer (Nancy Olson) did indeed wind up joining fiance Artie in rainy Arizona.</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Used as flexible, all-purpose tools of movie marketing and promotion (poster art, press books, programs, sheet music, fan magazines, newspaper blurbs) publicity stills can be anything from glamour merchandising to conceptual flights of fancy. The scope of what a publicity still could be was so broad, there didn't appear to be many rules that had to be adhered to. So long as cast members were dressed in character, it seemed the sky was the limit as to what the photo itself could be. Art and commerce collide in images that run the gamut from cheesecake to cheesy. Whether utilizing posed tableaus to recreate dramatic sequences from a film, or as stylized evocations of exploitable narrative themes, at their best, they stimulate interest by honing in on the essence of a movie. At their worst (i.e., most fun) they are kitschy, laughably misguided headscratchers capable of achieving almost surreal levels of overwrought theatrical intensity.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And the world's all the better for it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Here are a few of my favorites: </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYyfwhS2ddJcyQjJKjG1E9__J4nCqC4-4qMyA0MTHwF-WGCO3tW_NbnE3ePoe5TV1Gj3iSIU9vcdsW6IwjMAssFKQm_GxKF-9O8daRYb7-7LM1HhgM5l39AHP6U046aqI1SZN22x4JymQ/s1023/Kim-Novak-Jimmy-Stewart-Vertigo-1958.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="826" data-original-width="1023" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYyfwhS2ddJcyQjJKjG1E9__J4nCqC4-4qMyA0MTHwF-WGCO3tW_NbnE3ePoe5TV1Gj3iSIU9vcdsW6IwjMAssFKQm_GxKF-9O8daRYb7-7LM1HhgM5l39AHP6U046aqI1SZN22x4JymQ/w443-h358/Kim-Novak-Jimmy-Stewart-Vertigo-1958.jpg" width="443" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Double Trouble</b></td></tr></tbody></table>In this dramatized publicity still for Alfred Hitchcock's <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2012/03/vertigo-1958.html" target="_blank">Vertigo</a></i> (1958) Jimmy Stewart (or a broad-beamed stand-in) is faced with an embarrassment of riches when it comes to the number of available Kim Novaks at his disposal for possible strangulation. <div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNikdp-XAaoTPlEWxOOSelAKGMED3h8F843BL54jq7dMEJ0x819OtNwGGfIwiPtYd5hBpkiWfEMRBostNmrIteozqM4yjDvGTHL92Tk9UssgpfTFa0Pg6K8LvxL_xt5FpHdBYFq9p03Xg/s1774/Joan-Crawford-strait-jacket-1964.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1774" data-original-width="1280" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNikdp-XAaoTPlEWxOOSelAKGMED3h8F843BL54jq7dMEJ0x819OtNwGGfIwiPtYd5hBpkiWfEMRBostNmrIteozqM4yjDvGTHL92Tk9UssgpfTFa0Pg6K8LvxL_xt5FpHdBYFq9p03Xg/w289-h400/Joan-Crawford-strait-jacket-1964.png" width="289" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Joan Crawford, about to get all up in that ax in the thriller <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2014/04/strait-jacket-1964.html" target="_blank">Strait-Jacket </a></i>(1950)</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDomxsaAK4AUlB5BYZCuHwVkCyrQSh-HGeR9d8eP0UYjjVUCf5FFHLPyzn7dJCD38v-LO7W4GCock9763z-vSgwBT0fEmIPbRKu5hopFGEqkxVmC04fT1iRl8zCVCkQ9RC1a46bRE8fVg/s1840/Lady-In-The-Lake-Portrait-In-Black-Suspense.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="767" data-original-width="1840" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDomxsaAK4AUlB5BYZCuHwVkCyrQSh-HGeR9d8eP0UYjjVUCf5FFHLPyzn7dJCD38v-LO7W4GCock9763z-vSgwBT0fEmIPbRKu5hopFGEqkxVmC04fT1iRl8zCVCkQ9RC1a46bRE8fVg/w465-h193/Lady-In-The-Lake-Portrait-In-Black-Suspense.jpg" width="465" /></a></div>One of the oldest and most enduring of the standard movie publicity poses is the "dramatic clinch" shot. Here ratcheting up the sex and suspense while eyeing an unseen menace are (l. to r.): Robert Montgomery and Audrey Totter in <i>Lady in the Lake</i> (1947), John Saxon and Sandra Dee in <a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2013/12/portrait-in-black-1960.html" target="_blank"><i>Portrait in Black</i> </a>(1960), and mononymous ice-skating star Belita and Barry Sullivan in <i>Suspense </i>(1946).</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf07k7qr5ICqa0vqW6KduQ-rUSA44YwbzDFceBJEWQkJoZCEXuPHxacPHU5Le_QGHVKpP5CK4ublsPBpUJ8g5d7NIAMsSR_aPBbeJoq-H1Aldymjo9hMchb_xOnhojLIMejtLS9bFjVJQ/s2048/Claudia-McNeil-Sidney-Poitier-A-Raisin-in-the-Sun-1961.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1647" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf07k7qr5ICqa0vqW6KduQ-rUSA44YwbzDFceBJEWQkJoZCEXuPHxacPHU5Le_QGHVKpP5CK4ublsPBpUJ8g5d7NIAMsSR_aPBbeJoq-H1Aldymjo9hMchb_xOnhojLIMejtLS9bFjVJQ/w321-h400/Claudia-McNeil-Sidney-Poitier-A-Raisin-in-the-Sun-1961.jpg" width="321" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Why, I oughtta...</b></td></tr></tbody></table>A looming Claudia McNeil gives vent (somewhat unconvincingly) to her maternal frustration while a distracted Sidney Poitier strikes the universal "I've got a pain in my tum tum" pose for <i>A Raisin in the Sun</i> (1961).</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFmY8eyYmGVummxO3hozXMX8pCcTK-NKWwO6QQRW0MrKqALR69YCHdRIn9ZbMmjk9hc_psOHKl2ylJqXhS6Q25dL5ozf4WdnKz7shVH1Ot_GVgGr6mZ2BZbE2mdvaRUaJ7VBhf023Ye8k/s934/Doris-Day-Midnight-Lace-1960-Patty-Duke-Valley-of-the-Dolls-1967.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="464" data-original-width="934" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFmY8eyYmGVummxO3hozXMX8pCcTK-NKWwO6QQRW0MrKqALR69YCHdRIn9ZbMmjk9hc_psOHKl2ylJqXhS6Q25dL5ozf4WdnKz7shVH1Ot_GVgGr6mZ2BZbE2mdvaRUaJ7VBhf023Ye8k/w471-h234/Doris-Day-Midnight-Lace-1960-Patty-Duke-Valley-of-the-Dolls-1967.jpg" width="471" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Standing in the Shadows</b></td></tr></tbody></table>Fretful Doris Day and her phone-accommodating flip hairdo are unaware of the threat lurking in the backlit doorway in this intense publicity shot for <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2017/06/midnight-lace-1960.html" target="_blank">Midnight Lace</a> </i>(1960). Meanwhile, Patty Duke ponders how far the mighty and self-centered have fallen while supervised by a shirtless symbol of her degradation in this artfully posed promotional still for <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/09/valley-of-dolls-1967.html" target="_blank">Valley of the Dolls </a></i>(1967) that ultimately made it into the U.S. one-sheet poster art.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiYHW8-f6d6tb3bM8xDQRrgpYxOjZN1fLUfspd-5_3Y1IydPAHWG88aQ_4AtqJggtNi-DF6QkdAskk6F7Q5ZLMLP9Hv9TaVTpkdGyUVO4vLhgCouOmmG_sfKVVZ06DKqcBATf7YPHcafs/s1500/Anthony-Quinn-Shirley-Booth-Hot-Spell-1958.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1119" data-original-width="1500" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiYHW8-f6d6tb3bM8xDQRrgpYxOjZN1fLUfspd-5_3Y1IydPAHWG88aQ_4AtqJggtNi-DF6QkdAskk6F7Q5ZLMLP9Hv9TaVTpkdGyUVO4vLhgCouOmmG_sfKVVZ06DKqcBATf7YPHcafs/w416-h311/Anthony-Quinn-Shirley-Booth-Hot-Spell-1958.jpg" width="416" /></a></div>This publicity still for the overheated "sweat & sweet-tea" domestic melodrama <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2015/11/hot-spell-1958.html" target="_blank">Hot Spell</a></i> (1958) is pretty much on the nose in capturing what this movie is all about. It's a safe bet that whatever is suggested to you by this image of an anguished Anthony Quinn and solicitous Shirley Booth...is exactly what you're going to get.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4KUb4psSYlMQ6KV8eMVS41Z4Jqcf95L40iOgygpO4iYhBv_vYnxB8fWst7kp7qRdmGbDrZxNrEP1j5f-gNy7CDyQum8WgChivjrPs4dQ1hXUd2V_wkHULwTv0-i219jwdGEJlpyzsBak/s1393/John-Ireland-I+Saw-What-You-Did-1965-Peggy-Ann-Garner-Black-Widow-1954.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="693" data-original-width="1393" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4KUb4psSYlMQ6KV8eMVS41Z4Jqcf95L40iOgygpO4iYhBv_vYnxB8fWst7kp7qRdmGbDrZxNrEP1j5f-gNy7CDyQum8WgChivjrPs4dQ1hXUd2V_wkHULwTv0-i219jwdGEJlpyzsBak/w476-h237/John-Ireland-I+Saw-What-You-Did-1965-Peggy-Ann-Garner-Black-Widow-1954.jpg" width="476" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>"We're all in our private traps."</b></td></tr></tbody></table>The stagy theatricality of these two frames-within-a-frame compositions may inspire giggles, but they also offer a healthy dose of mystery and plenty of visual appeal. Skeevy-looking John Ireland will have you wondering whether he's breaking in or out in <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2016/03/i-saw-what-you-did-1965.html" target="_blank">I Saw What You Did</a></i> (1965). And the ambiguous expression on the face of poodle-cut cutie Peggy Ann Garner could be that of either the spider or the fly in this sticky web image for <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2015/01/black-widow-1954.html" target="_blank">Black Widow</a></i> (1954).</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuLlfVDq-zsagXlHi-BEdOGEBRuxnSlDPrNZXAb54TDFjg0l8geyXHrBGXtMj_CtrvFDNWs5saLeLV0V8aBqBya2oJUdVcsHldIC62Ksw7zxIjYWnmR0z53JTulrTBxeAQyGmpGsFWeWk/s1856/Vera-Miles-John-Gavin-Jant-Leigh-Psycho-1960.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1856" data-original-width="1500" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuLlfVDq-zsagXlHi-BEdOGEBRuxnSlDPrNZXAb54TDFjg0l8geyXHrBGXtMj_CtrvFDNWs5saLeLV0V8aBqBya2oJUdVcsHldIC62Ksw7zxIjYWnmR0z53JTulrTBxeAQyGmpGsFWeWk/w324-h400/Vera-Miles-John-Gavin-Jant-Leigh-Psycho-1960.jpg" width="324" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>There's Something About an Empty Chair</b></td></tr></tbody></table>The better to conceal its surprises, advance publicity stills for Alfred Hitchcock's <i>Psycho</i> (1960) were intriguingly vague exercises in misdirection. The stars were posed in groupings and compositions designed to give the right, wrong impression. Here, decades before Clint Eastwood's GOP senility stunt, an empty chair holds dominant visual sway while a correspondingly wooden John Gavin protectively embraces apprehensive co-stars Vera Miles and Janet Leigh.<div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn6AD6Bp0upnvgwb7B7_7MeN1_cU5yB1eHEY58JiljSd74WMC8QSlF7EmW0Y_sTtilnl9lTXoHNYcKA41ge52L7QfHDsys93b-najbPnYbDowGNtce15s6iRPIAhwlxgDpRePT5rYc7CA/s1742/Lizabeth-Scott-Dean-Martin-Jerry-Lewis-Scared-Stiff-1953.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1742" data-original-width="1500" height="442" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn6AD6Bp0upnvgwb7B7_7MeN1_cU5yB1eHEY58JiljSd74WMC8QSlF7EmW0Y_sTtilnl9lTXoHNYcKA41ge52L7QfHDsys93b-najbPnYbDowGNtce15s6iRPIAhwlxgDpRePT5rYc7CA/w381-h442/Lizabeth-Scott-Dean-Martin-Jerry-Lewis-Scared-Stiff-1953.jpg" width="381" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">In a welcome change of pace, comedy pair Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis are the ones quivering and quaking as they seek shelter behind lovely Lizabeth Scott in <i>Scared Stiff </i>(1953)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisHndPuFUthyMxQevrG4-_ayJnulkyUTNH_E-24CceH6IKef_vHonkvFkgiHbRp4UbuZhe7a-GNkNBGrkbGYCK6pmOpG9JDhWdgj2gXKO1a9aBbqmgdwrdK7mPR1gFBo05A2JAb6YMwjc/s1319/Singing-in-the-Rain-1952-Bye-Bye-Birdie-1963.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="650" data-original-width="1319" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisHndPuFUthyMxQevrG4-_ayJnulkyUTNH_E-24CceH6IKef_vHonkvFkgiHbRp4UbuZhe7a-GNkNBGrkbGYCK6pmOpG9JDhWdgj2gXKO1a9aBbqmgdwrdK7mPR1gFBo05A2JAb6YMwjc/w469-h232/Singing-in-the-Rain-1952-Bye-Bye-Birdie-1963.jpg" width="469" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Ain't We Got Fun </b></td></tr></tbody></table>Publicity stills for musicals and comedies are all about communicating movement, excitement, and lightheartedness. Thus, gag poses, broad mugging, and beaming stars engaged in wacky shenanigans are the order of the day. Here, jazz-handed Gene Kelley and Debbie Reynolds do-wacka-do & vo-do-de-o-do to a fare-thee-well for <i>Singin' in the Rain </i>(1952). Next to them are "teenagers" Ann-Margret and Bobby Rydell getting high for <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2013/03/bye-bye-birdie-1963.html" target="_blank">Bye Bye Birdie </a></i>(1963). <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhMIhSAxUmigotEPKjo6sU40aR4BEQO5XH1dwDxhIqmwOnKh-4lcjPMCWCqKYHvDT55ASNhOMZgTaqqH39bTOwMUBbxGvPq6V9nYLEe0UIW2O2mABqy330JXe5XNZEV3mTPPhFqkFZ0u8/s1518/Mia-Farrow-Rosemarys-Baby-1968.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1518" data-original-width="1000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhMIhSAxUmigotEPKjo6sU40aR4BEQO5XH1dwDxhIqmwOnKh-4lcjPMCWCqKYHvDT55ASNhOMZgTaqqH39bTOwMUBbxGvPq6V9nYLEe0UIW2O2mABqy330JXe5XNZEV3mTPPhFqkFZ0u8/w264-h400/Mia-Farrow-Rosemarys-Baby-1968.jpg" width="264" /></a></div>An outtake from a publicity photo shoot for <a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/09/rosemarys-baby-1968.html" target="_blank"><i>Rosemary's Baby</i></a> (1968) that wins major points for that <i>Woolworth's </i>baby buggy and Mia Farrow's really-not-all-that-into-it emoting.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhApH4aVrQLucYmV-JfLoM5_QDDHeewrKD62HvXt8Abxp5YN0br18SE633r7Jtu6xwA9pb6yi7T19BtD2VKZhrT-LLP8Z8CDOyytmsTp5sm818TJtczN8SJqh-W9WgtvIQ3LfuDcdaS6E/s1500/Joan-Crawford-Wendell-Corey-Harriet-Craig-1950.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1160" data-original-width="1500" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhApH4aVrQLucYmV-JfLoM5_QDDHeewrKD62HvXt8Abxp5YN0br18SE633r7Jtu6xwA9pb6yi7T19BtD2VKZhrT-LLP8Z8CDOyytmsTp5sm818TJtczN8SJqh-W9WgtvIQ3LfuDcdaS6E/w400-h309/Joan-Crawford-Wendell-Corey-Harriet-Craig-1950.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>No, not here</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">Something about this picture of Wendell Corey and Joan Crawford for <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2012/04/harriet-craig-1950.html" target="_blank">Harriet Craig</a></i> (1950) feels a little off (her head position and body placement look all wonky). Otherwise, it's a classic, standard publicity pose signifying romantic melodrama.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi52sS_v0x5xDvPwOSdDn59V5y1sztDvFvU4sMqeZYQ0BDBPxi2_521T94SftmdIwQo26fafF87VNIE3VBbGrVOr58iOH1OWevofTgQtf4RmjM33TD37sR4QNuaA2idwJqjCgDP4kr9MZY/s1792/Jose-Ferrer-June-Allyson-The-Shrike-1955.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1792" data-original-width="1500" height="441" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi52sS_v0x5xDvPwOSdDn59V5y1sztDvFvU4sMqeZYQ0BDBPxi2_521T94SftmdIwQo26fafF87VNIE3VBbGrVOr58iOH1OWevofTgQtf4RmjM33TD37sR4QNuaA2idwJqjCgDP4kr9MZY/w369-h441/Jose-Ferrer-June-Allyson-The-Shrike-1955.jpg" width="369" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Peek-A-Boo</b></td></tr></tbody></table>Academy Award-winning actor Jose Ferrer made his directing debut with <i>The Shrike </i>(1955), a noirish domestic melodrama that keeps tripping over its casual misogyny. As star and director, Ferrer's fondness for gifting himself numerous closeups in the film is mirrored in this striking pose that finds a partially obscured, non-smiling June Allyson clinging, raptor-like to her hunk with the hangdog expression. For all the drama of this image, it's the band-aid on Allyson's hand that draws my attention. <div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirTF1gajlq15cB6gEtfeh4DlvQGdhqM3MyfFl5MFN_nlSr-FeqrQmMv6XdZjg4B1pTfbasPmpwq2fe2eDrlw1B3D8vmNyVFx3ExAy7aQx9hRUdsnU5FKInzzeBvi5yCZQxeHJwqR0GjIw/s1409/Gary-Cooper-Patricia-Neal-The-Fountainhead-1949-Gerald-Grant-Claire-Wilbur-Casey-Donovan-Score-1974.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="945" data-original-width="1409" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirTF1gajlq15cB6gEtfeh4DlvQGdhqM3MyfFl5MFN_nlSr-FeqrQmMv6XdZjg4B1pTfbasPmpwq2fe2eDrlw1B3D8vmNyVFx3ExAy7aQx9hRUdsnU5FKInzzeBvi5yCZQxeHJwqR0GjIw/w457-h308/Gary-Cooper-Patricia-Neal-The-Fountainhead-1949-Gerald-Grant-Claire-Wilbur-Casey-Donovan-Score-1974.jpg" width="457" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Hip Huggers</b></td></tr></tbody></table>The time-honored "leg cling" pose of fantasy art and pulp paperbacks tends to look even more absurd when rendered in the flesh. And flesh is just one of several points of variance between these publicity stills. On the left, middle-aged alpha Gary Cooper looks ready to take on the world for evening-gowned clinging vine Patricia Neal in <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2012/01/the-fountainhead-1949.html" target="_blank">The Fountainhead</a></i> (1949). On the right, clothing-challenged married couple Claire Wilbur and Gerald Grant (standing) agree that three's company, provided kneeling neighbor Calvin Culver is ready to make room for daddy in Radley Metzger's<i> Score</i> (1973).</div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuz-_PDSIfhB8ziQ8zED8APEReIvVUxBsQtl-cbL1e3F96u1Vu-Kjj7MdOK-8CtNmt5MomzDn3nUGeh3YiWGsSYEZpY-v-dX4Rw9f50bmq1h633a6382K8QNgJoSlwhns_WSzbeSpuKoo/s1879/Tony-Perkins-Burl-Ives-Desire-Under-The-Elms-1958.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1879" data-original-width="1500" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuz-_PDSIfhB8ziQ8zED8APEReIvVUxBsQtl-cbL1e3F96u1Vu-Kjj7MdOK-8CtNmt5MomzDn3nUGeh3YiWGsSYEZpY-v-dX4Rw9f50bmq1h633a6382K8QNgJoSlwhns_WSzbeSpuKoo/w319-h400/Tony-Perkins-Burl-Ives-Desire-Under-The-Elms-1958.jpg" width="319" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Unhand me, you brute</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;">Burl Ives tries to reason with Tony Perkins in <i>Desire Under the Elms </i>(1958)</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje-FpECJr54mSCmuEXXukMKpfzbkK8Bg3XjQOQKR51K4OC3_us7b-yVJ3_G4LfaFd0EUq7gX8f0RZ1qjwomoW818MZ_18sacWA3AZxf8I4fUi4PGTgN1vOjf8rw-8YUzECXwG9-L1PHsg/s1680/Paula-Prentiss-Jim-Hutton-Where-the-Boys-Are-1960.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1680" data-original-width="1200" height="442" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje-FpECJr54mSCmuEXXukMKpfzbkK8Bg3XjQOQKR51K4OC3_us7b-yVJ3_G4LfaFd0EUq7gX8f0RZ1qjwomoW818MZ_18sacWA3AZxf8I4fUi4PGTgN1vOjf8rw-8YUzECXwG9-L1PHsg/w316-h442/Paula-Prentiss-Jim-Hutton-Where-the-Boys-Are-1960.jpg" width="316" /></a></div>If ever there was a woman who could get a guy to simultaneously lose his pith helmet and throw his chukka boots in the air, it's leggy Paula Prentiss. In this top favorite publicity still, six foot five Jim Hutton willingly succumbs to Prentiss' five foot ten charms to promote <i>Where the Boys Are </i>(1960).</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJVPp8JmKrNjn-0DIUKUOgWFyweRj00uJxu3I-FqLb8LKRIx-JAju33nzTzaDmaUJVTj3CFgmFXlejfH5VD9N2D01cgUtLNtQU57U82CkwxnBf13C_9QlQMxMByKqjhbUaOdNUPlfox7k/s1803/Harry-Belafonte-Dorothy-Dandridge-Carmen-Jones-1954-Montgomery-Clift-Olivia-deHavilland-Ralph-Richardson-The-Heiress-1949.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1803" data-original-width="1185" height="526" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJVPp8JmKrNjn-0DIUKUOgWFyweRj00uJxu3I-FqLb8LKRIx-JAju33nzTzaDmaUJVTj3CFgmFXlejfH5VD9N2D01cgUtLNtQU57U82CkwxnBf13C_9QlQMxMByKqjhbUaOdNUPlfox7k/w346-h526/Harry-Belafonte-Dorothy-Dandridge-Carmen-Jones-1954-Montgomery-Clift-Olivia-deHavilland-Ralph-Richardson-The-Heiress-1949.jpg" width="346" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Two Triangles Make a Parallelogram </b></td></tr></tbody></table>Well, the conflict in <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2016/02/the-heiress-1949.html" target="_blank">The Heiress</a></i> (1949) isn't really a romantic triangle so much as a case of 19th century cockblocking, but you get the idea. However, what the oozing-with-acrimony photo of Harry Belafonte, Dorothy Dandridge, and Joe Adams for <i>Carmen Jones</i> (1954) has in common with the icy arrangement of Montgomery Clift, Olivia de Havilland, and Ralph Richardson below, is that each publicity still attempts to create dramatic tension by not having any two people in the frame looking in the same direction. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqhk8Nq37HvezxludcuHf41zh6R5Q9W8toOsdwHrnnKGdfEtJuNK2AK-_O95uqUfL6LNWfxPqsNR4KTnYA6OWxKlqopjYHu7iWH2g0ME4bA-zGmFSuxB3Rc527rrFEhYxFX7Xr_1mBjWY/s1200/Jim-Hutton-Jane-Fonda-Period-of-Adjustment-1962.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1200" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqhk8Nq37HvezxludcuHf41zh6R5Q9W8toOsdwHrnnKGdfEtJuNK2AK-_O95uqUfL6LNWfxPqsNR4KTnYA6OWxKlqopjYHu7iWH2g0ME4bA-zGmFSuxB3Rc527rrFEhYxFX7Xr_1mBjWY/w400-h300/Jim-Hutton-Jane-Fonda-Period-of-Adjustment-1962.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Jim Hutton and Jane Fonda again, this time appearing in what might be looked upon as the perfect, quintessential movie publicity still. It does everything a marketing movie still is supposed to do. From the costuming, poses, props, and actors' expressions, you don't have to know anything about Tennessee Williams' <i>Period of Adjustment</i> (1962) to look at this photo and instantly know everything. One image says it all. </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2pxRvT5Rh0hEHWKwLO0uWLQwtf16EuZroEhw_RlvCfUkqyIuqZKx3JVZNvl2j-5ZBMXbSg8n79c1hQ2MXxC_YBifEftl2Ni5vhYt-8qKdngh_485sWgVQrqKtzB8Xu0BENKDHv7XGApw/s1649/Play-Misty-For-Me-Jessica_Walter-Clint-Eastwood-1971.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="813" data-original-width="1649" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2pxRvT5Rh0hEHWKwLO0uWLQwtf16EuZroEhw_RlvCfUkqyIuqZKx3JVZNvl2j-5ZBMXbSg8n79c1hQ2MXxC_YBifEftl2Ni5vhYt-8qKdngh_485sWgVQrqKtzB8Xu0BENKDHv7XGApw/w475-h235/Play-Misty-For-Me-Jessica_Walter-Clint-Eastwood-1971.jpg" width="475" /></a></div><div><br /></div>I leave you with this terrific shot from a publicity photo shoot with Jessica Walter and Clint Eastwood that ultimately led to the creation of the poster art for <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2014/05/play-misty-for-me-1971.html" target="_blank">Play Misty for Me</a></i> (1971). A photo whose comic artificiality stands as a great reminder of all the illusion, fantasy, and magic that's sold to us by the movies. No wonder they call Hollywood The Dream Factory.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJbcitZxJk-DyJCT22TJKqg0xygLFL6E1RL5wKMKPswgB5MhdqbfF5rl-VCDsXUR3XYnoayMR9qVEN5ls7zmcX9JVLX0so8C3izcu9SUpDXopt00KLVZ3-FSkKhdROn724JWpyxfF7KGU/s5104/Hollywood+Movie+Slogan+1958.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="5104" height="30" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJbcitZxJk-DyJCT22TJKqg0xygLFL6E1RL5wKMKPswgB5MhdqbfF5rl-VCDsXUR3XYnoayMR9qVEN5ls7zmcX9JVLX0so8C3izcu9SUpDXopt00KLVZ3-FSkKhdROn724JWpyxfF7KGU/w400-h30/Hollywood+Movie+Slogan+1958.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJuXir3eGdFWeMepEkK7hQh_yYr0LwbKXO3l-nPnSlcdq1L10WOYfn5mrjBxvJwTBv2BjG3nF-qLQaps2XW2b7LvykUR4k2wIm07CYo5k05CXg13inD8ev3Y63Dd9LDVXEtC8AdYK6wAc/s1018/Jean-Harlow+%25282%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="910" data-original-width="1018" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJuXir3eGdFWeMepEkK7hQh_yYr0LwbKXO3l-nPnSlcdq1L10WOYfn5mrjBxvJwTBv2BjG3nF-qLQaps2XW2b7LvykUR4k2wIm07CYo5k05CXg13inD8ev3Y63Dd9LDVXEtC8AdYK6wAc/w320-h286/Jean-Harlow+%25282%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKscWkgFG1SFyNK-jUyaLNSNNerrSQtlhh_miAgUJwkbjrwNdVmt3p4lXZz1NbmJA3i1C0CW4oK-DZ6PNhaSC0phe-L1rHtQaFkjNIoZImijE3jOp_k9BrxnhVlwwc4kWPOnu8GZpec8Q/s797/Spencer-Tracy-Elizabeth-Taylor-father-of-the-bride-1950.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="797" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKscWkgFG1SFyNK-jUyaLNSNNerrSQtlhh_miAgUJwkbjrwNdVmt3p4lXZz1NbmJA3i1C0CW4oK-DZ6PNhaSC0phe-L1rHtQaFkjNIoZImijE3jOp_k9BrxnhVlwwc4kWPOnu8GZpec8Q/w257-h320/Spencer-Tracy-Elizabeth-Taylor-father-of-the-bride-1950.jpg" width="257" /></a></div>D. Kucharski submitted this odd Daddy Dearest-style publicity still of Spencer Tracy looking a little too into spanking Elizabeth Taylor for the Vincente Minnelli comedy <i>Father of the Bride </i>(1950). <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaRorXvCe-OwCmG02N8F6ZpjItTpJgz-G8PBE37FDTAO8xO8-W5NSeeoxt56MyMi6PNiIVsss_Dig4eIByALv5ZO64MuOTJlXUJKRCDLDRbwjilcjChh7q-F7qr5v1cs7tZjUn1Xkysio/s1600/Poseidon-Adventure-cast-1972.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1277" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaRorXvCe-OwCmG02N8F6ZpjItTpJgz-G8PBE37FDTAO8xO8-W5NSeeoxt56MyMi6PNiIVsss_Dig4eIByALv5ZO64MuOTJlXUJKRCDLDRbwjilcjChh7q-F7qr5v1cs7tZjUn1Xkysio/w319-h400/Poseidon-Adventure-cast-1972.jpg" width="319" /></a></div>Blogger <a href="https://neptsdepths.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Poseidon</a> submitted this <i>Grand Hotel</i>-style publicity still for <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2017/11/the-poseidon-adventure-1972.html" target="_blank">The Poseidon Adventure</a></i> (1972). A leg-centric, all-star cast grouping that serves up 3 variations on the "dramatic clinch" pose. As with all the photos on this blog, you can click on them to enlarge. That way you can get a better look at Carol Lynley (ironically, the film's most hysterical character) failing to get into the spirit of things by joining her castmates in looking fearful. Then there's Eric Shea forgetting that his life is supposed to be in peril and presenting his best "grade school picture day" smile. And at the top, like the star on a Christmas tree, we have Gene Hackman's unfortunate male bouffant.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglbsJdjN91z0SnTU3Q2r0l7HkIFFiBrISu0zdAJNCslfYLlBRth19z2fI0JR40u2syWdzGoZx0Kmbirtndsij2bAdnnB9bN9DFpb1_3RQIo9KzQ4J4vwH3jbUr8jAph1TQYSxw0IAh7PA/s1230/George-Hamilton-Sandra-Dee-Doctor-You-ve-Got-To-Be-Kidding-1967.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1230" data-original-width="963" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglbsJdjN91z0SnTU3Q2r0l7HkIFFiBrISu0zdAJNCslfYLlBRth19z2fI0JR40u2syWdzGoZx0Kmbirtndsij2bAdnnB9bN9DFpb1_3RQIo9KzQ4J4vwH3jbUr8jAph1TQYSxw0IAh7PA/w314-h400/George-Hamilton-Sandra-Dee-Doctor-You-ve-Got-To-Be-Kidding-1967.jpg" width="314" /></a></div>B. Zwinge submitted this walking-on-air image of what I initially thought to be hyper-tan mannequin George Hamilton and a little girl. It is indeed Hamilton, but said little girl is 24-year-old Sandra Dee. This Stride-Rite shoe ad of a publicity still is for the unwatchable 1967 sex "comedy" <i> Doctor, You've Got to be Kidding! </i><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz0-Sk1VADpADcsIfnRQ4iYBGTme9BXUR-sWSvWPiO-OyalDJ8VOBTf_stApmsAFvAKAEdJp4vllx8KDH572xzZjdDXxSfsgwPQWs_IM2f4Ku_3QdSM9WWjxiq_cEkWDrgtMappPBrfMk/s1600/Barbara-Sstanwyk-The-Furies-1950.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1169" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz0-Sk1VADpADcsIfnRQ4iYBGTme9BXUR-sWSvWPiO-OyalDJ8VOBTf_stApmsAFvAKAEdJp4vllx8KDH572xzZjdDXxSfsgwPQWs_IM2f4Ku_3QdSM9WWjxiq_cEkWDrgtMappPBrfMk/w293-h400/Barbara-Sstanwyk-The-Furies-1950.jpg" width="293" /></a></div>L. Puck submitted this pic of Barbara Stanwyck snarling and literally dressed to kill (or at the very least disfigure) for the western <i>The Furies</i> (1950). <br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div><div><div><br /></div>Copyright © Ken Anderson 2009 - 2021</div></div></div>Ken Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04940648971296673233noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2627032459273165000.post-39870835356634759152021-09-17T03:40:00.010-07:002022-10-12T11:51:43.918-07:00ASYLUM 1972<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW4RTICEyCzqw9iECprcHFKpcFhiaf3zt7pjSbqH7Xeq9Lli5I-c9sxgMlHCohrB-mjVALX82a_EeFGBd2hWD0MPIVJQxhsE1M5-T6NEfZUwt8Dfe-J6h-ckW76k-NemRzKesjv7ttuzI/s2048/Asylum-Amicus-Films-Roy-Ward-Baker-1972.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1153" data-original-width="2048" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW4RTICEyCzqw9iECprcHFKpcFhiaf3zt7pjSbqH7Xeq9Lli5I-c9sxgMlHCohrB-mjVALX82a_EeFGBd2hWD0MPIVJQxhsE1M5-T6NEfZUwt8Dfe-J6h-ckW76k-NemRzKesjv7ttuzI/w400-h225/Asylum-Amicus-Films-Roy-Ward-Baker-1972.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Never Turn Your Back on a Patient</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Of the seven films that make up Amicus Productions' complete catalog of horror anthologies—films released between the years 1965 and 1976—<i>Asylum</i> is my hands-down, all-time favorite. An opinion formed in my early teens based on then having only seen the five entries released in the 1970s: <i>The House That Dripped Blood </i>(1971), <i>Tales from the Crypt </i>(1972), <i>Asylum </i>(1972), <i>Vault of Horror</i> (1973), and <i>From Beyond the Grave</i> (1975). Now, many decades later and thanks to streaming services, it's an opinion reinforced and reaffirmed after finally getting to see those heretofore elusive first two titles in the Amicus anthology canon: <i>Dr. Terror's House of Horrors</i> (1965) and <i>Torture Garden </i>(1967). </div><div><i>Asylum</i>, the 5th film in the series, is a creepy, clever chiller featuring four tantalizingly taut tales of terror written by veteran horror-meister Robert Bloch (<i>Psycho</i>, <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2014/04/strait-jacket-1964.html" target="_blank">Strait-Jacket</a></i>) from his own short stories first published in volumes of<i> Weird Tales Magazine </i>(one dating back as far as 1936).</div><div><br /></div><div>Directed by Roy Ward Baker (who guided Marilyn Monroe through one of her earliest dramatic roles in <i>Don't Bother to Knock</i> - 1952) and evocatively lensed by British New Wave cinematographer Denys Coop (<i>A Kind of Loving</i>, <i>Billy Liar</i>), <i>Asylum</i> remains an engagingly written, intriguingly well-cast, ceaselessly entertaining example of the portmanteau horror film at the peak of its form. These modestly-budgeted films, made on the quick and slated for quick playoffs at Drive-Ins and on horror show double-bills, vary, as they must, in quality (<i>Asylum</i> took all of 24 days to film, and was the second of two Amicus anthologies rapidly released in the same year). But for my money, of the entire Amicus septet, there isn’t a clunker in the bunch. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3hD088Ldoczwl8pc8V3DkNqjZDnJsLPK7Jju1ebiB2I8yrDYr2WJ3zs6gcg2DeaJivR2cXWRjj0u_8JM8VF8TEdkAtA-32x_ynr_2IyDI8q5XynQxyolrE_JwvNG8uJSzC0UTu3-tmow/s1000/Amicus-Productions-Asylum-December-1972-Newspaper-Ad.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="547" data-original-width="1000" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3hD088Ldoczwl8pc8V3DkNqjZDnJsLPK7Jju1ebiB2I8yrDYr2WJ3zs6gcg2DeaJivR2cXWRjj0u_8JM8VF8TEdkAtA-32x_ynr_2IyDI8q5XynQxyolrE_JwvNG8uJSzC0UTu3-tmow/w400-h219/Amicus-Productions-Asylum-December-1972-Newspaper-Ad.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>You Have Nothing To Lose But Your Mind</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div><div>Britain’s Amicus Productions (which, until very recently, I always confused with UK's then-reigning studio of gothic horror, Hammer Films) majored in the omnibus, multi-story horror film. These stories-within-a-story journeys into the macabre followed a standard format, presenting four or five unconnected tales of the weird and unexpected…some darkly comic, but always incorporating violence, the occult, or the supernatural… within a unifying framework that itself offered some kind of final revelation or surprise payoff.</div><div><div><br /></div><div>The root of my attraction to these Amicus anthologies can be directly traced to my older sister. Her healthy taste for the macabre gave her a love of the cartoons of Charles Addams, which led to my being introduced to the works of Edward Gorey and the word “ennui” via her copy of <i><a href="https://www.brainpickings.org/2011/01/19/edward-gorey-the-gashlycrumb-tinies/" target="_blank">The Gashlycrumb Tinies</a></i>, and fostered a pretty impressive horror comic book collection. With titles like <i>The Witching Hour </i>and <i>Weird Mystery Tales</i>, these magazines often scared the daylights out of me (a story about a little girl whose parents refuse to believe there’s a “thing” hiding in her close, had me sleeping with covers over my head for years), but that didn’t stop me from making a pest of myself asking to be the first in line to borrow it whenever she brought a new issue into the house.</div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMuvvYFtGXFNTaKfjHA6GctT6VbruhQ7H9BqqZgUdTAswqvp0IwQqC3Pqb4974NwM1JPKRihaVocVqJ5A45twVg6gtGTAw8UdsQgU1ODyLBbiiSY0PVXihJsJgG-_eQSok1hbB8oga1nw/s1535/Asylum-Barbara-Parkins-Herbert-Lom-1972.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="433" data-original-width="1535" height="134" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMuvvYFtGXFNTaKfjHA6GctT6VbruhQ7H9BqqZgUdTAswqvp0IwQqC3Pqb4974NwM1JPKRihaVocVqJ5A45twVg6gtGTAw8UdsQgU1ODyLBbiiSY0PVXihJsJgG-_eQSok1hbB8oga1nw/w474-h134/Asylum-Barbara-Parkins-Herbert-Lom-1972.jpg" width="474" /></a></div>It may sound weird that I enjoyed scaring myself like I did, but I think adults sometimes forget how boring childhood and adolescence can be. The regimentation of school, homework, chores, and the constancy of babysitting (sittee to sitter in a flash of an eye) fuels a hunger for “safe” sensation. Whether in the form of playground requests to be pushed higher or spun faster, laugh-screaming at home from startled by siblings jumping out at you from dark rooms, or watching one of the many horror anthology programs running on TV at the time (<i>The Twilight Zone</i>, <i>One Step Beyond,</i> <i>Journey to the Unknown</i>, etc.)…the objective is surprise and excitement. Being scared is just one mode of getting there. And as any kid can tell you, being intermittently frightened can be the most fun a kid can have without getting into trouble.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih2Rb6cZ32-qjIGILek8l6n0KwOddqQHSljibjtwpkpOffEyBe3K1kv7OffNDQE4qGOGI_wHHr_TEyVrwnaOpVLoafR8I3ehWjqIVjv9lDJ2yn7AOfZJz2b0GoD76OwI9eO7AVlM1a5DI/s1548/Asylum-Charlotte-Rampling-Robert-Powell-1972.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="428" data-original-width="1548" height="130" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih2Rb6cZ32-qjIGILek8l6n0KwOddqQHSljibjtwpkpOffEyBe3K1kv7OffNDQE4qGOGI_wHHr_TEyVrwnaOpVLoafR8I3ehWjqIVjv9lDJ2yn7AOfZJz2b0GoD76OwI9eO7AVlM1a5DI/w473-h130/Asylum-Charlotte-Rampling-Robert-Powell-1972.jpg" width="473" /></a></div>Many horror films today, finding revulsion far easier to elicit than genuine fear, wind up leaving no impression on me at all with their impotent gore and lazy jump cuts. By contrast, the Amicus anthologies were supremely adept at creating spooky horror without being disturbing or gross. No matter how grisly things got, dastardly deeds were more often suggested than depicted. Sure, most of the scares were tame even by ‘70s standards, but these movies stayed in my mind for a lifetime because the filmmakers understood the elemental entertainment value of a really good scare.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimOJs8WiIq_onWXmBSs9ZASNQnpqGXay5CKfh712mPZCSnnDJZ1bGaOMUyufmgaBZojFDxjl5kQ8v10kJGkd-imFmZlGbhJHb5rsD2TFreWUNuBC9b_H8Q-E7DU4mFU3kWlqkTnYMKdlA/s1536/Asylum-Barry-Morse-Sylvia-Syms-1972.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="423" data-original-width="1536" height="131" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimOJs8WiIq_onWXmBSs9ZASNQnpqGXay5CKfh712mPZCSnnDJZ1bGaOMUyufmgaBZojFDxjl5kQ8v10kJGkd-imFmZlGbhJHb5rsD2TFreWUNuBC9b_H8Q-E7DU4mFU3kWlqkTnYMKdlA/w476-h131/Asylum-Barry-Morse-Sylvia-Syms-1972.jpg" width="476" /></a></div>In the ‘70s, when antiheroes and unsettlingly tragic endings in movies were virtually compulsory, the Amicus anthologies, which operated on the moral code of fables and fairy tales, appealed to my youthful sense of fair play. In narratives that pivoted on revenge or comeuppance arriving in the form of an unforeseen twist…ironic or karmic…at fadeout, evil was always punished. Fate would take its cue from Gilbert and Sullivan and mete out gruesome punishments to fit the various crimes. While the movies were playing, the unimaginable and horrific had a field day. But by the closing credits, the world of order had been safely righted again. <div><br /></div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj17bQN7R7CpXGfAFiWKetcTr-DqPATckfyDdqz4Er8N8HTBE9C3dCsGuUQBLMFYZXgAKZXcVo0A9k1iQWX7SSjrVYaWbhPUO6hxOhydUGvogKdWf4bAzn41EC5p_DF62ZQ8IbOr_7smmA/s2048/Asylum-Dunsmoor-Asylum-for-the-Incurably-Insane-1972.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1149" data-original-width="2048" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj17bQN7R7CpXGfAFiWKetcTr-DqPATckfyDdqz4Er8N8HTBE9C3dCsGuUQBLMFYZXgAKZXcVo0A9k1iQWX7SSjrVYaWbhPUO6hxOhydUGvogKdWf4bAzn41EC5p_DF62ZQ8IbOr_7smmA/w400-h225/Asylum-Dunsmoor-Asylum-for-the-Incurably-Insane-1972.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The Dunsmoor Asylum for the Incurably Insane</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>Perhaps because as a teenager I found real life to be plenty terrifying as it is, thank you, I never really went in for the gothic horror of vampires, werewolves, or Frankenstein’s monsters. I could relate to the fantasy, but the worlds these films took place in were at such a remove, I was never engaged enough to be scared. </div><div><br /></div><div>What appealed to me about the Amicus anthologies was that they were set in the present day, featured a kind of vibrant color photography I usually associated with musicals, and tended to reference gothic horror traditions through a contemporary, ofttimes wry, prism (“The Cloak” episode of <i>The House That Dripped Blood</i>). The narratives were marvels of storytelling economy, the best of them incorporating my favorite “modern gothic” trope: the collision of the worlds of intellect and the supernatural/occult (a la <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/09/rosemarys-baby-1968.html" target="_blank">Rosemary’s Baby</a></i>). I’m peculiarly intrigued by stories wherein pragmatic "<i>There’s a logical explanation for that!”</i> types are forced to confront the possibility that there may be things that exist beyond the borders of science and reason. </div><div><i>Asylum</i>'s wraparound story has a reasoned, methodical doctor armed with unwavering certainty that the damaged psyche is a frontier that can be tamed, coming face-to-face with a situation not covered in psychiatric journals. My kind of movie.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCpa2vVeK2oC_wV3Uh0YnRa0ZaPDQ-1ZGwyJqTEvCOlJSemSZmaDJywIDKMX24MFnjbZYC-skTygG7LgwU1AI32ZzNN_sRCQQ5ekx9uPNTyVu9kAQX9kC9PzATSQ9pN3s3vMMqCPzqeaw/s2048/Asylum-Robert-Powell-1972.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1147" data-original-width="2048" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCpa2vVeK2oC_wV3Uh0YnRa0ZaPDQ-1ZGwyJqTEvCOlJSemSZmaDJywIDKMX24MFnjbZYC-skTygG7LgwU1AI32ZzNN_sRCQQ5ekx9uPNTyVu9kAQX9kC9PzATSQ9pN3s3vMMqCPzqeaw/w400-h224/Asylum-Robert-Powell-1972.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Robert Powell as Dr. Martin</b></td></tr></tbody></table>In a nice subversion of the gothic tradition, <i>Asylum</i> opens not on a dark and stormy night with a horse-drawn carriage arriving at the gates of a dilapidated castle, but in the daylight with a sleek, red sports car speeding through a rainstorm to the gates of a contemporary mental facility that looks more like a menacing Victorian manor. Before the opening credits are over <i>Asylum</i> has visually established its central conflict: Modern medical science, in the form of nattily-dressed, university-educated, compassionately humorless Dr. Martin (Robert Powell) vs the insensible ancient sciences long-familiar to horror movies—aka the paranormal and That-Which-Cannot-Be-Explained.<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAJTk3d1Y8UVOMigcrrJKv0VuzN_WWdbqU1MIX5KylGn3cciPyApInsA9_nWC1hnIR4N5Ym8sNyj765uzl4gf0JpFj7f5RCAln6Pj_DY9cnrrTntvUM2cqpNWu63BOUCw3MOto-j59SHQ/s2048/Patrick-Magee-Asylum-1972.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1130" data-original-width="2048" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAJTk3d1Y8UVOMigcrrJKv0VuzN_WWdbqU1MIX5KylGn3cciPyApInsA9_nWC1hnIR4N5Ym8sNyj765uzl4gf0JpFj7f5RCAln6Pj_DY9cnrrTntvUM2cqpNWu63BOUCw3MOto-j59SHQ/w400-h221/Patrick-Magee-Asylum-1972.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Patrick Magee as Dr. Lionel Rutherford</b></td></tr></tbody></table>Applying for a position at the remote asylum, Dr. Martin is challenged to an unorthodox test by the current chief of staff Dr. Rutherford (Patrick Magee): identify which of the institution's patients is the former head of the institution, Dr. B. Starr. Two days prior, Dr. Starr suffered a violent mental breakdown and now exists in a hysterical fugue…identity absorbed into a new personality, name, and personal history. If Dr. Martin can ascertain which patient, male or female, was once Dunsmoor’s head psychopathologist, the job is his.<div><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwrCkh9jpcASJ-FFbxRfcii5KEx6ZQ9IDsj2zQT5E687T6OOfI1JKfeQIZ_S1xX9jIrxYrJ32QTYppIQzBa-4lu0pXDsgotEVskMJOeQk5fbWG411hT6wPjvY7-3PkUyujtrnwbBfZhUw/s2048/Geoffrey-Bayldon-Asylum-1972.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1147" data-original-width="2048" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwrCkh9jpcASJ-FFbxRfcii5KEx6ZQ9IDsj2zQT5E687T6OOfI1JKfeQIZ_S1xX9jIrxYrJ32QTYppIQzBa-4lu0pXDsgotEVskMJOeQk5fbWG411hT6wPjvY7-3PkUyujtrnwbBfZhUw/w400-h224/Geoffrey-Bayldon-Asylum-1972.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Geoffrey Bayldon as Max Reynolds</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">This intriguing trial sets up three of the film's vignettes as unreliably-narrated flashback tales told by the possible Dr. Starr candidates detailing how they came to be committed. The fourth story is interwoven with the film's wraparound narrative and unfolds in the present time.</div></div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1oAj0AocG4n1CYiBzHfyTNAN0IQxbMT1vSSRRGf5Kem4RpMCiuoc_xVQg6j5iqiVr-Eo4_3GWfbvtIJZhYe7O2zGaBT1J1weBSq5nNteEsRL4spGT5e-ZDqyGqrXNyfRCUk5DRqBj7qc/s2048/Asylum-Amicus-Productions-1972-Insanity.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1oAj0AocG4n1CYiBzHfyTNAN0IQxbMT1vSSRRGf5Kem4RpMCiuoc_xVQg6j5iqiVr-Eo4_3GWfbvtIJZhYe7O2zGaBT1J1weBSq5nNteEsRL4spGT5e-ZDqyGqrXNyfRCUk5DRqBj7qc/w400-h225/Asylum-Amicus-Productions-1972-Insanity.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>The use of music is one way a horror film can tip its hand that it’s not taking itself all that seriously (the use of a harpsichord in Hammer’s <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2015/06/die-die-my-darling-1965.html" target="_blank">Die, Die, My Darling</a></i>, for example). Asylum’s use of two stentorious orchestral pieces by 19th-century classical composer Modest Mussorgsky (“A Night on Bald Mountain” and “Pictures at an Exhibition”) work effectively in lending the film an appropriately ominous tone of chaotic dread wholly in keeping with the broad-strokes weirdness of the collected stories.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Will the real Dr. B. Starr please stand up?</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>The Four Bs: Bonnie, Barbara, Bruno, and Byron</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Thanks to the internet (again), I finally had the opportunity to read the original Robert Bloch short stories that inspired these episodes. Bloch's adaptations for the screen are nicely updated while remaining faithful to the tone and themes. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>FROZEN FEAR</b> (<i>Weird Tales</i> - May 1946) </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZrE809cPyOnCEUZk_WE0O4_jV9gszyY_BbIUXyTnwXQR7ClZDMgjAKqeOXwTff_ylnkFM58ziC-4XRL6_C0zoxXkwhI-FnTgkesOUv4goVRV_k0ysQwIorqX7MqJEvOTbNcGof5u4w_4/s2048/Barbara-Parkins-Asylum-1972+%25284%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1148" data-original-width="2048" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZrE809cPyOnCEUZk_WE0O4_jV9gszyY_BbIUXyTnwXQR7ClZDMgjAKqeOXwTff_ylnkFM58ziC-4XRL6_C0zoxXkwhI-FnTgkesOUv4goVRV_k0ysQwIorqX7MqJEvOTbNcGof5u4w_4/w400-h224/Barbara-Parkins-Asylum-1972+%25284%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Barbara Parkins as Bonnie</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSwgcat2wngyxiGHCFBAYMO8S6ZzRbADvOqu2l3ksEgYG3LGCiFA4g8gsHW7hFPgkH8mByRpcrX_JKUrJAMqsDEExXJWtfGN9XYechsHwF3vcoCPT8-Jee5LprihPOFQVR-cdRlS28Em4/s2048/Richard-Todd-Asylum-1972+%25282%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1145" data-original-width="2048" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSwgcat2wngyxiGHCFBAYMO8S6ZzRbADvOqu2l3ksEgYG3LGCiFA4g8gsHW7hFPgkH8mByRpcrX_JKUrJAMqsDEExXJWtfGN9XYechsHwF3vcoCPT8-Jee5LprihPOFQVR-cdRlS28Em4/w400-h224/Richard-Todd-Asylum-1972+%25282%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Richard Todd as Walter</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvKJFFAj5JYzwAKFo_KvkCT_m8DgmqH8Qls1G-z3Sk0hUQ7McrtNtfAHbvGW-_03TZfP1HmKiTvEMSA7B_OIoYpnf0DB02FhLBxu1i0VOMuxpyDy_p6zObMv50do3IgiVrRRaC1LkqWho/s2048/Sylvia-Syms-1972-Asylum.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1148" data-original-width="2048" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvKJFFAj5JYzwAKFo_KvkCT_m8DgmqH8Qls1G-z3Sk0hUQ7McrtNtfAHbvGW-_03TZfP1HmKiTvEMSA7B_OIoYpnf0DB02FhLBxu1i0VOMuxpyDy_p6zObMv50do3IgiVrRRaC1LkqWho/w400-h224/Sylvia-Syms-1972-Asylum.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sylvia Syms as Ruth</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><div>Lots of people would do anything to be with the beautiful, and here, psychopathically self-enchanted, Barbara Parkins (my first time seeing her since <a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/09/valley-of-dolls-1967.html" target="_blank"><i>Valley of the Dolls</i></a> when I was eleven), but older, foppish, and very-married Richard Todd resorts to murdering voodoo-affiliated wife Sylvia Syms, chopping her to pieces, then storing the butcher-wrapped parts in a deep freeze in the basement. As grotesque as this scenario sounds, the whole “Till Murder Do Us Part” trope of spouses killing spouses was so overworked on TV by this time (every 3rd episode of <i>Alfred Hitchcock Presents</i> it seemed) that this sequence had the most familiar feel to it. </div><div>But the supernatural twist of those frozen body parts reanimating to exact murderous revenge tips this delightfully demented horror escapade into mini-classic territory. Silent for nearly half of its running time, it's a virtuoso display of how tension and suspense can be created by wholly visual means. And something about those primitive special effects warms my chilly heart.</div><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>THE WEIRD TAILOR </b> (<i>Weird Tales</i> - July 1950)</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlAPonZUps8XUcTTzujtR1hk2MdQeGMMm-acGczwsvsQPE1Xobh1pruS3g0YOXXvgDkaH2MkdEFd3sAH9omtsmz4QhCzYiYHxy-bfQGtJARl9vnmvzLXsi3PG0OKPj3Ku4UlOUnXVq-x8/s2048/Barry-Morse-1972-Asylum.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1143" data-original-width="2048" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlAPonZUps8XUcTTzujtR1hk2MdQeGMMm-acGczwsvsQPE1Xobh1pruS3g0YOXXvgDkaH2MkdEFd3sAH9omtsmz4QhCzYiYHxy-bfQGtJARl9vnmvzLXsi3PG0OKPj3Ku4UlOUnXVq-x8/w400-h224/Barry-Morse-1972-Asylum.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Barry Morse as Bruno</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizoVudQItBbf9ciozItnZfOpYF9LSjLM1uqMk5tdUsn66_kkhwoGbfpqAcR6AnO2C4RsLCjvcu1-DWvXIFUzF2vULTmBJPgY_AdklVrSrsxdo6W4FpJYsBqIjHJU0qW5YFr1Z9zgkiHYg/s2048/Peter-Cushing-Asylum-1972.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1148" data-original-width="2048" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizoVudQItBbf9ciozItnZfOpYF9LSjLM1uqMk5tdUsn66_kkhwoGbfpqAcR6AnO2C4RsLCjvcu1-DWvXIFUzF2vULTmBJPgY_AdklVrSrsxdo6W4FpJYsBqIjHJU0qW5YFr1Z9zgkiHYg/w400-h224/Peter-Cushing-Asylum-1972.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Peter Cushing as Mr. Smith</td></tr></tbody></table>Impoverished tailor Morse is commissioned to make a suit out of a mysterious fabric by sad-eyed gentleman Cushing. The conditions of its manufacture are so peculiar and exacting one knows no good can come of it…and it doesn’t. An eerie atmosphere and fine acting propel this sequence which we learn from the DVD commentary was the segment Bloch was least happy with, owing to the extensive rewriting by producer Milton Subotsky that changed the tailor (a pretty reprehensible man in Bloch’s original story) into a sympathetic victim. A suspenseful mood piece that was not particularly scary to me even as a kid, it was my introduction to Peter Cushing. Was there ever such a class act? The expressiveness of his eyes is heartbreaking. The acting in this vignette is very strong, helping to gloss over my feeling that if anyone should have been driven insane by the events of the story, it's the tailor's wife, Anna (Ann Firbank). </div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>LUCY COMES TO STAY</b> (<i>Weird Tales</i> - January 1950)</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpptiWO9susRZc0YVJ_s4Zw9V9o6iXGWOkFqnLeDcuSLRWAfIk0xN91MLmK8iZ4DEBsoTYeehaGECoC-XME6h5s0nze4WYJZFtyUoUQPZJ3LxMF64MjEF_lilNCVlAp742lt8hG1s7hlI/s2048/Charlotte-Rampling-1972-Asylum.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1143" data-original-width="2048" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpptiWO9susRZc0YVJ_s4Zw9V9o6iXGWOkFqnLeDcuSLRWAfIk0xN91MLmK8iZ4DEBsoTYeehaGECoC-XME6h5s0nze4WYJZFtyUoUQPZJ3LxMF64MjEF_lilNCVlAp742lt8hG1s7hlI/w400-h224/Charlotte-Rampling-1972-Asylum.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charlotte Rampling as Barbara</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxCKQWnPw0zaUOaz_WOkHULrOuabcUXppLa2YqOe4E9OFtFXBImhk1QRoz8l3DzR3AIIiuFK_vLAJkAwCsuZHYW1oPk7PHbLH4YpUrpN7Y5vNs4tmkkA_PwxSBhyFqzjsY-l9F9E2rQ1E/s2048/Britt-Ekland-Asylum-1972.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1148" data-original-width="2048" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxCKQWnPw0zaUOaz_WOkHULrOuabcUXppLa2YqOe4E9OFtFXBImhk1QRoz8l3DzR3AIIiuFK_vLAJkAwCsuZHYW1oPk7PHbLH4YpUrpN7Y5vNs4tmkkA_PwxSBhyFqzjsY-l9F9E2rQ1E/w400-h224/Britt-Ekland-Asylum-1972.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Britt Ekland as Lucy</td></tr></tbody></table><div>My weakness for “Le femmes au Cinéma” is well-documented, so it’s likely to come as a surprise to absolutely no one that this is my favorite of Asylum’s four vignettes. Not just because of the rarity of having two women protagonists, but because of the particular women in question. We’re not talking Stefanie Powers and Donna Mills in a TV Movie-of-the-Week, folks…this is full-tilt, ‘60s iconic, international sex symbol/movie star talent & glamour courtesy of Charlotte Rampling AND Britt Ekland!! In the same movie! Together on the same screen! Seriously, only the pairing of Paul Newman & Robert Redford rivals these two in gorgeousness. This being my first time seeing either actress in a film, this segment fairly put me in a swoon back in 1972, but the story’s a kick as well.</div><div><br /></div><div>Rampling returns home after a stint in a mental institution only to discover her mischievous friend Ekland is there to stir the pot of suspicion that Rampling’s superficially solicitous brother is actually angling to send her back to the institution for good so he can inherit the family home. When this Lucy says “I have a plan” I can assure you can bet it’s nothing like Lucy Ricardo ever thought up. The performances in this sequence are all first-rate, and the story (which took me totally by surprise) checks all the boxes of what I gravitate to in female-centric melodramas: <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2009/11/3-women-1977.html" target="_blank">3 Women</a> </i>(1977), <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2017/12/mortal-thoughts-1991.html" target="_blank">Mortal Thoughts</a> </i>(1991), <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2018/03/single-white-female-1992.html" target="_blank">Single White Female</a> </i>(1992<u>)</u>, and <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2013/09/images-1972.html" target="_blank">Images</a> </i>(1974).</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>MANNIKINS OF HORROR</b> (<i>Weird Tales </i>- December 1939)</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb7A5H9vphBb7JCojQdNvyV_zr-hJ_jZeoV7HavUq5MzN-hYDSw4TNMjpp46CgNorjeRHw_EsDyNuQsqV_dXNHIJaB47hsGBSlg19sh6ccfqZkf6Ti0AZJsJ9-MjQMDEopAcsvEjG4UlA/s2048/Herbert-Lom-Asylum-1972.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1145" data-original-width="2048" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb7A5H9vphBb7JCojQdNvyV_zr-hJ_jZeoV7HavUq5MzN-hYDSw4TNMjpp46CgNorjeRHw_EsDyNuQsqV_dXNHIJaB47hsGBSlg19sh6ccfqZkf6Ti0AZJsJ9-MjQMDEopAcsvEjG4UlA/w400-h224/Herbert-Lom-Asylum-1972.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Herbert Lom as Dr. Byron</td></tr></tbody></table><i>Asylum</i>’s final tale, about a demented (or is he?) former surgeon who constructs dolls in his own likeness that he insists he can bring to life with his mind, integrates with the film’s wraparound narrative of Dr. Martin making his final guess as to the identity of the real Dr. Starr. This sequence creeped me out because the nightmare fantasy of malevolent toys coming to life was one I harbored when I was very young and had one of those marching robots that ran on batteries. The film winds up with a nice twist that I’d actually forgotten when I rewatched this recently, so it’s nice to report that it’s effective as ever.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihyphenhyphencrTVnGnhldYfkO5u6anXD5paGNTyxhxT2gaVTxZ5q59wIEZqZ9CKbSBmoq0ym_3Nd98zk0_7GPWtvP40PkwFtF1OPFufGdGYBjopppWtu1F8gV9RdppWm-Riu5LeWCPFyELryqvuC0/s2048/Asylum-Mannikins-of-Horror-Robert-Bloch-1972.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1154" data-original-width="2048" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihyphenhyphencrTVnGnhldYfkO5u6anXD5paGNTyxhxT2gaVTxZ5q59wIEZqZ9CKbSBmoq0ym_3Nd98zk0_7GPWtvP40PkwFtF1OPFufGdGYBjopppWtu1F8gV9RdppWm-Riu5LeWCPFyELryqvuC0/w400-h225/Asylum-Mannikins-of-Horror-Robert-Bloch-1972.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">For reasons having as much to do with nostalgia as with the film's craftsmanship and irresistibly entertaining execution, <i>Asylum</i> for me still stands (and likely ever after remain) as one of the best if not THE best of the Amicus horror anthologies. It scarcely makes a false tiny step.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div><b>BONUS MATERIAL</b> </div><div>The film most widely credited with popularizing the anthology horror film is 1945's <i>Dead of Night </i>from Britain's Ealing Studios.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbqgMpoVhdH4J4h_tKs5Ktl9ZdNDG_qepIK2CNEITsJ_84LPkeuX-3Xdn52sPXtck_6HzfD9jSYkvdjhYBttO9LcScky_4xVPmjkWUhnkRrZgsKNFOt5LjhRBsFhKbNWubTsvzPe8_2ic/s1796/Michael-Redgrave-Hugo-Dead-of-Night-1945.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1307" data-original-width="1796" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbqgMpoVhdH4J4h_tKs5Ktl9ZdNDG_qepIK2CNEITsJ_84LPkeuX-3Xdn52sPXtck_6HzfD9jSYkvdjhYBttO9LcScky_4xVPmjkWUhnkRrZgsKNFOt5LjhRBsFhKbNWubTsvzPe8_2ic/w400-h291/Michael-Redgrave-Hugo-Dead-of-Night-1945.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Dead of Night (1945)</b></td></tr></tbody></table>Five horror stories helmed by four different directors, this classic omnibus film is best remembered for the segment starring Michael Redgrave as a ventriloquist who comes to believe his dummy, Hugo, is villainously alive.</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9u6B-8e7UW_x3r4tCfdHx-0PFrU5ekjMav5qpOSprxJ5PH_JYeqXUvtK8jUjbwwuMvReq9jnkaszcV6mI0cFEheJqO7bjE5watYoyhaYVYh5WmVKGsansxdX3HnXx62qZ_4Pa-w59Olw/s2560/Donald-Sutherland-Christopher-Lee-Dr-Terrors-House-of-Horrors-+1965.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1086" data-original-width="2560" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9u6B-8e7UW_x3r4tCfdHx-0PFrU5ekjMav5qpOSprxJ5PH_JYeqXUvtK8jUjbwwuMvReq9jnkaszcV6mI0cFEheJqO7bjE5watYoyhaYVYh5WmVKGsansxdX3HnXx62qZ_4Pa-w59Olw/w400-h170/Donald-Sutherland-Christopher-Lee-Dr-Terrors-House-of-Horrors-+1965.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Dr. Terror's House of Horrors (1965)</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">Amicus Productions' first anthology film was <i>Dr. Terror's House of Horrors</i> directed by Freddie Francis. Starring Peter Cushing, Christopher Lee, Max Adrian, and a young Donald Sutherland.</div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij9W6YhY3xkVOEkI4Z6T-WXQPArO1TbLkfHHaSOZj8NtHBIv6fSjLXp6gLNlalv4X8VtQwH4rEjYdKJJQT8XiLzpkyqACQ843JlJEpPWkZV7aj6JmGaw6E9FTGaSneE32yzqG9MKYwf3Q/s2048/Clarence-Williams-III-Tales-from-the-Hood-1995.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1093" data-original-width="2048" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij9W6YhY3xkVOEkI4Z6T-WXQPArO1TbLkfHHaSOZj8NtHBIv6fSjLXp6gLNlalv4X8VtQwH4rEjYdKJJQT8XiLzpkyqACQ843JlJEpPWkZV7aj6JmGaw6E9FTGaSneE32yzqG9MKYwf3Q/w400-h214/Clarence-Williams-III-Tales-from-the-Hood-1995.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Tales from the Hood (1995)</b></td></tr></tbody></table>The sharpest and perhaps my personal favorite of the contemporary horror anthologies is this inspired, Afrocentric update of the genre which effectively blends horror, comedy, and cutting social critique. Directed by Rusty Cundieff, <i>Tales from the Hood</i>'s four stories are a supernatural/occult take on the very real horrors of police brutality, white supremacy, child abuse, and gang violence. The framing device used is an eccentric funeral parlor director played with sinister glee by Clarence Williams III.<div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Bloch Party</b></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCtcJAEO7_ZcN8a0jwGbE6VZr63bbcb3hWvQL8bhoIGEBF0FiU_v85mqq92QMht5cCfbNUrzftP-hmzUQ0k0Q1E1MSsZdcDmfPbIC_1-hNoSz-pvTPdRm5QR25Yr1AtAO22APqXcUHea8/s1449/Thriller-Henry-Jones-Weird-Tailor-Robert-Bloch-1961.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1091" data-original-width="1449" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCtcJAEO7_ZcN8a0jwGbE6VZr63bbcb3hWvQL8bhoIGEBF0FiU_v85mqq92QMht5cCfbNUrzftP-hmzUQ0k0Q1E1MSsZdcDmfPbIC_1-hNoSz-pvTPdRm5QR25Yr1AtAO22APqXcUHea8/s320/Thriller-Henry-Jones-Weird-Tailor-Robert-Bloch-1961.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span style="text-align: center;">In 1961 Robert Bloch wrote a more faithful adaptation of his 1950 short story "The Weird Tailor" for an episode of the horror anthology TV series </span><i style="text-align: center;">Thriller</i><span style="text-align: center;"> hosted by Boris Karloff. Henry Jones starred as the tailor. Episode available for viewing <a href="https://youtu.be/x_xHq4yRQyc" target="_blank">HERE</a>.</span></div><div><span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7xlsFFGuqwCrWY0goILNZdZvAdzdeQcYAMR201xFHag7uv6wiZglprMgfn2NfVUhGEY4Vo3ikNRuxBNhihRVoxT2MemmDmYyD-tQ9PvDmSrX1YAoLmzSmWE9qQblEU7FpjQ3b_eK9cyc/s1830/Asylum-1972-+House-of-Crazies-1979-VHS-German-House-on-the-Strand-DVD-Movie-Posters.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="879" data-original-width="1830" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7xlsFFGuqwCrWY0goILNZdZvAdzdeQcYAMR201xFHag7uv6wiZglprMgfn2NfVUhGEY4Vo3ikNRuxBNhihRVoxT2MemmDmYyD-tQ9PvDmSrX1YAoLmzSmWE9qQblEU7FpjQ3b_eK9cyc/w464-h224/Asylum-1972-+House-of-Crazies-1979-VHS-German-House-on-the-Strand-DVD-Movie-Posters.jpg" width="464" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;"><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">click on image to enlarge</span></b></td></tr></tbody></table>One of the things I miss in this post-Blockbuster Video world is the I-can-smell-the-desperation artwork VHS/DVD covers resorted to in order to catch the consumer eye on overcrowded shelves in overlit outlets. With no time for nuance, the cover art relied on overstatement, exaggeration, and misdirection. <i>House of Crazies</i> (center) was the artlessly blunt title selected when <i>Asylum</i> was rereleased to theaters in 1979. Not only does the poster artwork contain a major spoiler, but it would seem Barbara Parkins didn't give permission to have her likeness reproduced, 'cause who in the hell is that woman at the top?</div><div>The German DVD release (right) went all gonzo and decided to be as misleading as fuck. First, by giving <i>Asylum</i> the nonsensical title: <i>The House on the Strand</i>. Then contributing random artwork that looks like a grown-up Patty MacCormack holding a scythe. Worse still, the top figure on the right is that insane Santa Claus from <i>Tales from the Crypt</i>.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Copyright © Ken Anderson 2009 - 2021</div></div></div></div>Ken Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04940648971296673233noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2627032459273165000.post-31794342914738605582021-08-06T20:38:00.011-07:002022-12-03T01:21:54.463-08:00STAR! 1968<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9nDgRpCRsNjHCqafOFHuJ4qAyHx-ZGGLO6jxsoejp28Z5-Bm0_lTXOEv4b3u69015CPoNvu8L7GB4cNP_RaMhwSapdTEHlYAlAfKt42WR3jCfSiDx6btqfRljvrcewvZYRMwOEQzEQTY/s1334/Star-Robert-Wise-1968.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1023" data-original-width="1334" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9nDgRpCRsNjHCqafOFHuJ4qAyHx-ZGGLO6jxsoejp28Z5-Bm0_lTXOEv4b3u69015CPoNvu8L7GB4cNP_RaMhwSapdTEHlYAlAfKt42WR3jCfSiDx6btqfRljvrcewvZYRMwOEQzEQTY/w400-h306/Star-Robert-Wise-1968.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;">"Crickey! I'm tired of playing bloody virgins."</span></span></span></span></i><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"> - Julie Andrews 1967</span></span></span></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;">When music icon Debbie Harry was asked in a 2019 interview if she would be interested in seeing her life and the legacy of Blondie turned into a musical biopic, she responded: </span></span></span></span><i><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;">“I’m not so sure that I’m terribly fond of them. The way the industry works and the way the artist works within the industry, it’s all very similar. The only thing that’s different is the personality of the artist. It’s basically the same old story, only with different performers, different faces.”</span></span></span></span></i></div><div><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;">Ms. Harry nailed it. Whether set in the worlds of music, movies, or theater, biographical films--no matter how creatively envisioned--suffer from an elemental sameness. A formulaic, 3-Act cycle of “rags-riches-rundown-redemption” that may make it easy for Hollywood to keep reselling the same product with different packaging, but encourages the production of films whose only distinction is budget size and the degree of talent, dynamism, and charisma of the particular performer tasked with the job of being the celebrity impersonator. </span></span></span></span></div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjirAHqrrh-o8G_ZL0-vwvih6k8cZWpqqPjENtO2hUoupZ4a5SNpzrPoLDzbcTS8enUUy5YuAzURiEf8jYZGoChdaVT0oMGl040c3cOWKay7_d3KiAB91OxrkOCku1ntF72ThwxJXy3Krk/s1549/Julie-Andrews-Star-Gertrude-Lawrence-Barbra-Streisand-Funny-Girl-Fanny-Brice-1968.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1334" data-original-width="1549" height="345" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjirAHqrrh-o8G_ZL0-vwvih6k8cZWpqqPjENtO2hUoupZ4a5SNpzrPoLDzbcTS8enUUy5YuAzURiEf8jYZGoChdaVT0oMGl040c3cOWKay7_d3KiAB91OxrkOCku1ntF72ThwxJXy3Krk/w400-h345/Julie-Andrews-Star-Gertrude-Lawrence-Barbra-Streisand-Funny-Girl-Fanny-Brice-1968.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;">Seeing Double</span></span></b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;">Los Angeles, October 1968: Julie Andrews & Hollywood newbie Barbra Streisand were the Doublemint Twins of Roadshow musicals. <i>Star!</i> the eagerly-anticipated musical about the life of English Music Hall star Gertrude Lawrence, opened just three weeks after the premiere of <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2012/06/funny-girl-1968.html" target="_blank">Funny Girl</a></i>, the equally anticipated biopic about Broadway star Fanny Brice. The similar films employed the same flashback framing device, each leading lady seated in a theater, looking back over her life. (Note La Streisand's positively lethal nails.)</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><i>Funny Girl</i> and <i>Star! </i>shared near-identical scenes depicting a theater neophyte “comically” bungling an ensemble number; winning over an audience with a dazzling solo; routinely bumping heads with a stern but avuncular employer; and, de rigueur of the genre, suffering for love in mink. Where these two films diverge is that its stars at the time were on very opposite career paths: Streisand seeking to establish a screen persona, Andrews hoping to shed one. This proved to be the difference that made all difference.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFEX2avrUg4PvO6L2S-KyeevadAJ_yFWkVXYDW60YC6fLSetGOJhUjjF6afQrbovvgE9jaUc3wbh0H6deZT9Kaivxo38XRoI2jvLtQxuEE8O4jRn6e4WB9-9h2kLFTeqvCKZsByL7Q9uI/s2560/Julie-Andrews-Star-1968.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1158" data-original-width="2560" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFEX2avrUg4PvO6L2S-KyeevadAJ_yFWkVXYDW60YC6fLSetGOJhUjjF6afQrbovvgE9jaUc3wbh0H6deZT9Kaivxo38XRoI2jvLtQxuEE8O4jRn6e4WB9-9h2kLFTeqvCKZsByL7Q9uI/w438-h198/Julie-Andrews-Star-1968.JPG" width="438" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;">Dame Julie Andrews as Gertrude Lawrence</span></span></span></span></b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy-QZWMiszHtymxwtmFeUsHZRi135AH3vDWOBcZ1WwhgCcWzs0IEdFPL8PCj3rpDVk96oMlgV8wgwSBLA03Ge9j6MpdOVWrkbazNGaNNw6orhXSCEowxUaG4ATKeTb5L716-USbyR5vtk/s2560/Daniel-Massey-Star-1968+%25282%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1159" data-original-width="2560" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy-QZWMiszHtymxwtmFeUsHZRi135AH3vDWOBcZ1WwhgCcWzs0IEdFPL8PCj3rpDVk96oMlgV8wgwSBLA03Ge9j6MpdOVWrkbazNGaNNw6orhXSCEowxUaG4ATKeTb5L716-USbyR5vtk/w436-h198/Daniel-Massey-Star-1968+%25282%2529.JPG" width="436" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;">Daniel Massey as Noel Coward</span></span></span></span></b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;">I adore Julie Andrews, yet I’m something of a Johnny-come-lately where her films are concerned. The first Julie Andrews movie I ever saw was </span></span><i><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;">Thoroughly Modern Millie</span></span></i><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"> in 1967 when I was 10-years-old, and I never saw another until <i>10 </i>(which I loathed) in 1979. I was in my 40s when I got around to seeing </span></span><i><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;">Mary Poppins</span></span></i><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;">, </span></span><i><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;">The Sound of Music</span></span></i><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"> was unseen until 2015, and </span></span><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><i>Star! </i>only a few years before that.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;">I'm aware that my lifetime aversion to movies branded "clean" or "wholesome" is what kept me away from Andrews' two most iconic films, which is a pity, for they are both marvelous films I would have loved as a child. However, <i>Star!</i>--an overstuffed musical </span></span>"sure-fire hit" that wound up one of Hollywood's more legendary "crash and burn disasters" (I'm looking at you, <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2015/02/mame-1974.html" target="_blank">Mame</a></i> and <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2020/06/cats-2019.html" target="_blank">Cats</a></i>)--is just the kind of elephantine entertainment that would seem to be right up my aesthetic alley.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO6mjEU3uLTSePGX_r1HIsTb59LlBsItYxLZMgClXhtIb98hwSDwLejqDAjTWIwhYI0DiX6sCbopr7T86hLZXY-qhTFOVetXm8F40ASz3sFQ2_nJVVlwaxjZDmawbpJgIY2mM3i_Xcl2M/s2560/Julie-Andrews-Bruce-Forsythe-Beryl-Reid-Star-1968.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1158" data-original-width="2560" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO6mjEU3uLTSePGX_r1HIsTb59LlBsItYxLZMgClXhtIb98hwSDwLejqDAjTWIwhYI0DiX6sCbopr7T86hLZXY-qhTFOVetXm8F40ASz3sFQ2_nJVVlwaxjZDmawbpJgIY2mM3i_Xcl2M/w462-h209/Julie-Andrews-Bruce-Forsythe-Beryl-Reid-Star-1968.JPG" width="462" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;">Andrews, Bruce Forsythe, and Beryl Reid sing the popular 1921 Music Hall song "Piccadilly"</span></span></b></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div>Discounting my usual complaint about overemphatic musical titles (those exclamation points!), I like to think I approached <i>Star! </i>with an open mind. But I gotta say, things got off to a very rocky start when this $14 million, spare no expense, travel the globe for locations musical epic hit me over the head with its “Fox contract player” casting vibe. Throughout the film, in scenes meant to be taking place in London & Paris, up pop familiar American TV faces like Eugene Roche (Mr. Ajax dish detergent) and Cathleen Cordell (stalwart of episodic TV) to break the illusion. </div><div>Some 15 minutes into the movie there’s a scene set in a meticulously re-created British Music Hall, but verisimilitude flies straight out the window the second I recognize the cockney drunk harassing a young Gertrude Lawrence to be the same drunk who harasses Darrin Stephens in every episode of <i>Bewitched </i>set in a bar: none other than TV's Charmin-pusher, Mr. Whipple, aka character actor Dick Wilson.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8sVKQHUH-XxL7k_e5JGdCE0ZyQb_oC4fQ1HqjZBWkkDGjM6WmWOtVhyphenhyphenozOgRO8d1GDMSI9AKRxATjtTjWXcPkP8Q2A1EMGc2eTcrOUJCOdvbbKjLB2Wge9Bx_xZv4GyvDokoVJ7zXjQg/s2555/Julie-Andrews-Daniel-Massey-Star-1968-Robert-Wise.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1124" data-original-width="2555" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8sVKQHUH-XxL7k_e5JGdCE0ZyQb_oC4fQ1HqjZBWkkDGjM6WmWOtVhyphenhyphenozOgRO8d1GDMSI9AKRxATjtTjWXcPkP8Q2A1EMGc2eTcrOUJCOdvbbKjLB2Wge9Bx_xZv4GyvDokoVJ7zXjQg/w462-h203/Julie-Andrews-Daniel-Massey-Star-1968-Robert-Wise.JPG" width="462" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Filmed on location in New York, London, and the French Riviera!<br />Well, you're just going to have to take the publicist's word for it, because between the rear-projection shots, obvious backdrops, and interiors so brightly lit they look like sound stages, it's pretty hard to believe <i>Star! </i>ever left L.A. </b> </td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Then there are the two Parisian theater/cabaret impresarios played by American actors (Alan Oppenheim and Richard Angarola) chipping away at my already overtasked suspension of disbelief by speaking with cartoon French accents. Indeed, fans of <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/09/valley-of-dolls-1967.html" target="_blank">Valley of the Dolls</a></i> will recognize Angarola as Mr. Chardot, Sharon Tate’s, sleazy French "art film" director with the Pepé Le Pew intonation.</div><div>Hitting perhaps the hardest is the lineup of actors cast as glamorous Gertrude Lawrence's paramours. Looking over this bunch, my best guess is that in order for a family film to legitimize its leading lady juggling multiple lovers without benefit of marriage, they sought to cast leading men guaranteed to drive thoughts of sex out of anyone's mind on sight.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlhsOZCGaz2yhqrk73RfDcIow2n4osO2jcz65B_ZRwx8ZmjahdWlR0G8Cdj9cieWFSkow-1ipks_Qe4BtJHyouTd1MRK897HELB7ZKYMd6i3hDnk32j5f9qjs3h_Uuw3dTOYPvxvMc35Y/s2556/Richard-Crenna-Anthony-Eisley-Michael-Craig-Robert-Reed-Star-1968.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1164" data-original-width="2556" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlhsOZCGaz2yhqrk73RfDcIow2n4osO2jcz65B_ZRwx8ZmjahdWlR0G8Cdj9cieWFSkow-1ipks_Qe4BtJHyouTd1MRK897HELB7ZKYMd6i3hDnk32j5f9qjs3h_Uuw3dTOYPvxvMc35Y/w448-h205/Richard-Crenna-Anthony-Eisley-Michael-Craig-Robert-Reed-Star-1968.JPG" width="448" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Richard Crenna, Anthony Eisley, Michael Craig, and Robert Reed<br />If it was <i>STAR!</i>'s intention to generate sympathy for Gertrude Lawrence by presenting her as a woman cursed with attracting only the blandest, dullest suitors from several continents, it succeeded beyond all reasonable expectation<br /><br /></b></td></tr></tbody></table></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div>When production on <i>The Sound of Music</i> wrapped in 1964, Julie Andrews agreed to reteam with director Robert Wise and producer Saul Chaplin on a film about the life of Gertrude Lawrence. In the years before production began on<i> Star!</i>, Andrews completed three films (<i>Torn Curtain</i>, <i>Hawaii</i>, and <i>Thoroughly Modern Millie</i>), and most significantly, her fourth, <i>The Sound of Music </i>had become a global cash-cow, cultural phenomenon, and 20th Century-Fox savior.</div><div>I have no idea how the Gertrude Lawrence biopic was originally envisioned in 1964, but by the time it morphed into the musical reunion of the creative team responsible for the then highest-grossing motion picture in history, I suspect it outgrew itself.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx_cb8dUV6ijgWLAmKk2qQacr5gLzJ8M5fV5oRKXs8AYXGWqOnGxkjpe_ExszaH61Z_Oog8n8dKQ_HdFarZQhDX0nPl8iBUxD2TFeRZy6tP_ccFwUHRcXrI6sb15CB_hrpPkqTEbtApvk/s2560/Julie-Andrews-Star-1968+%25284%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1163" data-original-width="2560" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx_cb8dUV6ijgWLAmKk2qQacr5gLzJ8M5fV5oRKXs8AYXGWqOnGxkjpe_ExszaH61Z_Oog8n8dKQ_HdFarZQhDX0nPl8iBUxD2TFeRZy6tP_ccFwUHRcXrI6sb15CB_hrpPkqTEbtApvk/w457-h207/Julie-Andrews-Star-1968+%25284%2529.JPG" width="457" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>"I don't know, but somewhere along the line, 'Shrinking Violet' got </i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sanforization" style="font-style: italic;" target="_blank">Sanforized</a><i>" </i>- Lucy Ricardo<br /><br />Costing nearly twice as much as <i>The Sound of Music</i> with less than a third of its plot and none of its warmth or humor, <i>Star!</i> is a gargantuan production for no other reason than Julie Andrews was the #1 box-office star and<i> The Sound of Music</i> had made a mint.<br /><br /></b></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div>Like many, I knew next to nothing about Gertrude Lawrence before seeing <i>Star!, </i>but years of reading show business memoirs and seeing movie biopics with "Story" tacked on the end (<i>The Helen Morgan Story</i>, <i>The Eddy Duchin Story</i>, etc.) resulted in a nagging sense of déjà vu from <i>Star!</i>'s depiction of Lawrence as a willful, ambitious girl from humble beginnings who achieves great fame as an actress, only to find happiness elusive because her professional desire to be “lots of different people" leaves her not knowing who she is or what she wants. </div><div>Presented as a series of episodic, tangentially-connected highlights and lowlights interspersed between splashy musical numbers, the essentially unremarkable events of Lawrence’s life story (at least as presented here) left me wondering how in the world anyone thought $14 million and three hours were necessary to tell it.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4AGKDy1AaserGaG7Wf_OX_-ZQ0lmHOUZDxhgx5BYDvC8_sLnqoIW8ifSN0gi3cQ7GbrjtMSTdESUPzZheI5CHezC2vdTr_uzkFLCDgl3Tnqk5dYuiwsJK53g_vlKFM-1IOoLW9J3Cxa4/s2560/Julie-Andrews-Daniel-Massey-Star-1968.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1162" data-original-width="2560" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4AGKDy1AaserGaG7Wf_OX_-ZQ0lmHOUZDxhgx5BYDvC8_sLnqoIW8ifSN0gi3cQ7GbrjtMSTdESUPzZheI5CHezC2vdTr_uzkFLCDgl3Tnqk5dYuiwsJK53g_vlKFM-1IOoLW9J3Cxa4/w462-h209/Julie-Andrews-Daniel-Massey-Star-1968.JPG" width="462" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Of <i>STAR!</i>'s seven Oscar nominations (0 wins), Daniel Massey was deservedly singled out for the film's sole nomination in the performing categories. He also won the Golden Globe, for which Andrews was also nominated.</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;">Perhaps criticizing the film’s script for being superficial, its characters undeveloped, its supporting cast serviceable, and production old-fashioned is quibbling. <i>Star! </i>was never really selling Gertrude Lawrence in the first place. As implied by the movie posters declaring “Julie Andrews as The Star!”, Julie Andrews—her singing, her dancing, her wigs, and her costumes (by Donald Brooks)—was the whole show. And I have to say, as a showcase for a sumptuously glamorized Andrews in all her singing and dancing glory, <i>Star!</i> is an outstanding film record that I'm overjoyed exists. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Andrews is in exceptionally fine voice and is clearly working her ass off. And rather than revisiting the tried-and-true, she's taking a genuine creative risk. I applaud actors (especially those labeled "stars") who try to spread their creative wings. Too many bad films have been made and far too many exciting talents dulled by surrendering to typecasting, going for the easy money, and pandering to fanbases obsessed with a star's “image.” </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIK4rMx8A9woZSuHW5idlvzp8au143GnMwlBtkx-PSS5UNy5PesPTH6_JwPSqsIxnwZ64Ti6XmhHvh4jOA_o7TwW55MAP7cTDH6Ep0pVKqPxBGpl4F7XDAgpi8fyiBHbKOBdjA4mTmSrw/s2560/Julie-Andrews-Star-1968+%252812%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1157" data-original-width="2560" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIK4rMx8A9woZSuHW5idlvzp8au143GnMwlBtkx-PSS5UNy5PesPTH6_JwPSqsIxnwZ64Ti6XmhHvh4jOA_o7TwW55MAP7cTDH6Ep0pVKqPxBGpl4F7XDAgpi8fyiBHbKOBdjA4mTmSrw/w461-h209/Julie-Andrews-Star-1968+%252812%2529.JPG" width="461" /></a></div><br style="text-align: left;" /><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimWcT5wCODOOP5jgc4wL0UVbMoc-P26SsO5kGXaFNgg2xLKkNSr9RKz7ChBL8qV7TJ9XcxZVVV8KCD94tfq6YGbP0MKbAN6fhiWX6m27xwsLFpou4B0f0GbOOJ6f9j0DJh1MzRKtrc-Gc/s2560/Julie-Andrews-Star-1968+%252813%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1161" data-original-width="2560" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimWcT5wCODOOP5jgc4wL0UVbMoc-P26SsO5kGXaFNgg2xLKkNSr9RKz7ChBL8qV7TJ9XcxZVVV8KCD94tfq6YGbP0MKbAN6fhiWX6m27xwsLFpou4B0f0GbOOJ6f9j0DJh1MzRKtrc-Gc/w462-h209/Julie-Andrews-Star-1968+%252813%2529.JPG" width="462" /></a></div><div>While some newspaper ads heralded, <i>"Julie Andrews is a different Julie Andrews in STAR!"</i> others promised, <i>"Julie Andrews as you love her!"</i>--whatever that meant. As it turns out, she was neither and both. Consequently,<i> STAR!</i>, like Gertrude Lawrence's character in the Broadway musical <i>Lady in the Dark</i>, suffered from not being able to make up its mind. </div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Although the sincerity of her effort shows (which may be part of the problem), with reluctance I have to say I never found Andrews convincing for a moment as Gertrude Lawrence (1968 Maggie Smith would have been ideal). A reluctant observation because I really do like Julie Andrews SO much and think, in addition to being very talented, she is and always has been a humble and gracious class act and charming personality. </div><div>But for an actress who mostly radiates crisp efficiency and common sense to make real a character charitably described as an ill-tempered, hard-drinking, child-neglecting narcissist, Andrews needed the kind of special handling and solid material Doris Day received with <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2013/04/love-me-or-leave-me-1955.html" target="_blank">Love Me or Leave Me</a></i>, or Mary Tyler Moore with <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2018/03/ordinary-people-1980.html" target="_blank">Ordinary People</a></i>. Certainly something better than William Fairchild’s fatuous screenplay or Robert Wise's famously hands-off direction. Outside of its Michael Kidd choreographed and staged musical numbers, overall I feel Julie Andrews is poorly served by <i>Star!</i>, not the other way around. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM2ZglK0n3OuqBVNCsH_oSJe7M8C09uCYinPCJwQwVI3l70Eg1sRmLTzzBRsw0xJSMhxWyRzLhZg-F6VbrPacNCOMnGd3bAnLivzka-vBfDfRqGwTzxdp5dMky2cPI8VsTH-es3314xXM/s2553/Jenny-Agutter-Star-1968.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1124" data-original-width="2553" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM2ZglK0n3OuqBVNCsH_oSJe7M8C09uCYinPCJwQwVI3l70Eg1sRmLTzzBRsw0xJSMhxWyRzLhZg-F6VbrPacNCOMnGd3bAnLivzka-vBfDfRqGwTzxdp5dMky2cPI8VsTH-es3314xXM/w400-h176/Jenny-Agutter-Star-1968.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>14-year-old Jenny Agutter (<i>Logan's Run</i>, <i>Walkabout</i>) as Gertrude's daughter Pamela Roper</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;">As movie musicals evolve (de-evolve?) into pyrotechnical CGI displays of machine-gun editing and flying camerawork, an old-school, studio-bound movie like <i>Star!</i> is not without its pleasures. I knew when I first saw it that <i>Star! </i>was going to be a film I’d add to my collection and rewatch...but likely never again in its entirety. And I was right...<i>Star!</i> has joined <i>The Music Man</i>, <i>Paint Your Wagon</i>, <i>Nine</i>, <i>A Chorus Line</i>, and <i>Rent</i> as one of my movie musical “Fast-Forward Favorites.”</div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Ff5356e2FxBYFvfO-swxj5BZmMq-67bXWR8VLqIOtcFnXaEJijKGnkWlyzmURJhTO-Dx7bSXGUMX1HB8bz7OQ0pbZIXTEbySrTnLolz_u_PmTYc8884V_03MKACQQUks8ZjeT5On-vA/s2560/Julie-Andrews-Star-Parisian-Pierrot-1968.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1162" data-original-width="2560" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Ff5356e2FxBYFvfO-swxj5BZmMq-67bXWR8VLqIOtcFnXaEJijKGnkWlyzmURJhTO-Dx7bSXGUMX1HB8bz7OQ0pbZIXTEbySrTnLolz_u_PmTYc8884V_03MKACQQUks8ZjeT5On-vA/w453-h205/Julie-Andrews-Star-Parisian-Pierrot-1968.JPG" width="453" /></a></div><div><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><b>WHAT I LOVE ABOUT THIS MOVIE - The Musical Sequences </b></div><div>My “Fast-Forward Favorites” are movies I visit most often with my finger poised over the FWD button on the remote so I can sidestep the unpleasantness and hone in exclusively on the joys. In nearly every film I place in this category, this means the musical numbers (George Cukor's <i>The Women</i> is one of the few non-musical films I most enjoy a la carte). The musical sequences in <i>Star!</i> hold a special sway over me because I fell in love with the movie's original soundtrack album<i> </i>long before I ever saw the film. I was a freshman in high school when I purchased the deluxe, photo-crammed, gate-fold <i>Star! </i>soundtrack LP for 99¢ in a remainder bin. It’s an absolutely brilliant song collection and I played it to death (still do) because it’s essentially a Julie Andrews concert album in disguise.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The use of music is where<i> Star! </i>differs<i> </i>from its 1968 look-alike <i>Funny Girl</i>. In <i>Star!</i>, like <a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2015/07/cabaret-1972.html" style="font-style: italic;" target="_blank">Cabaret</a>, only four years earlier, all the songs and dances take place onstage or are sung in realistic performance. For the longest time, the discordant tone of the screenplay left me with the impression that the musical numbers in the film were unconnected to the action and that each time Dame Andrews breaks into song, the already overextended story grinds to a halt. But in rewatching the film in recent years and for this piece, I now see that most every song actually comments on the action or relates to Lawrence’s romantic and psychological conflicts. It's just that with the film's unwieldy structure, that particular thread isn't all that easy to find. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>Favorite Musical Sequences</b><span style="text-align: left;"> </span></div></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguNqOtJkTt7uY7uN47kylllEL_0pMP-DVVUo27K3uIXr6agY_D6YmVsKNUmjWVLOl2u55i2et16DD88184FKLca5l6sU7jVTigL0cDKLi4CB1EGp5axqoVjFF6e51Td1nz9DMwz-Prt-8/s2560/Julie-Andrews-Star_Dear_Little-Boy-1968.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1163" data-original-width="2560" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguNqOtJkTt7uY7uN47kylllEL_0pMP-DVVUo27K3uIXr6agY_D6YmVsKNUmjWVLOl2u55i2et16DD88184FKLca5l6sU7jVTigL0cDKLi4CB1EGp5axqoVjFF6e51Td1nz9DMwz-Prt-8/w449-h204/Julie-Andrews-Star_Dear_Little-Boy-1968.JPG" width="449" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Dear Little Boy (Dear Little Girl)</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">Ironic as hell that my top fave musical moment in this Herculean production is Julie Andrews just standing still and singing with that bell-clear voice of hers. <i>Star! </i>was my introduction to many of the standards and showtunes in the score, and this Gershwin song from 1926's Oh, Kay! (those damned exclamation points, again) is lovely.</div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv3-YsGqdr6O0JKFW4pGeHB-076kAv4_4XY8VPEPA3Eqp6pfK0wiSh9VuEnJsoDmDi_fQGOCBnxWEFr13Te8z8LFUhvBQcE3PXZE58ONC6wldPyOI5n8uFExKy7vGXOItx1ZPbxmu1z1s/s2558/Julie-Andrews-Burlington-Bertie-Star-1968+%25283%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1164" data-original-width="2558" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv3-YsGqdr6O0JKFW4pGeHB-076kAv4_4XY8VPEPA3Eqp6pfK0wiSh9VuEnJsoDmDi_fQGOCBnxWEFr13Te8z8LFUhvBQcE3PXZE58ONC6wldPyOI5n8uFExKy7vGXOItx1ZPbxmu1z1s/w447-h205/Julie-Andrews-Burlington-Bertie-Star-1968+%25283%2529.JPG" width="447" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Burlington Bertie from Bow</b></td></tr></tbody></table>I’m no fan of clowns, baggy-pants comics, or those maudlin, cured-ham vaudeville-burlesque hobo “swells” like Red Skelton’s Freddie the Freeloader...but this number is a keeper. The song itself is a witty delight and Andrews handles the many props and comic stage business with waggish aplomb. She often refers to it as the most challenging number she's ever had to learn.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc3Q28VdtFBCyM6dcNNLx16zB2gxhrf9Rfim5Uw-3BbGj-KX4bkM_PblGCjMH1zzJQQRIBye8hwjfS6fVybJrq59MySmbAWYc26e9qEt5P6Rno17BtsKl5i1_NnVsrDLtfdkI0iZlD8cc/s2560/Julie-Andrews-Star-The-Physician-1968.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1130" data-original-width="2560" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc3Q28VdtFBCyM6dcNNLx16zB2gxhrf9Rfim5Uw-3BbGj-KX4bkM_PblGCjMH1zzJQQRIBye8hwjfS6fVybJrq59MySmbAWYc26e9qEt5P6Rno17BtsKl5i1_NnVsrDLtfdkI0iZlD8cc/w452-h199/Julie-Andrews-Star-The-Physician-1968.JPG" width="452" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The Physician</b></td></tr></tbody></table>I love this clever Cole Porter tune so much, and the comical staging it's given really soars in spite of the cringe-inducing brownface adopted by the performers (the less said about that “Limehouse Blues” number, the better). I’ve heard this song interpreted by many people over the years, but Andrews' rendition is the top.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcq_0fjnIILBHjLRCmlFXiF846F_Aw5-H8JFWjhbVpbAxwtzQwXwwKF-GkRvHaEHs4wFecWE-La68DCOeek7hAQtEpZqUQk6VNpVxKbnw1ca1xNucWdFzWg4KTVDhE76-brAnznubrAK4/s2559/Julie-Andrews-Star-1968+%25283%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1161" data-original-width="2559" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcq_0fjnIILBHjLRCmlFXiF846F_Aw5-H8JFWjhbVpbAxwtzQwXwwKF-GkRvHaEHs4wFecWE-La68DCOeek7hAQtEpZqUQk6VNpVxKbnw1ca1xNucWdFzWg4KTVDhE76-brAnznubrAK4/w469-h212/Julie-Andrews-Star-1968+%25283%2529.JPG" width="469" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The Saga of Jenny</b></td></tr></tbody></table>A defining characteristic I associate with Michael Kidd’s choreography (<i>Seven Brides for Seven Brothers</i>, <i>Hello, Dolly!</i>, <i>Guys and Dolls</i>) is that while most dance strives for the appearance of effortlessness, Kidd’s work displays a conspicuous strenuousness. That’s not a criticism so much as an observation citing what makes this number so impressive for me. Kidd puts Julie Andrews through the dance equivalent of a decathlon, but she wins the gold.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDywjQZVAocDlsFJV_SAUw4ppIx0zTpI-GcIRWtiQ8UFVKa52l1BWGkgHKlWtcJ0IvWMGVwL4LEiyq-UvmD73LeU77Gap-tLYwvCKeDaWpstx2axkz10iWgZiuEwNnsvogOXSkBkuzEts/s1376/Julie-Andrews-Those-Were-The-Happy-Times-Star-1969-Movie-Posters.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1052" data-original-width="1376" height="344" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDywjQZVAocDlsFJV_SAUw4ppIx0zTpI-GcIRWtiQ8UFVKa52l1BWGkgHKlWtcJ0IvWMGVwL4LEiyq-UvmD73LeU77Gap-tLYwvCKeDaWpstx2axkz10iWgZiuEwNnsvogOXSkBkuzEts/w450-h344/Julie-Andrews-Those-Were-The-Happy-Times-Star-1969-Movie-Posters.jpg" width="450" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Damage Control</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div>When <i>Star!</i> flopped, Fox pulled the film from theaters early, lopped off nearly an hour, and released it to theaters in 1969 under the optimistic, totally nonsensical title <i>Those Were The Happy Time</i>s. While I've always liked the original (misleadingly modern) movie poster, I am mad about and positively mesmerized by the sheer, absolute flop-sweat desperation of the re-issue poster. <i>"Be Glad they still make pictures like this!" </i>...that's like when you complain about the lima beans and your mom responds, <i>"Be glad there's food on your plate at all!"</i> And what's up with that "demented flower girl" artwork? ...by <i>The Sound of Music</i> poster artist Howard Terpning, no less.</div><div><div><br /></div><div><b>BONUS MATERIAL</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCsVnry36qJAy2TeivFnKv4-TWxWTy97gecJv5BeBy2cghSebgfzFMiWoCnDH16_dwy76tlUcSploET5YrqRH_qcsz5iQjWl4PGFAmP6EBq2sB__ra1lbwP6Mn_A9MiG6bTUFTdk_Hgpw/s1400/Twiggy-Harry-Groener-If-Love-Were-All-1999-Off-Broadway.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1400" data-original-width="721" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCsVnry36qJAy2TeivFnKv4-TWxWTy97gecJv5BeBy2cghSebgfzFMiWoCnDH16_dwy76tlUcSploET5YrqRH_qcsz5iQjWl4PGFAmP6EBq2sB__ra1lbwP6Mn_A9MiG6bTUFTdk_Hgpw/w206-h400/Twiggy-Harry-Groener-If-Love-Were-All-1999-Off-Broadway.jpg" width="206" /></a></div>In 1999, Twiggy (<i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/05/the-boy-friend-1971.html" target="_blank">The Boy Friend</a></i>) and Harry Groener portrayed Gertrude Lawrence & Noel Coward in the Off-Broadway production <i>If Love Were All. </i>Never saw the show but the cast CD is terrific.<i> </i>Sets and costumes were designed by Julie Andrews' first husband, Oscar and Tony Award-winning designer Tony Walton (<i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/12/all-that-jazz-1979.html" target="_blank">All That Jazz</a></i>).</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqTjfw_JL-HKHsZ-wAumPNCY3DWNsZI09oX-hlaw2wppqr4k16M162RMFQ44SCnYCYHrs2bh8BpvjRoLk-2TBo9BVE_ego2l1ZrIwZJqMiuhz2Z_DhEIk0AK-K_EUguRgjcrxJYb_J8kA/s1333/Julie-Andrews-Look-Magazine-Sept-19-1967.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1333" data-original-width="1000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqTjfw_JL-HKHsZ-wAumPNCY3DWNsZI09oX-hlaw2wppqr4k16M162RMFQ44SCnYCYHrs2bh8BpvjRoLk-2TBo9BVE_ego2l1ZrIwZJqMiuhz2Z_DhEIk0AK-K_EUguRgjcrxJYb_J8kA/w300-h400/Julie-Andrews-Look-Magazine-Sept-19-1967.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i>"When you flop in one part, always start in another as soon as possible." </i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i>- </i>Gertrude Lawrence <i>STAR! </i>screenplay</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTCq2vMXQblgAuiVnST-8CpHBB4UlEcI4tvj5szDwK8NaGiTwN7CI1wROC70eZacOAdZfXwBE7JUVQabrP3C-SNGK0yA-X-Xs9AMf9SNpwzAYT0pnAOTLt04kUC1cq_DqERhUf3qzX384/s1421/Julie-Andrews-Star-soundtrack-1968.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="771" data-original-width="1421" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTCq2vMXQblgAuiVnST-8CpHBB4UlEcI4tvj5szDwK8NaGiTwN7CI1wROC70eZacOAdZfXwBE7JUVQabrP3C-SNGK0yA-X-Xs9AMf9SNpwzAYT0pnAOTLt04kUC1cq_DqERhUf3qzX384/w400-h217/Julie-Andrews-Star-soundtrack-1968.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Copyright © Ken Anderson 2009 - 2021</div>Ken Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04940648971296673233noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2627032459273165000.post-52274807789833322812021-07-14T22:50:00.044-07:002021-08-22T15:43:54.905-07:00KILLER FISH 1979<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQXygceZTnQx70gKsEBf9VftxEc4e8_ynslrpECtKu5ZmgjVsjOMsLZKS1mdep0E5CbAFvH6p0mpCXThUeQIIfO8Py8TAIzmAJu9LfheDdbyusb3loKR4vexZ3QQCgKx6f1x4lVH5922Q/s2048/Killer_Fish_Deadly_Treasure_of_the_+Piranha_Naked_Sun_Greed_1979+.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1140" data-original-width="2048" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQXygceZTnQx70gKsEBf9VftxEc4e8_ynslrpECtKu5ZmgjVsjOMsLZKS1mdep0E5CbAFvH6p0mpCXThUeQIIfO8Py8TAIzmAJu9LfheDdbyusb3loKR4vexZ3QQCgKx6f1x4lVH5922Q/w415-h231/Killer_Fish_Deadly_Treasure_of_the_+Piranha_Naked_Sun_Greed_1979+.JPG" width="415" /></a></div><div><div>This absurd (and absurdly entertaining) action-adventure flick from the days of polyester, poppers, and Plato’s Retreat has to be one of the most assertively engaging “70s aesthetic” films I’ve ever seen that wasn’t actually set in a disco. The cocaine-thin leading ladies (not divulging anything, that’s what the look was called) sport clunky jewelry, epic perms, and dramatic eye shadow while serving up a veritable fashion parade of outré late-‘70s resort wear. Meanwhile, you can practically smell the Aramis Cologne wafting from the hirsute, heavily-tanned, gold-chained chests peeking out from behind the earth-toned, wide-collared and wide-open Quiana shirts of the film’s blow-dried leading men.</div><div><br /></div><div>Set in Brazil and cast with what look to be the stragglers from a particularly off night at Studio 54 or Xenon, <i>Killer Fish</i> is a disarmingly fun dishonor-among-thieves jewel heist flick with a bit of post-<i>Jaws</i> perils-of-the-deep action thrown in. And by thrown in, I mean literally. For unbeknownst to his fellow partners in crime, the ringleader behind the theft of an emerald mine tosses 100 deadly, rapidly-breeding piranha into a nearby reservoir to act as razor-toothed security guards protecting the multimillion-dollar cache of stolen jewels stashed way, way down...deep below in the watery depths. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvcvWbyEbx_D06xIW59QfkYZp5aDtTUF7XsVy5TrYpQtuQ5rSz_i195jeB9BM8-7E73L3kI5JIDRSL6eG-9iYbamPTQEhJoauCbbLETnjcmsca4ksgRsPp9gR3keKv_id4fIz9pIHmAoA/s2048/Killer_Fish_Piranha_1979+%25281%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1146" data-original-width="2048" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvcvWbyEbx_D06xIW59QfkYZp5aDtTUF7XsVy5TrYpQtuQ5rSz_i195jeB9BM8-7E73L3kI5JIDRSL6eG-9iYbamPTQEhJoauCbbLETnjcmsca4ksgRsPp9gR3keKv_id4fIz9pIHmAoA/w459-h257/Killer_Fish_Piranha_1979+%25281%2529.JPG" width="459" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>"I'm gonna have to see some ID."</b></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><div style="text-align: left;">While rampant greed and mucho-mistrust lead to escalating betrayals and double-crosses among the motley crew of gem grabbers, the arrival at the resort of an American supermodel and her entourage lighten the tone of things by providing romantic interest, labored comedy, and the opportunity for enhanced body-count jeopardy once an ill-timed tropical tornado (!) flings them all together in a sinking ship in piranha-infested waters. </div><div style="text-align: left;">I might be guilty of making it all sound much better than it actually is (the film's pacing deadlier than the fish), but from its tin-eared screenplay, discordant performances, and "vicissitudes of time" casting (this meager production couldn't have afforded its cast just four short years earlier) <i>Killer Fish</i> is one of those sublime lightning-in-a-bottle epics of ineptitude that I live for.</div></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvOx494JE7bQc5rdqIiNyh5qooNzONUqVnruhE-R3bvEu3ZXRtWW7dQj5mGY3MI-Tvnqugj-OsE4Ae3ylzOy-P1W20ckSDyzokSN0OaMLxReDA1RscXB00lz0276oQWyhyphenhyphenHJ9V9TIpFjs/s2048/Killer_Fish-Lee_Majors_Frank_Pesce_Karen_Black_Charles_+Guardino_1979.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1141" data-original-width="2048" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvOx494JE7bQc5rdqIiNyh5qooNzONUqVnruhE-R3bvEu3ZXRtWW7dQj5mGY3MI-Tvnqugj-OsE4Ae3ylzOy-P1W20ckSDyzokSN0OaMLxReDA1RscXB00lz0276oQWyhyphenhyphenHJ9V9TIpFjs/w439-h245/Killer_Fish-Lee_Majors_Frank_Pesce_Karen_Black_Charles_+Guardino_1979.JPG" width="439" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Thieves Like Us<br />"Trust me, nobody's gonna notice us in black leather & turtlenecks in sweltering Brazil."</b><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">One of the last of a handful of motion pictures to bear the dubious A Fawcett-Majors Production banner (the Fawcett-Majors marital union had already dissolved by this point), this waterlogged French-Italian-Brazilian bouillabaisse (cioppino, moqueca) went through several working titles –<i>The Naked Sun</i>, <i>Greed</i>, and <i>Deadly Treasure of the Piranha</i>– before settling on the throw-up-your-hands, cut-to-the-chase, B-movie obviousness of <i>Killer Fish</i>. And it’s a good thing, too, because this isn’t the kind of movie that can afford to play it coy (koi?).</div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq19pr0ZHBl2-54I2qs8Esti3b__v6uw0ZQn6v7LD9V-S6A_ngnrt9XWJROUJxbTRsYPTM6Z7km_cz77g7mcSxFlYZXAux0fV9GEuAaxDIiIxqoYyQ8NY2fy4QScZw4SkOxW9tRunWMUY/s2048/Killer_Fish_Karen_Black-1979+%25282%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1147" data-original-width="2048" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq19pr0ZHBl2-54I2qs8Esti3b__v6uw0ZQn6v7LD9V-S6A_ngnrt9XWJROUJxbTRsYPTM6Z7km_cz77g7mcSxFlYZXAux0fV9GEuAaxDIiIxqoYyQ8NY2fy4QScZw4SkOxW9tRunWMUY/w400-h224/Killer_Fish_Karen_Black-1979+%25282%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Karen Black as Kate Neville</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5OGsZB9RfNiniTOrt-OgsuA5vulFtsmKoulPkytsea0eI1QgcADWdDLeNMkUOqwkAXHyqmFoS9XGzZzCGVGr5HHadDCXJilpbnByWTAS-B2p8rRMBBs714IWzgSsXJkbdqUVFhmVSmcU/s2048/Killer_Fish_Lee_Majors_1979+%25286%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1150" data-original-width="2048" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5OGsZB9RfNiniTOrt-OgsuA5vulFtsmKoulPkytsea0eI1QgcADWdDLeNMkUOqwkAXHyqmFoS9XGzZzCGVGr5HHadDCXJilpbnByWTAS-B2p8rRMBBs714IWzgSsXJkbdqUVFhmVSmcU/w400-h225/Killer_Fish_Lee_Majors_1979+%25286%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lee Majors as Robert Lasky</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO_WIesHklUz7bQGuib2IgWpcRvqDiN2PQRhtwacR4h6_oku29FtHeg0Ge73OuAPGV11ID3BQFs_SqwlWq9HN71H5TUnUzdJ8n9Sq_878sFZcoBBsyCNrte2uTait1wQN2hvd1QogHrTE/s2048/Killer_Fish_Margaux_Hemingway_1979.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1141" data-original-width="2048" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO_WIesHklUz7bQGuib2IgWpcRvqDiN2PQRhtwacR4h6_oku29FtHeg0Ge73OuAPGV11ID3BQFs_SqwlWq9HN71H5TUnUzdJ8n9Sq_878sFZcoBBsyCNrte2uTait1wQN2hvd1QogHrTE/w400-h223/Killer_Fish_Margaux_Hemingway_1979.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Margaux Hemingway as Gabrielle</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_M9ADJTEFvaLyTVkD0U-G1wUgdHN8f2_0b3b9yVh-LtiKHFC0DYhVQQ4rMvZ5B7LRtpAEArT1OPhKS_acAlC_1NSZy6vWj9KGfxiHYcEEC5dO7ZacevD5lh6RSv5V-LtoXUK2rRwSxJs/s2048/Killer_Fish_James_Franciscus_1979+%25283%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1147" data-original-width="2048" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_M9ADJTEFvaLyTVkD0U-G1wUgdHN8f2_0b3b9yVh-LtiKHFC0DYhVQQ4rMvZ5B7LRtpAEArT1OPhKS_acAlC_1NSZy6vWj9KGfxiHYcEEC5dO7ZacevD5lh6RSv5V-LtoXUK2rRwSxJs/w400-h224/Killer_Fish_James_Franciscus_1979+%25283%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">James Franciscus as Paul Diller</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQQ8oTCHq7ILqJR5PX5ojadPl_R76WISF2J-ApeIpWyUnRvHY5aHePhO9caBA1n4mmnEiKjonGyGz8F3Tckfghx6pWzC4rpTDCWoQKzOXA87Z6s2aWqMKLBn1wiW62X5RzhfB8Jzj3EQM/s2048/Killer_Fish_Marisa_Berenson_1979.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1140" data-original-width="2048" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQQ8oTCHq7ILqJR5PX5ojadPl_R76WISF2J-ApeIpWyUnRvHY5aHePhO9caBA1n4mmnEiKjonGyGz8F3Tckfghx6pWzC4rpTDCWoQKzOXA87Z6s2aWqMKLBn1wiW62X5RzhfB8Jzj3EQM/w400-h223/Killer_Fish_Marisa_Berenson_1979.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marisa Berenson as Ann Hoyt</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><div>Looking at the exceptionally attractive roster of talent assembled for <i>Killer Fish</i> from the vantage point of 2021, one would be forgiven if mistaking it for the guest star list of a special two-hour episode of <i>The Love Boat</i> or <i>Murder, She Wrote</i>. But back in 1978 this cast of Oscar-nominees, runway models, TV stars, and Stanley Kubrick alumni were, as one critic put it, “stars in the autumn of their careers” appearing in a leaky, tax-shelter flick produced by Sophia Loren's stepson and promoted as costing $6 million. </div><div>But one look at the cartoonishly shoddy special effects and no-budget production values supports the theory that the budget boast was mere PR puffery calculated to inspire cross-reference association to Lee Majors’ long-running TV program <i>The Six-Million Dollar Man</i>, then in its final season. <i>Killer Fish</i> was Majors' doomed second attempt to parlay his TV fame into movie stardom following <i>The Norsemen</i> (1978), a Viking adventure that was all but laughed off the screen.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXEc7SY4C16mwWBVFIz86zsRhpKSSzjvr9-1EIr34ne4htDzTrLALJEfYlhmIZZhbQhBFoqkOZFbOtGR2TIEZixx0AzEXuERL7ihS_a-BFOp_KfvV530gcfBJBhZIWH8gDgbPPGXwBLBg/s2048/Karen-Black-Killer-Fish-1979+%25285%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1149" data-original-width="2048" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXEc7SY4C16mwWBVFIz86zsRhpKSSzjvr9-1EIr34ne4htDzTrLALJEfYlhmIZZhbQhBFoqkOZFbOtGR2TIEZixx0AzEXuERL7ihS_a-BFOp_KfvV530gcfBJBhZIWH8gDgbPPGXwBLBg/w431-h242/Karen-Black-Killer-Fish-1979+%25285%2529.JPG" width="431" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>No Lies Detected, Ms. Black</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">From its sunny tropical setting to its don’t-go-near-the-water menace, the PG-rated <i>Killer Fish</i> is just the sort of action-packed, sun-baked escapist fare ideally suited for quickie summer playoffs at Drive-Ins and air-conditioned matinees. Yet in a move as characteristically wrongheaded as most everything associated with this film, <i>Killer Fish </i>was launched in Los Angeles as a Christmas holiday release, opening in December of 1979 on the same day as <i>Star Trek: The Motion Picture</i>. </div><div style="text-align: left;">Since no one in their right mind could have possibly considered <i>Killer Fish</i> a serious contender to go head-to-head against that eagerly-anticipated Trekkie wet dream, my guess is that distributors were banking on <i>Killer Fish</i> capturing the spillover demographic of disappointed (and more importantly, desperate) teens and young adults turned away from sold-out screenings of <i>Star Trek</i>.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpRe29PsYxfYPq2dQED8qeZ7od8SrwYe4S8iINAPt22MeJ-JYl-MWnVsL1zqgW9Nb3_kbmOmEo7xi2kASOF1XkAAhl8GvAAIIIBOoR17ItYwEctoLnRXfokCLu3DWbzxlwGssCv3CVBaQ/s1098/Killer_Fish_Newspaper-Ad-1979.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1098" data-original-width="1000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpRe29PsYxfYPq2dQED8qeZ7od8SrwYe4S8iINAPt22MeJ-JYl-MWnVsL1zqgW9Nb3_kbmOmEo7xi2kASOF1XkAAhl8GvAAIIIBOoR17ItYwEctoLnRXfokCLu3DWbzxlwGssCv3CVBaQ/w364-h400/Killer_Fish_Newspaper-Ad-1979.jpg" width="364" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Killer Fish</i> opened on Friday, December 7, 1979 at the Pacific Theater on Hollywood Blvd. The visual clutter of this ad fails to take advantage of the fact that <i>Killer Fish</i> is loaded with, if not exactly marquee names, certainly recognizable, exploitable ones.</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><p style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><div style="text-align: justify;">As a non-Trekkie who got caught up in the hype and lined up to see <i>Star Trek: The Motion Picture</i> on opening day, I'm more than a little surprised (given my adoration of Karen Black) that I have absolutely no memory whatsoever of the release of<i> Killer Fish</i>. What's more, it's maddening to realize in hindsight that not only would I have had a better time at <i>Killer Fish</i>, but I more than likely would have had the entire theater to myself.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij12EepeM9kvVmiDGebaLZnOz0Xi6c7ygSP8D1xaheDPegdzN1vrlv-x0UJ4CcGzsiaAIMlktYmbS2GTQlIL5GdUMxINMuJ6NACHZJMaZ4co8vkcBAk_pPuwxptgYEVhS5Xh-FULgMYHA/s1475/Killer_Fish_Roy_Brocksmith_Margaux_Hemingway_Chico_Arago_1979_Whweres_Waldo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1475" data-original-width="1325" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij12EepeM9kvVmiDGebaLZnOz0Xi6c7ygSP8D1xaheDPegdzN1vrlv-x0UJ4CcGzsiaAIMlktYmbS2GTQlIL5GdUMxINMuJ6NACHZJMaZ4co8vkcBAk_pPuwxptgYEVhS5Xh-FULgMYHA/w287-h320/Killer_Fish_Roy_Brocksmith_Margaux_Hemingway_Chico_Arago_1979_Whweres_Waldo.jpg" width="287" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The influence of this fashion-forward adventure flick extends to featuring, in the person of photographer's assistant Ben played by Chico Arago, a <i>Where's Waldo? </i>prototype<i> </i>(Where's Wally? in the UK) some eight years before the first puzzle book was published in 1987</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">Part caper film (imagine a soggy, poorly-acted</span><i style="text-align: left;"> The Treasure of Sierra Madre</i><span style="text-align: left;">); part eco-horror/when-animals-attack flick (</span><i style="text-align: left;">The Swarm</i><span style="text-align: left;"> submerged); part action-adventure (lots of things get “blowed up real good”); and part disaster movie (a tornado, a bursting dam, a plane crash, a sinking boat), </span><i style="text-align: left;">Killer Fish</i><span style="text-align: left;"> is one of those “International Market” projects that toss a bit of everything into the mix, hoping something will ultimately land. </span></div><div><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div>Alas, very little of it does. But what saves <i>Killer Fish</i> from being the bland, by-the-numbers, macho actioner Lee Majors’ participation all but guaranteed, is the startling, obviously inadvertent fashion-focused, supermodel in peril, female-centric, Last Days of Disco feel of it all. <i>Killer Fish</i> is like Halston & Andy Warhol got together to make an action film primer for gay teens raised on <i>Vogue</i>, <i>After Dark Magazine</i>, and Donna Summer. </div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT349nUbvQrJeUfCQ9h5_kzZz5WRlELtoLpuO4AsHfkZvLkm8ueOLUzKMGU4jo0Pplamom-T42mzq9kUCU3TVnRB6084lkzr2tGrFZm6kRlzL5iMCIv-Cpw6PEa9N5jgXXTbfgUm6l694/s2048/Killer_Fish_Gary_Collins_1979+%25281%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1142" data-original-width="2048" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT349nUbvQrJeUfCQ9h5_kzZz5WRlELtoLpuO4AsHfkZvLkm8ueOLUzKMGU4jo0Pplamom-T42mzq9kUCU3TVnRB6084lkzr2tGrFZm6kRlzL5iMCIv-Cpw6PEa9N5jgXXTbfgUm6l694/w400-h223/Killer_Fish_Gary_Collins_1979+%25281%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Gary Collins as Tom</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWAzY_FEHGtbGFRlnw8sq4EN1eUVkFHJXXir95Euzyr060fQke8Mp5h3vCvHYBaLBvABJsaEzlIjDZjcKFs6IE2ktmZbq_ZOHfNWUcomRQuOtW8WF56K6U0sI82KRIwvJtAmr2De1Re1Q/s2048/Killer_Fish_Dan_Pastorini_1979+%25282%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1133" data-original-width="2048" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWAzY_FEHGtbGFRlnw8sq4EN1eUVkFHJXXir95Euzyr060fQke8Mp5h3vCvHYBaLBvABJsaEzlIjDZjcKFs6IE2ktmZbq_ZOHfNWUcomRQuOtW8WF56K6U0sI82KRIwvJtAmr2De1Re1Q/w400-h221/Killer_Fish_Dan_Pastorini_1979+%25282%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Former NFL quarterback Dan Pastorini as Hans</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Disco was everywhere in the late '70s, making it all but mandatory for movie soundtracks to feature at least one disco track. Disco goddess Donna Summer contributed the theme to <i>The Deep</i> in 1977, so, not to be outdone, <i>Killer Fish</i> enlisted Ami Stewart--of "Knock on Wood" fame--to sing the jarringly tension-killing but infectiously booty-shaking disco theme "The Winner Takes All" (no relation to ABBA's similarly-named "The Winner Take It All" which was still a year off).</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5hN75v51gqY2Remq1_l7k_r9QFeSqKelizXfAY03Io7l2RjCQtk91eUP4mb_w7CTGAIlTjoV9bqzWskOBitqxG3JKTlVUDkj-tD-8Be-VJjjRkIRodYcWwKlkrT38z0rlgMNSWM-JO2g/s1316/Killer-Fish-Soundtrack-Album-Barry-Leng-Simon-May-Guido-DeAngelis-Maurizio-DeAngelis-1979.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1298" data-original-width="1316" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5hN75v51gqY2Remq1_l7k_r9QFeSqKelizXfAY03Io7l2RjCQtk91eUP4mb_w7CTGAIlTjoV9bqzWskOBitqxG3JKTlVUDkj-tD-8Be-VJjjRkIRodYcWwKlkrT38z0rlgMNSWM-JO2g/w200-h198/Killer-Fish-Soundtrack-Album-Barry-Leng-Simon-May-Guido-DeAngelis-Maurizio-DeAngelis-1979.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Disco Duck to Disco Pirahna: <a href="https://youtu.be/0bNeVW6rBDE" target="_blank">Listen</a></b></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><b>WHAT I LOVE ABOUT THIS MOVIE </b></div><div><div>After I missed its original theatrical release, <i>Killer Fish</i> was entirely off my radar until it resurfaced in 2018 on a particularly riotous episode of Netflix’s rebooted <i>Mystery Science Theater 3000</i>. While my principal interest in the film has always been Karen Black, who could pass up the glam + quirk factor of having Margaux Hemingway (whom I absolutely loved in the widely-reviled <i>Lipstick</i>) and Marisa Berenson (<i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2015/07/cabaret-1972.html" target="_blank">Cabaret</a></i> and <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2015/11/barry-lyndon-1975.html" target="_blank">Barry Lyndon</a></i>) all together in the same movie? Tack on the random casting addition of dimpled nonentity Gary Collins, and <i>Killer Fish</i> becomes a positively irresistible must-see. </div><div><br /></div><div>Given all the aforementioned ingredients, there was no way <i>Killer Fish </i>wasn't going to be my cup of so-bad-it's-good tea anyway. But I was pleasantly surprised when it turned out to be quite enjoyable on its own merits, and a marvelous time-capsule of that peculiar point in time (Backgammon!) when the ‘70s was ready to morph into the ‘80s. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1XjZugVIC9q5NpTGYHH2JZ4I965nF5zcKifS8t40NPxGCJnguoGzIl7mxxEJM2wSQi2mCWPAg0j8-h2OrsCpi3E48rh74yNvE5D_-5_4gWSlIYmHmBgJU4KqIufkqhuwJeBj5s4eVZA0/s2048/Lee-Majors-Margaux-Hemingway-Karen-Black-1979.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1145" data-original-width="2048" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1XjZugVIC9q5NpTGYHH2JZ4I965nF5zcKifS8t40NPxGCJnguoGzIl7mxxEJM2wSQi2mCWPAg0j8-h2OrsCpi3E48rh74yNvE5D_-5_4gWSlIYmHmBgJU4KqIufkqhuwJeBj5s4eVZA0/w434-h243/Lee-Majors-Margaux-Hemingway-Karen-Black-1979.JPG" width="434" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Timeless Words, am I right?</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>Killer Fish</i> looks like one of those movies actors agree to appear in just to get a free vacation in an exotic locale, but it seems the making of this toothy opus was no picnic. For starters, the expensive and uncooperative piranha taxed the film's already strained budget. A bored Lee Majors was dissatisfied with the script and worried about getting a case of the trots. Marisa Berenson, recovering from a marriage break-up, enjoyed a brief fling with the film’s producer Alex Ponti, but during one of their off-set jaunts, she suffered facial lacerations in an auto accident that killed two people. Muriel Hemingway's 2015 memoir <i>Out Came the Sun</i> has big sister Margaux recounting how Karen Black was still breastfeeding her 3-year-old son during production, and his calling out <i>“Tit, mommy!”</i> when hungry. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6RdOxNRDVCPtIPnlpAELnTjaTWLknOEGgRIx65Nq6J5KZtcSw2PGviG2iQG6HLZ7cjvnZqLqoAOYX7zKht_8CE6aL91wAyChMGL1ypOBYZ0rptxlT9xb7wAG_JhKE35GaAiUp1PygftA/s2048/Killer-Fish-1979-Roy-Brocksmith.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1153" data-original-width="2048" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6RdOxNRDVCPtIPnlpAELnTjaTWLknOEGgRIx65Nq6J5KZtcSw2PGviG2iQG6HLZ7cjvnZqLqoAOYX7zKht_8CE6aL91wAyChMGL1ypOBYZ0rptxlT9xb7wAG_JhKE35GaAiUp1PygftA/w426-h239/Killer-Fish-1979-Roy-Brocksmith.JPG" width="426" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Over-the-top comic relief (such as it is) is supplied by Roy Brocksmith as Ollie, the temperamental fashion photographer. Ollie evokes the essence of producer Allan Carr possessed by the spirit of Bruce Vilanch</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2lwhRCzEWEKqU-AIamj7uKab6Q3-61lDeqNLUraJQxX-Q9Gghp7iU7BvpZ0XVe0hOp90TN46-jvA_AOk39141D0psE6mK4kIt1tmpTHejbeumPi9n3tzCtUXQFCHgZ7HPbZB_KhveFrY/s2048/Killer_Fish_Gary_Collins_Marisa_Berenson_1979.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1146" data-original-width="2048" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2lwhRCzEWEKqU-AIamj7uKab6Q3-61lDeqNLUraJQxX-Q9Gghp7iU7BvpZ0XVe0hOp90TN46-jvA_AOk39141D0psE6mK4kIt1tmpTHejbeumPi9n3tzCtUXQFCHgZ7HPbZB_KhveFrY/w470-h264/Killer_Fish_Gary_Collins_Marisa_Berenson_1979.JPG" width="470" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Tom wants to fan flames of passion - Ann suspects he won't be able to find the pilot light <br />Gary Collins plays the pilot of a private plane. Marisa Berenson the head of a fashion agency</b></td></tr></tbody></table></div><br /><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>THE STUFF OF FANTASY</b></div><div>I knew <i>Killer Fish</i> was going to be my kind of movie when, during the film’s pre-title sequence, Karen Black is shown committing a dangerous stealth robbery—an act requiring climbing ladders, scrambling across railroad tracks, running in the sand, and climbing over rocks—wearing a pair of extraordinarily impractical, albeit stylish, high-heeled boots. When Ms. Black’s wobbly efforts to maintain her footing (and look good while doing it) proved more compelling to me than the robbery at hand, I knew I’d found MY kind of action film.</div><div>And that sequence sets the fashion-over-function sartorial standard for the entire movie: meaning that in every scene, no matter how life-and-death the circumstances, at least one character can be relied upon to be preposterously overdressed. Which in the ‘70s meant…dressed.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5CjwleCpYwOuJkaThIlmyxCGP32FxiXwOhbQoqB0lhqfl6GAJ7fAOTLR_I4CZ4pn_y6pWDx-8kyeZCm6azcJaEJROkXm6tAykqCokqni1wpe9WJ2_5J3oQgzwoPKk9f214ijtXwp1GYc/s2048/Killer-Fish-Lee-Majors-Margaux-Hemingway-1978.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1145" data-original-width="2048" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5CjwleCpYwOuJkaThIlmyxCGP32FxiXwOhbQoqB0lhqfl6GAJ7fAOTLR_I4CZ4pn_y6pWDx-8kyeZCm6azcJaEJROkXm6tAykqCokqni1wpe9WJ2_5J3oQgzwoPKk9f214ijtXwp1GYc/w444-h249/Killer-Fish-Lee-Majors-Margaux-Hemingway-1978.JPG" width="444" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><div>Indeed, both the frequency of costume changes and sheer volume of fashions on display suggests the actors supplied their own clothing with the enticement of a tax write-off for all items appearing onscreen. This would certainly account for the scene where Lee Majors, in hot pursuit of Karen Black (wearing yet another outlandishly chic getup while commandeering a boat), appears to change into a new outfit mid-chase.</div><div>From start to finish <i>Killer Fish</i> is a cavalcade of flowing scarves, patterned fabrics, rakish hats, fetching short-shorts, plunging necklines, and gold accessories…and that’s just the men.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwM1HqpEtWmYOCe0qZqYt6wUgLyg6ylbuVJ6aALUUrGXbmg3dUTem3bYqlsosRQJ3zamTPc9cz0DAkvpbJoZHbrnEoehVcpyJ9mKubZdsPh5iXYIrgMcSxICWDv-jXnL6hpXE2kbFpwKs/s2048/Killer_Fish-Charles_Guardino_Frank_Pesce_Lee_Majors_Karen_Black-1979.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1146" data-original-width="2048" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwM1HqpEtWmYOCe0qZqYt6wUgLyg6ylbuVJ6aALUUrGXbmg3dUTem3bYqlsosRQJ3zamTPc9cz0DAkvpbJoZHbrnEoehVcpyJ9mKubZdsPh5iXYIrgMcSxICWDv-jXnL6hpXE2kbFpwKs/w434-h243/Killer_Fish-Charles_Guardino_Frank_Pesce_Lee_Majors_Karen_Black-1979.JPG" width="434" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Brothers in crime Lloyd (Charles Guardino) & Warren (Frank Pesce) play "I'm a Little Tea Pot" as they let Kate (Black) know what they think of her "uptown" talk. Meanwhile, an uncomfortable Lasky (Majors) adjusts his kicky leather shoulder bag.</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">PERFORMANCES</span></b></div><div><div>Poor Karen Black. Here she is doing her best in trying to invest a bit of authenticity and genuine human drama into <i>Killer Fish...</i>just as she did with <i>Trilogy of Terror</i> (where her commitment made us believe a plastic doll was a homicidal threat) and <i>Airport 1975</i> (her terror-stricken stewardess flying the plane providing the only tether to reality in a relentlessly silly movie); but in this case, it’s clear she’s met her match.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0-sKQs_d3frvFCj4ho9Nzrce6jYbDAlsriSgipqhWgBXhOtgSvnA4MQxJLcQITjKDE3qvyS7ASwgmqdYkRESIp8GGBhNH8on7J_VSUw9zna1ssGe_gSEStl6a5s2DlpyUSS73_ODwPkY/s2048/James-Franciscus-Karen_Black-Killer-Fish-1979.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1146" data-original-width="2048" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0-sKQs_d3frvFCj4ho9Nzrce6jYbDAlsriSgipqhWgBXhOtgSvnA4MQxJLcQITjKDE3qvyS7ASwgmqdYkRESIp8GGBhNH8on7J_VSUw9zna1ssGe_gSEStl6a5s2DlpyUSS73_ODwPkY/w400-h224/James-Franciscus-Karen_Black-Killer-Fish-1979.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Bearing out the axiom that no one is as bad as a good actor in a film where no acting is required (Cicely Tyson in <i>The Concorde: Airport '79</i>, Anne Bancroft in <i>The Hindenburg, </i>the entire cast of<i> <a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2016/07/bloodline-1979.html" target="_blank">Bloodline</a></i>), Karen Black is surrounded by so many non-actors in <i>Killer Fish</i> that she—the lone individual giving anything even resembling a real performance—actually winds up coming off the worst. </div><div><br /></div><div>Refusing to play down to the material (she's like late-career Joan Crawford in that respect) Black is serious as a heart attack as she brings the "major motion picture" big guns to her underwritten role. Meanwhile, her breezy castmates are fine serving up TV movie-of-the-week "This'll do" energy. This leaves Black, who's never less than fascinating to watch, playing entire scenes in a vacuum, giving the impression she's acting in an entirely different movie.</div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFk2L1P6epculRDvAilulmpKvADlFifNRxFqXopFBbdW6duTpBFl2LUUT8E7M93LeVNy4leW467GAYCFJB8i3pJVzir7NQaYqD2dsUBhuvAXQWDndz9WC58pSy5meE4y9ahRJLW7wIvdw/s2048/Karen-Black-Killer-Fish-1979+%25283%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1140" data-original-width="2048" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFk2L1P6epculRDvAilulmpKvADlFifNRxFqXopFBbdW6duTpBFl2LUUT8E7M93LeVNy4leW467GAYCFJB8i3pJVzir7NQaYqD2dsUBhuvAXQWDndz9WC58pSy5meE4y9ahRJLW7wIvdw/w432-h241/Karen-Black-Killer-Fish-1979+%25283%2529.JPG" width="432" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Karen Black's realistic reaction to witnessing a violent and gory death comes off as hysterical and shrill when her co-stars are responding to the same sight with looks of mild annoyance</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Speaking of Joan Crawford, the last time I saw Lee Majors, she was lopping his head off with an ax in <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2014/04/strait-jacket-1964.html" target="_blank">Strait-Jacket </a></i>-1964. Yet even in that bisected state, he was more animated than he is in <i>Killer Fish</i>. The eminently likable Majors is one of those bafflingly always-employed TV actors who (like Susan Lucci of <i>All My Children</i>) works a lifetime at their craft—<i>The Big Valley</i>, <i>The Six-Million Dollar Man</i>, <i>The Fall Guy</i>—without showing signs of getting one iota better at it.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFgLXjTUWkYDcYn_CzC_LxAOFnrMhNnyBknQYoSf5A2YbxvZmd87I8ZMjR7ohqK0tjIwATFRgfwdsh6_4LxX29xcAsMQkWdBJ3MxyeZHqMrLKZ07fx-8QfnqVzduWhOzmuElLzj4-8A8k/s2048/Killer_Fish_Lee_Majors_Karen_Black_1979.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1153" data-original-width="2048" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFgLXjTUWkYDcYn_CzC_LxAOFnrMhNnyBknQYoSf5A2YbxvZmd87I8ZMjR7ohqK0tjIwATFRgfwdsh6_4LxX29xcAsMQkWdBJ3MxyeZHqMrLKZ07fx-8QfnqVzduWhOzmuElLzj4-8A8k/w448-h252/Killer_Fish_Lee_Majors_Karen_Black_1979.JPG" width="448" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Lee Majors' talents are confined to staying out of the way of explosions, squinting, conveying an easygoing charm, and arching his left eyebrow. The latter he's very good at.</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrNyq2v7srw0nhievdhWECq92p-F8MvHbWoCWRbobnwb6mB9c9uY_bep2UCwJ6rrJEFwSYNkWTkl7KApti_7lo7nUxHaby2WeScbtu4pJz0FDsCuJPbgE6G5h8ydqnzFjnFSJ6hQXgOGY/s2048/Killer_Fish_Karen_Black_James_Franciscus_Margaux_Hemingway_Lee_Majors_Chico_Arago_1979.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1146" data-original-width="2048" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrNyq2v7srw0nhievdhWECq92p-F8MvHbWoCWRbobnwb6mB9c9uY_bep2UCwJ6rrJEFwSYNkWTkl7KApti_7lo7nUxHaby2WeScbtu4pJz0FDsCuJPbgE6G5h8ydqnzFjnFSJ6hQXgOGY/w434-h243/Killer_Fish_Karen_Black_James_Franciscus_Margaux_Hemingway_Lee_Majors_Chico_Arago_1979.JPG" width="434" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Pictured at far right is Chico Arago as Ben, the photographer's assistant</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br />I'm not sure there are many who would find <i>Killer Fish </i>watchable without the <i>MST3K </i>wisecracks. I suspect genuine fans of action movies are given little bang for their buck, what with the underwater footage of the obviously-in-a-tank piranha being murky, the thrills low-wattage, and the laid-back leading men looking reluctant to engage in any heroics that might disturb their frosted haircuts. <div>My personal recommendation....come for the carnage, stay for the clothes.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div><b>BONUS MATERIAL</b></div><div style="text-align: center;">Before wrangling with piranha in <i>Killer Fish</i>, Lee Majors grappled with <i>Sharks! </i>(1977) </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZYXnTpWRS8oJ9z1sTEbslyGcBCjmSR3EI5Gc98epaMlskpHBaKNmebE-PYCc0NuugIY3kkvhgiT1KdzNAAsp928HV3osYsepMPSpvkU1RiTGbLcwtzvvkjyInbZIwFPrTze4cKtfEY2U/s1507/Sharks_LeeMajors_Six_Million_Dollar_Man_1977.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1507" data-original-width="990" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZYXnTpWRS8oJ9z1sTEbslyGcBCjmSR3EI5Gc98epaMlskpHBaKNmebE-PYCc0NuugIY3kkvhgiT1KdzNAAsp928HV3osYsepMPSpvkU1RiTGbLcwtzvvkjyInbZIwFPrTze4cKtfEY2U/w263-h400/Sharks_LeeMajors_Six_Million_Dollar_Man_1977.jpg" width="263" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">I tend to forget that 1975's </span><i style="text-align: left;">Jaws</i><span style="text-align: left;">-</span><span style="text-align: left;">mania lasted well into the '80s, with knock-off aquatic adventure movies proliferating until 1987's self-parodistic </span><i style="text-align: left;">Jaws: The Revenge</i><span style="text-align: left;"> (1987) provided the long-overdue final coffin nail.</span><span style="text-align: left;"> In 1977, with the summer success of <i>The Deep</i> keeping alive the public's interest in soggy sea sagas, Lee Majors' TV show <i>The Six Million Dollar Man</i> kicked off its 5th and final season with a 2-parter episode about killer sharks. I have no idea if those</span><span style="text-align: left;"> one-hour TV episodes were ever combined and released as a feature film in foreign markets or for VHS, but the indifferent poster above (which makes no mention of the TV program) certainly presents the possibility. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggX_TYH9iLTqhxpoiwvhqqkY7Ul28mWwPf9-ZT8GCbwwNL-PUFAml65Wc4FnY0_jJOIBwxd-l_s9ig7x9vylpVKIokcT81T8EU0DHBLtvwo3niPbvmB9ZWF-blTN5pL4Zt1ku7uWRdIx8/s1661/Dan_Pastorini_Playgirl_1981_Margaux_Hemingway_Playboy_1990.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1099" data-original-width="1661" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggX_TYH9iLTqhxpoiwvhqqkY7Ul28mWwPf9-ZT8GCbwwNL-PUFAml65Wc4FnY0_jJOIBwxd-l_s9ig7x9vylpVKIokcT81T8EU0DHBLtvwo3niPbvmB9ZWF-blTN5pL4Zt1ku7uWRdIx8/w451-h299/Dan_Pastorini_Playgirl_1981_Margaux_Hemingway_Playboy_1990.jpg" width="451" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Play-mates Dan Pastorini and Margaux Hemingway</b></td></tr></tbody></table>Although Pastorini & Hemingway share no scenes in <i>Killer Fish</i>, offscreen the pair did share the similar naive, cash-grab hope that a nude photo spread for a magazine might help jump-start (Pastorini) or resuscitate (Hemingway) their careers. Pastorini appeared twice in the pages of <i>Playgirl </i>(December 1980 and January 1982) while Hemingway appeared in and graced the cover of the May 1990 issue of <i>Playboy</i>. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdbIBAlBGh7cLUhp5OlxfPhgt0IDxg_uZoMoHSM74MBCaMehNxGNUJIBnLbFc920KcslqXgtZBXy3YhHTZ64PIhLZS9QrBwsfAI1jvCFnG0nBVtDZcZ9HHUUQ0zPC_DoQrKKSaQLXQLws/s1998/Magazine_covers_Newsweek_Time_After_Dark_Karen_Black_Margaux_Hemingway_Marisa_Berenson.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="826" data-original-width="1998" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdbIBAlBGh7cLUhp5OlxfPhgt0IDxg_uZoMoHSM74MBCaMehNxGNUJIBnLbFc920KcslqXgtZBXy3YhHTZ64PIhLZS9QrBwsfAI1jvCFnG0nBVtDZcZ9HHUUQ0zPC_DoQrKKSaQLXQLws/w453-h187/Magazine_covers_Newsweek_Time_After_Dark_Karen_Black_Margaux_Hemingway_Marisa_Berenson.jpg" width="453" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Not every film can boast of having two members of its cast appear on the cover of <i>Time</i> Magazine.</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSW9bCHza2cFxMt-6PukVIFwPhYLQxmrphv8j5taVQfj1hehTqXAaQQLMObk_LT4xCdoLQXf5hmcs7kyPGHsRAitxrmQF3oLtr6qPDyNvr_RnvR_VHjGpprs-9XgtU3OKqg3JAlGSdGQQ/s1000/Babe_Fragrance_Faberge_Margaux_Hemingway_Kenny_Williams_Youre_Fabulous_Babe_1977.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="494" data-original-width="1000" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSW9bCHza2cFxMt-6PukVIFwPhYLQxmrphv8j5taVQfj1hehTqXAaQQLMObk_LT4xCdoLQXf5hmcs7kyPGHsRAitxrmQF3oLtr6qPDyNvr_RnvR_VHjGpprs-9XgtU3OKqg3JAlGSdGQQ/w462-h229/Babe_Fragrance_Faberge_Margaux_Hemingway_Kenny_Williams_Youre_Fabulous_Babe_1977.jpg" width="462" /></a></div>In 1977 Margaux Hemingway became the million-dollar face that launched Faberge's Babe perfume. The song featured in TV commercials for the affordable fragrance--<i>(You're) Fabulous Babe</i>-- was performed by singer Kenny Williams and released as an infectiously lush (all those soaring strings!) & cheesy (those spoken interludes - <i>"You're one of the boys, but you're a real girl, Babe!"</i>) disco single. One that calls to mind the theme from <i>The Love Boat</i> (which debuted as a series that year). <a href="https://youtu.be/yiUo25bXi6U" target="_blank">Listen: (You're) Fabulous Babe.</a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div>Copyright © Ken Anderson 2009 - 2021</div>Ken Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04940648971296673233noreply@blogger.com35tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2627032459273165000.post-6938980363106771512021-06-04T00:07:00.009-07:002023-05-17T05:03:39.222-07:00L'INNOCENTE 1976<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP_51qNJQRu9Zz6E-VntvqkC_ElGhzxZ0b1JdwzYh2ZlcG4A6JyXcUf20yhUalmTynmM78wB4d_Nkp_lDrfU3ZLLPmDakgX2412MzqUJcrVGqW-gIcyzWRlBKL_S144dq9o5pAYq-JUjA/s2560/L%2527Innocente_Luchino_Visconti_1976.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1092" data-original-width="2560" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP_51qNJQRu9Zz6E-VntvqkC_ElGhzxZ0b1JdwzYh2ZlcG4A6JyXcUf20yhUalmTynmM78wB4d_Nkp_lDrfU3ZLLPmDakgX2412MzqUJcrVGqW-gIcyzWRlBKL_S144dq9o5pAYq-JUjA/w400-h170/L%2527Innocente_Luchino_Visconti_1976.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">The hands of 69-year-old director Luchino Visconti are shown turning the pages of the 1892 Gabriele D'Annunzio novel upon which this, Visconti's final film, is based. </div><br /><div><div><br /></div><div>During the pandemic lockdown of 2020, between panic attacks and bouts of binge-eating, I also managed to find time to watch a great many wonderful movies. A year-long, borderless flow from night to day provided the perfect conditions for indulging my passion for the long-form motion pictures: aka movies with lengthy running times. With no worries about having to get up early the next day (indeed, at the height of lockdown, “next day” was more an abstract concept than a reality), I breezed through Bergman’s 5hr 26min <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/06/fanny-alexander-1982.html">Fanny & Alexander</a></i>; aced Scorsese’s 3hr 30min <i>The Irishman,</i> and Kubrick’s 3hr 7min <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2015/11/barry-lyndon-1975.html" target="_blank">Barry Lyndon</a></i> felt like it was over before I’d even settled into my chair. </div><div><br /></div><div>Of particular interest and appeal to me during this period were the films of Luchino Visconti. And not simply because he’s a director whose visually sumptuous epics are as heedless of time constraints as I suddenly found myself to be. No, given the almost surreal socio-political climate of America in 2020, I drew ceaseless comfort and solace from Visconti's flagrant surrender to beauty and staunch respect for intelligence. But chiefly I reveled in the vehement strain of anti-Fascism that underscore the narratives of the deeply poetic and majestic films made by the late Italian director. His films--each a repudiation of moral ugliness and spiritual ignorance--were like an anchor to a sane and humane world that was slipping away.</div><div>I revisited old favorites: <i>Death in Venice</i>, <i>Ludwig</i>, <i>The Damned</i>, and <i>Conversation Piece. </i>And I also discovered a treasure trove of heretofore unseen-by-me masterworks that further solidified in my mind the conviction that Visconti is unsurpassed as cinema's painterly pundit of aristocratic foibles. A peerless chronicler of corrupted ideals and self-immolating passions. Each newly discovered (and gloriously restored) film felt richer than the last: <i>Ossessione</i>, <i>Rocco & His Brothers</i>, <i>Senso</i>, & <i>The Leopard --</i>his final film, the tragic <i>L’Innocente</i>, catching me totally off guard by being far more poetically moving than I'd expected. </div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4sBqWs9YIeVJCCdJZz-J0blOIjsiYiAO741Ex1XA-tn7MRd7oecmc810-QguT4fdhUCl93irAiBl0UmQBq2sUGWzLj4EQN1NLzo-Xoo3xc-nsMjLfe1cSYmOteh9sALX-u8YgtYcOyoo/s2560/Giancarlo_Giannini_L%2527Innocent__1976.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1089" data-original-width="2560" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4sBqWs9YIeVJCCdJZz-J0blOIjsiYiAO741Ex1XA-tn7MRd7oecmc810-QguT4fdhUCl93irAiBl0UmQBq2sUGWzLj4EQN1NLzo-Xoo3xc-nsMjLfe1cSYmOteh9sALX-u8YgtYcOyoo/w493-h209/Giancarlo_Giannini_L%2527Innocent__1976.JPG" width="493" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Giancarlo Giannini as Tullio Hermil</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3O-8X4AyLOLZrD8fTcGdyT_LVJMvfvg3HKJx5dAy9_yMW3KIqCnsp3Z44LnGNZWRSTdrUQ4KvcectDI02zC0RO01kw64CnkrsC9n62thPGHlTLnxe2U1Ter8vNz5fESBhF0Aso_8Z5EQ/s2560/Jennifer_O%2527Neill_L%2527Innocent_1976.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1093" data-original-width="2560" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3O-8X4AyLOLZrD8fTcGdyT_LVJMvfvg3HKJx5dAy9_yMW3KIqCnsp3Z44LnGNZWRSTdrUQ4KvcectDI02zC0RO01kw64CnkrsC9n62thPGHlTLnxe2U1Ter8vNz5fESBhF0Aso_8Z5EQ/w498-h213/Jennifer_O%2527Neill_L%2527Innocent_1976.JPG" width="498" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jennifer O'Neill as Countess Teresa Raffo</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjH5jC2wZo6TTgxdn8NQ39mbCHmaHoktrEt7OF0Z17-ckAr2tym0gnGMDJ1Idiqlhcz_TfOgDtwlCp5u5vwSID5FfE1-GEXsSj47gaJl6bLK7gFFPvehRJE7kabVlAf7OlwkpV8H-iX1A/s2560/Laura_Antonelli_L%2527Innocent_1976+%25284%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1092" data-original-width="2560" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjH5jC2wZo6TTgxdn8NQ39mbCHmaHoktrEt7OF0Z17-ckAr2tym0gnGMDJ1Idiqlhcz_TfOgDtwlCp5u5vwSID5FfE1-GEXsSj47gaJl6bLK7gFFPvehRJE7kabVlAf7OlwkpV8H-iX1A/w498-h212/Laura_Antonelli_L%2527Innocent_1976+%25284%2529.JPG" width="498" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Laura Antonelli as Giuliana Hermil</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjShW-rRcVJQYzoQgCb5MKMa8rS5o_CMzk5qk_t4TnUsHTCgSHGeDJTVGGUDh1mTA6llfXg10e5qcFsth8ueBu-Dg5givrQYqcLGSzVnoo-VsFcbGbgA-7V9VGSswoeKDyilzX6Gz8T_9U/s2560/Marc_Porel_L%2527Innocente_1976+%25283%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1094" data-original-width="2560" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjShW-rRcVJQYzoQgCb5MKMa8rS5o_CMzk5qk_t4TnUsHTCgSHGeDJTVGGUDh1mTA6llfXg10e5qcFsth8ueBu-Dg5givrQYqcLGSzVnoo-VsFcbGbgA-7V9VGSswoeKDyilzX6Gz8T_9U/w504-h215/Marc_Porel_L%2527Innocente_1976+%25283%2529.JPG" width="504" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marc Porel as Filippo d'Arborio</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><div>Italian aristocrat Tullio Hermil (Giannini) is the self-styled embodiment of Nietzsche’s Higher Man. A handsome, athletic gentleman of wealth, intelligence, and taste who, by nature of his philosophical beliefs and self-discerned status as a superior being, answers to no man, no social mores, and certainly no god. An avowed atheist, Tulio professes to be a self-regulating free man and free-thinker. One whose idleness of occupation (coupled with a self-serving disdain for convention) affords the unimpeded indulgence of all manner of hedonistic pursuits and sensual gratifications...all outside of the confines of his marriage. </div><div><br /></div><div>Given his libertine worldview, Tullio’s marriage to the docile and religiously devout Giuliana (Antonelli) suggests, at first glance, a contradiction. That is, until one is reminded that all narcissists require a mirror. And in the eyes of Giuliana—who remains somewhat masochistically devoted to him in the face of countless infidelities and humiliations—Tullio sees the confirmation of his superior image of himself. Ascribing nobility to Guiliana’s martyred suffering, Tullio reasons that if a woman so good and pure of heart can love a man who gives so little and treats her so shabbily, then that man must be a great man, indeed.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQXRhUd2KnbI9uLFHlTLReEsGKmSEGf4_X1UlQRUcf96F_CHSsF3kdePjt734tBa3hvDP7p8U7dZzYFXs_JOc2h1e8y9MUH0ge8ELY61DkaaP-L2kqM68Kav-Bi2QiD-Uw51LNjk3FIzQ/s2558/L%2527Innocent_Giancarlo-Giannini_Laura_Antonelli_1976+%25282%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1091" data-original-width="2558" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQXRhUd2KnbI9uLFHlTLReEsGKmSEGf4_X1UlQRUcf96F_CHSsF3kdePjt734tBa3hvDP7p8U7dZzYFXs_JOc2h1e8y9MUH0ge8ELY61DkaaP-L2kqM68Kav-Bi2QiD-Uw51LNjk3FIzQ/w514-h217/L%2527Innocent_Giancarlo-Giannini_Laura_Antonelli_1976+%25282%2529.JPG" width="514" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Übermensch or Überjerk?<br />After informing Giuliana of his plans to take temporary leave with his mistress, Tullio takes a moment to overshare (<i>"No woman has ever succeeded in seducing me like she does"</i>) before asking her to remain his wife and be there for him as platonic companion and confessor.</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;">But as is so often the case with individuals harboring a God complex (or Yeezus complex, for that matter); Tullio’s professed self-possession is simply self-absorption left to flourish in the absence of either introspection or self-awareness. And it’s Tullio’s arrogant lack of self-awareness that proves to be the source of his unexpected anguish when, after abandoning Giuliana for the beautiful Teresa Raffo (O’Neill)—a widowed countess arguably as independent-minded as Tullio, but lacking his gift for self-deception—he begins to suspect his wife of having fallen in love with Filippo d’Arborio, a dashing author (Porel) renowned for his compassionate nature.</div><div><div>Merely the thought of his wife’s infidelity is enough to throw Tullio into an existential tailspin that has him grappling not only with the untenable prospect of her choosing to exercise the same sexual agency he affords himself, but the dreaded notion that he, a man superior, should find himself falling prey to the lowborn sensations of jealousy, envy, and rivalry. Most confounding of all (more so for Tullio than the viewer), his suspicions have the effect of rekindling his passion and reawakening his love for his wife.</div><div>But is love something Tullio is capable of? </div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFeAaEDFOodtlfrTVJzCSNOEQmEH0Ehj5nFa2MjIRleaXivAjJSLUjYoRqP8-KGPHq5-_J8IKYmphX25oQW0AUQ9VoBtiRge84sRl8Hlvvd7FWfe88sSvp4S1hiBfqBbcWmVabT-7z0Jc/s2560/L%2527Innocent_Giancarlo-Giannini_1976+%25287%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1088" data-original-width="2560" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFeAaEDFOodtlfrTVJzCSNOEQmEH0Ehj5nFa2MjIRleaXivAjJSLUjYoRqP8-KGPHq5-_J8IKYmphX25oQW0AUQ9VoBtiRge84sRl8Hlvvd7FWfe88sSvp4S1hiBfqBbcWmVabT-7z0Jc/w500-h213/L%2527Innocent_Giancarlo-Giannini_1976+%25287%2529.JPG" width="500" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Tullio's high opinion of himself induces the desire to vanquish all rivals </b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Luchino Visconti used the traditional family saga to chronicle the dissolution of Italian aristocracy in <i>The Leopard</i> (1963). With <i>L’Innocente, </i>the classic romantic triangle scaffolds a critique of the hypocrisy and amorality of bourgeois society while delivering a bitter requiem to Italian patriarchy (perhaps even Visconti's own). The film is set in a world rigid in its governance and regulation of women's sexuality and bodies, but Visconti's vision—one less nihilistic than D'Annunzio's morally myopic and proto-fascist source novel I was inspired to read after watching <i>L'Innocente...</i>twice—questions the value of a life lived in pursuit of sensual experience if starved of a spiritual existence. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHIS1Ydf7nKkjteEEWNbs-0B2Rqa60xjWAXACTigIB2AETGGyu14dhv_RoJYLgC_UXRAlNFCIFR66vP1cHgAIY-JtVKODiYgn3xwJ9oLhYpc3zPSZMoxaPC2dM7abke-e5lydhtvyXvKw/s2560/L%2527Innocent_Giancarlo-Giannini_Jennifer_O%2527Neill_1976.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1093" data-original-width="2560" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHIS1Ydf7nKkjteEEWNbs-0B2Rqa60xjWAXACTigIB2AETGGyu14dhv_RoJYLgC_UXRAlNFCIFR66vP1cHgAIY-JtVKODiYgn3xwJ9oLhYpc3zPSZMoxaPC2dM7abke-e5lydhtvyXvKw/w500-h214/L%2527Innocent_Giancarlo-Giannini_Jennifer_O%2527Neill_1976.JPG" width="500" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>"I don't have a hell to fear or a heaven to hope for."</b></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><b>WHAT I LOVE ABOUT THIS FILM</b></div></div><div><div><div>Given my cinematic attraction to high-style debauchery, grand passions, male nudity, and directors of whose visual style the term “operatic dimensions” is oft applied, I’ve a natural affinity for the films of Luchino Visconti. A born aesthete, Visconti’s eye finds rapturous beauty even in his stark neorealist melodramas. </div><div>Inaccessibility and maturity of content played a part in my not seeing any of his films until college (<i>Death in Venice</i> being the 1st unless you count Visconti’s contribution to the 1962 anthology film <i>Boccaccio ’70 </i>which popped up often on late-late night TV). But my heel-dragging paid off in that I was introduced to the bulk of Visconti’s masterworks in pristine condition; when released on DVD/Blu-ray digitally enhanced, restored to their original lengths, and subtitled, not English-dubbed.</div></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS8oMbM58mdE5HaTYhhgUPWyRKwfaaA7yt7YW-UuGpfO5enb7K0e18LgZRcW6qlpPCc1rdTw5qkY6VMU-C7c3peS1aJIaosSIUDKcc9dcpD7tjfPIj3X2TPdrAdg546QADW1rJrsNlsc8/s2559/L%2527Innocent_Laura_Antonelli_Giancarlo-Giannini_1976+%25285%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1100" data-original-width="2559" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS8oMbM58mdE5HaTYhhgUPWyRKwfaaA7yt7YW-UuGpfO5enb7K0e18LgZRcW6qlpPCc1rdTw5qkY6VMU-C7c3peS1aJIaosSIUDKcc9dcpD7tjfPIj3X2TPdrAdg546QADW1rJrsNlsc8/w492-h213/L%2527Innocent_Laura_Antonelli_Giancarlo-Giannini_1976+%25285%2529.JPG" width="492" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Making films that were political, sensual, and courageously Queer in subtext if not in theme, Visconti, like my other fave Ken Russell, was one of the last of the truly fearless filmmakers. The ambitious visual scope of Visconti’s films was matched only by how ambitiously his films sought to explore the dark extremes of human relationships. </div><div><br /></div><div>In synopsis, <i>L’Innocente </i>sounds like another one of those movies about men who profess to love women so much that they can’t seem to treat them like real people (making it something of a 19th-century cousin to <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2014/01/shampoo-1975.html" target="_blank">Shampoo</a></i>, <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2020/03/boomerang-1992.html" target="_blank">Boomerang</a></i>, <a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2016/12/carnal-knowledge-1971.html" target="_blank"><i>Carnal Knowledge</i></a>, and <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2011/12/all-that-jazz-1979.html" target="_blank">All That Jazz</a></i>). Visconti takes the framework of the romantic tragedy to breathe life into the sexual double-standard narrative, making the struggle representative of larger socio-political conflicts related to morality and religion.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPFIWtzZpiruawTS3t5pv25Bemf_IKiLk5cGVQ9w2VobmbhKr9ztgT16oTK7U0bkS8Oay9iGhzBQIB_PioWm2LlUb0T3lDCgeDXnEeW-g03b1bIu8nPtS9NZDRbTEmN-MDfg5_DKty0mg/s2559/L%2527Innocent_Jennifer_Oneill_Giancarlo-Giannini_1976+%25282%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1091" data-original-width="2559" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPFIWtzZpiruawTS3t5pv25Bemf_IKiLk5cGVQ9w2VobmbhKr9ztgT16oTK7U0bkS8Oay9iGhzBQIB_PioWm2LlUb0T3lDCgeDXnEeW-g03b1bIu8nPtS9NZDRbTEmN-MDfg5_DKty0mg/w495-h211/L%2527Innocent_Jennifer_Oneill_Giancarlo-Giannini_1976+%25282%2529.JPG" width="495" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Luchino Visconti died on March 17, 1976 while <i>L'Innocente</i> was still being edited. The film didn't premiere in the U.S. until 1979. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggFWIaPuVZrse9tHdjsRVKiGkluc5n396V3G-kFYsH0-JS7IkhHLhnvKEVqVzLhTrjDJ29XKWSPQX0wygtHac41GW-TjE_XaNkYPC5MVmNMeTxzZnA-X7cLTkNGrU4Dj89mi6YOt5oY7A/s2560/Didier_Haulepin_L%2527Innocente_1976+%25282%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1094" data-original-width="2560" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggFWIaPuVZrse9tHdjsRVKiGkluc5n396V3G-kFYsH0-JS7IkhHLhnvKEVqVzLhTrjDJ29XKWSPQX0wygtHac41GW-TjE_XaNkYPC5MVmNMeTxzZnA-X7cLTkNGrU4Dj89mi6YOt5oY7A/w502-h215/Didier_Haulepin_L%2527Innocente_1976+%25282%2529.JPG" width="502" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Didier Haudepin as Federico Hermil, Tullio's younger brother</b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><b>THE STUFF OF FANTASY</b></div><div><div><i>“We’re intelligent, we’ve studied, we’ve traveled. We’ve enjoyed ourselves so much, we’re so rich…and then?</i>" Federico <u><i>L'Innocente</i></u> -1976 </div><div><br /></div><div><i>“We're rich, we’re famous, we’re beautiful…and miserable.” </i>Holly <i><u>Andy Warhol’s Women in Revolt</u></i> -1977</div><div><br /></div><div>Identical sentiments, albeit from absurdly dissimilar sources. Movies tasked with depicting the empty existence of the wealthy usually fail miserably when faced with the challenge of how to visually represent a world of material excess without inadvertently glamorizing what they’re trying to condemn. My theory behind movies that fall into this trap (e.g., both the 1974 and 2013 adaptations of <i><a href="https://lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/2013/02/the-great-gatsby-1974.html" target="_blank">The Great Gatsby</a></i> and <i>The Wolf of Wall Street</i> - 2013) is that the filmmakers themselves simply don’t believe it. The movie narrative dictates it, but these directors, like many working in an industry tentpoled on glorifying its own overindulgence in greed and money-worship, come across as being too in awe (and covetous) of wealth to even recognize when their opulence gaze turns more fetishistic and admiring than critical.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC5pUYqjwJcSmeOb_vcxTArzrpsEuu1MH0HJ6IiW-4vyoOBottJgP5CyRetM-uEDaC9ErWHtuDl8vD5Ue1cxPKldIfsxfG9uXl9U-dqifq6VHFA5fvcJfQlGv0Mx2hNbVH3sqXs9Subyw/s2560/L%2527Innocent_Laura_Antonelli_1976.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1092" data-original-width="2560" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC5pUYqjwJcSmeOb_vcxTArzrpsEuu1MH0HJ6IiW-4vyoOBottJgP5CyRetM-uEDaC9ErWHtuDl8vD5Ue1cxPKldIfsxfG9uXl9U-dqifq6VHFA5fvcJfQlGv0Mx2hNbVH3sqXs9Subyw/w501-h213/L%2527Innocent_Laura_Antonelli_1976.JPG" width="501" /></a></div>Visconti, the father of Italian neorealist cinema, was born into nobility (his full title is Count Don Luchino Visconti di Modrone). Yet when his filmmaker's gaze shifted from the gritty realism of Italy’s working classes to the ornate drawing rooms of the Italian aristocracy, his vision reflected the eye of someone both familiar and disenchanted with this world. A lover of beauty, Visconti’s films are overflowing with lavishly operatic images of wealth and elegance, but his aesthetic eye for detail works in service of creating a verisimilitude that draws us into this world; a world we know only from paintings and books. The breathtaking authenticity he brings to his films via costuming (Piero Tosi), production design (Mario Garbuglia), & cinematography (Pasqualino De Santis) create environments that don't call to mind enviable splendors and worlds of happiness and comfort. Rather, they bring forth images of ornamentally lush prisons or gilded birdcages entrapping his decadent and morally-adrift characters.<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmQkTaujGWB9XlzL1AIwMB2kH3_pxZ76HdVIuXeim0TXbpTWrgSNJOOQQqCCnWiW5Oxrl5LrCTiOHCnOcV1bVdDawaulp4rMWNyYkJB4x-5isw8uUgovtlTOrHj2vXemcCgy2J3fJ450k/s2560/L%2527Innocente_Luchino_Visconti_1976+%25283%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1089" data-original-width="2560" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmQkTaujGWB9XlzL1AIwMB2kH3_pxZ76HdVIuXeim0TXbpTWrgSNJOOQQqCCnWiW5Oxrl5LrCTiOHCnOcV1bVdDawaulp4rMWNyYkJB4x-5isw8uUgovtlTOrHj2vXemcCgy2J3fJ450k/w501-h213/L%2527Innocente_Luchino_Visconti_1976+%25283%2529.JPG" width="501" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Luchino Visconti's films tend to reflect periods of social, political, or ideological change. Given the director's Marxist leanings, the displays of affluence and luxury in his movies are more representative of the moral dissipation of fashionable society than an opportunity for audiences to "ooh" and "aah" at the Lifestyles of the Rich and Fascist.</b></td></tr></tbody></table></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></blockquote><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b>PERFORMANCES</b></p></div><div><div>If I think back to the first time I saw <i>L’Innocente</i>…replaying it in my mind, trying to figure out just what in particular it is about this movie that brought me to such stinging tears by the finale, affecting me far more deeply than any of Visconti’s arguably more masterful works; I always come back to the same thing…the eyes have it.</div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl4zfuguz1jx7tgBSopqaxYNdNuGzeAG0_gWoqnx2t3-ntd9SbE89Cz4dToCfbFiAWnC3wXMnaLpuT4WEDj904NlNo5Mftu8T2Zw-RkSYm6uy3tiorF-ygXCs0pN3g5HOAdjRafl1scTw/s2555/Giancarlo_Giannini_L%2527Innocent__1976+%25283%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1093" data-original-width="2555" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl4zfuguz1jx7tgBSopqaxYNdNuGzeAG0_gWoqnx2t3-ntd9SbE89Cz4dToCfbFiAWnC3wXMnaLpuT4WEDj904NlNo5Mftu8T2Zw-RkSYm6uy3tiorF-ygXCs0pN3g5HOAdjRafl1scTw/w486-h208/Giancarlo_Giannini_L%2527Innocent__1976+%25283%2529.JPG" width="486" /></a></div>Visconti’s gift for vivid tableau is ideal for capturing <i>L’Innocente</i>’s lives of stiff formality (where bedroom-hopping, fencing, and the occasional duel seem to be the only modes of physical exertion). Amid such evocative stillness and voices not always so artfully dubbed, it’s remarkable the degree to which the film’s talented cast can convey and communicate a wealth of complex emotions solely through their eyes. That they can do so with a depth and virtuosity that is often positively heartbreaking confirms Giancarlo Giannini’s 1975 comment to the NYT: <i>“The eyes are the most mobile part of the body.”</i><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjysDFB0Dxny0osVZuwWKsSd_ob83fCmGJ8Ie9bN3Y-lWlVD5zw9m7AT3EpJHRqQj1xSyNKhFI2uChDzMQ7J12eKR4XuMyKtCHTx8iGV_GF5AetoxPRVRcBAqJhgC6mwmTSxINKCeC6_U8/s2559/Laura_Antonelli_L%2527Innocent_1976+%25285%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1088" data-original-width="2559" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjysDFB0Dxny0osVZuwWKsSd_ob83fCmGJ8Ie9bN3Y-lWlVD5zw9m7AT3EpJHRqQj1xSyNKhFI2uChDzMQ7J12eKR4XuMyKtCHTx8iGV_GF5AetoxPRVRcBAqJhgC6mwmTSxINKCeC6_U8/w487-h207/Laura_Antonelli_L%2527Innocent_1976+%25285%2529.JPG" width="487" /></a></div>Giannini’s expressive eyes were practically his calling card during the early ‘70s when his films with director Lina Wertmüller made him the darling of the foreign film scene. So it's no surprise he’s able to make the rather repugnant Tullio creepily relatable (like Daffy Duck, he’s all our worst instincts consolidated) and imbue him with a kind of pitiable humanity lacking in the novel. Laura Antonelli, whose propensity for consistently doffing her period britches made her something of an arthouse pinup during the ‘70s, is hampered somewhat by a character so compliant she risks becoming infuriating before the story reveals her truth, but Antonelli is the heart of<i> L’Innocente</i> and gives one of those radiant, delicate performances that gets better each time you see it.<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvfxa-p9zA-cUWdV6bDZTm7-2fjyQS2tEWRtYNkXN6KbPsWEIshqC07H43pHFcN9qweAcIjrKnl_OvuKnxqmnOLLwlIl5R-2D0kE3zKC7vFv5ckC_QlCsLfpiqwb-GBkzCoBhfl3bgtdA/s2559/L%2527Innocente_Jennifer_O%2527Neill_1976.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1222" data-original-width="2559" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvfxa-p9zA-cUWdV6bDZTm7-2fjyQS2tEWRtYNkXN6KbPsWEIshqC07H43pHFcN9qweAcIjrKnl_OvuKnxqmnOLLwlIl5R-2D0kE3zKC7vFv5ckC_QlCsLfpiqwb-GBkzCoBhfl3bgtdA/w480-h229/L%2527Innocente_Jennifer_O%2527Neill_1976.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>To my utter and unending astonishment, American actress Jennifer O’Neill turned out to be my personal favorite in the entire film. Indeed, it’s O’Neill’s mournful eyes - which Visconti is wise to keep his camera trained on in the film’s heart-rending final sequence - that remains the single most haunting image my mind returns to each time I think of how much I love this movie. Known more for her beauty than her acting chops (and she looks positively stunning here), O’Neill leaves her <i>Summer of ’42</i> girlishness behind in Nantucket (along with her voice, mercifully, as she is dubbed in Italian by actress Valeria Moriconi), evincing a heretofore untapped womanly bearing that's alluringly hard-edged and impassioned. </div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSOAGfGLwCfGO4t21uSMF7omuMICF83x5GJKaKDewUa9YuCI8toCiMlcAfFjFgcZMyf8HPf7J6mV9EPg4h9llBmQr4haNVDvS1-C_o5lEa9SRod9rtJmpa14KDAkjvRyp1nQxCbzDdFTA/s2560/Rina_Morelli_L%2527Innocente_1976.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1093" data-original-width="2560" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSOAGfGLwCfGO4t21uSMF7omuMICF83x5GJKaKDewUa9YuCI8toCiMlcAfFjFgcZMyf8HPf7J6mV9EPg4h9llBmQr4haNVDvS1-C_o5lEa9SRod9rtJmpa14KDAkjvRyp1nQxCbzDdFTA/w483-h206/Rina_Morelli_L%2527Innocente_1976.JPG" width="483" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Rina Morelli as Mrs. Hermil (mother of Tullio & Federico)<br /><i>L'Innocente</i> was the actress' last film. She also appeared in Visconti's <i>The Leopard </i></b></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>THE STUFF OF DREAMS </b></div><div>Depending on the translation, Gabriele D'Annunzio's novel is known as <i>The Innocent</i>, <i>The Intrude</i>r, or <i>The Victim </i>(US). Each title suggesting a subtle shift in the narrative interpretation of the object of Tullio’s obsession. The book is written as a first-person, past-tense confessional told from Tullio’s point of view, his warped perspective the only version of reality to which we're we're privy. </div><div><i>L’Innocente</i>’s screenplay (written by Visconti, Suso Cecchi D’Amico, & Enrico Medio) is linear in form, providing glimpses of events outside the sphere of Tullio's awareness. In essence, we're given a God’s eye view of an atheist. While the novel remains staunchly immoral and self-serving in its point of view, the religious Visconti (<i>“My ideas may be unorthodox, but I am still a Catholic”</i> ) who was ailing and directed from a wheelchair, has no problem coming right out and labeling his protagonist a monster.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh655QZL-Ngn258otTVwT18ICwtzIKVw4-Dz43Qth5hkGwIjQB2vJMh-WCNVBeNNLr_vy7Ln06CatjcynA6jKQ1e1iAh6g0pf6BTyMpAS3IAxpxEaroTwoXmXsNyffUL5VLyOwoTuDXlAs/s2559/L%2527Innocent_Giancarlo-Giannini_Laura_Antonelli_1976+%25286%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1096" data-original-width="2559" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh655QZL-Ngn258otTVwT18ICwtzIKVw4-Dz43Qth5hkGwIjQB2vJMh-WCNVBeNNLr_vy7Ln06CatjcynA6jKQ1e1iAh6g0pf6BTyMpAS3IAxpxEaroTwoXmXsNyffUL5VLyOwoTuDXlAs/w470-h201/L%2527Innocent_Giancarlo-Giannini_Laura_Antonelli_1976+%25286%2529.JPG" width="470" /></a></div>It was poignant watching Luchino Visconti’s last film L’Innocente, during the pandemic lockdown mere months after the insurrectionist riot of January 2021. When I saw L’Innocente I was seeing a work of the artist as revolutionary—an Italian bisexual Marxist, at that—wresting the mike from the hand of history and not allowing the oppressor to control the narrative. Visconti takes an amoral chronicle written by a poet dubbed “the father of fascism” and transforms a self-aggrandizing, masturbatory exercise in nihilism into a theological, protofeminist evisceration of the kind of louche narcissist who fancies himself as a towering superman, when in reality he is simply self-loathing and morally bereft.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbEBan8SZLzKxvXedMX7hMe9cTMH_R7wZnOcYsSYCbaj1k4H8TUJVOkFKSYoG1jk_8xFIGDqCsC0pmAgfco6HcgQI4pyEQj3BDPEQz-Kd21wWPInWMxlvx5kDHToIb5TSBMU4GWDXXRFM/s2560/L%2527Innocent_Giancarlo-Giannini_Jennifer_Oneill_1976.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1093" data-original-width="2560" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbEBan8SZLzKxvXedMX7hMe9cTMH_R7wZnOcYsSYCbaj1k4H8TUJVOkFKSYoG1jk_8xFIGDqCsC0pmAgfco6HcgQI4pyEQj3BDPEQz-Kd21wWPInWMxlvx5kDHToIb5TSBMU4GWDXXRFM/w468-h200/L%2527Innocent_Giancarlo-Giannini_Jennifer_Oneill_1976.JPG" width="468" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>"I wonder why you men raise us up with one hand and drag us down with the other? Why won't you let us walk by your side, as one being next to another? A woman next to a man. Nothing more, nothing less."</i></b></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>Luchino Visconti’s first film was <i>Ossessione </i>(1943) an unauthorized adaptation of James M. Cain’s <i>The Postman Always Rings Twice</i>. That film’s realism, upfront sexuality, core antifascism, and Queer sensibility flew rebelliously in the face of Mussolini’s regime and was banned.</div><div>As much as I adore it, I don’t think<i> L’Innocente</i> is Visconti’s best film. But in its own way, it’s a work as deceptively and sublimely subversive as his first.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikIaS0rudwlJAhCAD87E5AbczbZTXjA6dSsgUpgfXSrHNqIZ55xF3qp4GbGx87bdZGrmVxw1K5LQDjCT7dOQMylj2VeTaSyf2dpx7Qo9SDYGkzlBJahyphenhyphen1MPOExwnEx-Ce1dzp0J0ExCG8/s2556/L%2527Innocent_Giancarlo-Giannini_Laura_Antonelli_1976+%25284%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1097" data-original-width="2556" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikIaS0rudwlJAhCAD87E5AbczbZTXjA6dSsgUpgfXSrHNqIZ55xF3qp4GbGx87bdZGrmVxw1K5LQDjCT7dOQMylj2VeTaSyf2dpx7Qo9SDYGkzlBJahyphenhyphen1MPOExwnEx-Ce1dzp0J0ExCG8/w476-h203/L%2527Innocent_Giancarlo-Giannini_Laura_Antonelli_1976+%25284%2529.JPG" width="476" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>BONUS MATERIAL </b></div><div style="text-align: left;">Can't tell you how happy it made me feel to see the handsome star of Luchino Visconti's very first film, return, handsome as ever, 33-years later, to make an appearance in the director's swan song.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-6NpSh_BfdZPSsvp_Kcl5-yyHz6XVUH5cy_P8YLCfDVRY-3MVPFBKDECnYfufs16isry_prHraLZLJfXGIcjUMs68MHQS_Pc0bjxfs2gelsQjh31qRevn4xOgcXy2eySF5_dlImCCd34/s2560/Massimo_Girotti_Ossessione_1943+%25282%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1096" data-original-width="2560" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-6NpSh_BfdZPSsvp_Kcl5-yyHz6XVUH5cy_P8YLCfDVRY-3MVPFBKDECnYfufs16isry_prHraLZLJfXGIcjUMs68MHQS_Pc0bjxfs2gelsQjh31qRevn4xOgcXy2eySF5_dlImCCd34/w487-h208/Massimo_Girotti_Ossessione_1943+%25282%2529.JPG" width="487" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Massimo Girotti as Gino in <i><a href="http://aberranthomosexualist.blogspot.com/2021/01/visconti-1943-secret-mens-business-vs.html" target="_blank">Ossessione</a></i> (1943) - Visconti's first film</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwnh-j1JnwjnZZrNPP2iXgwGTBOtZ3t04_wve_rToTdw549t9u3ohGbqWXeaTMOsxnfhfy2cWBI2Jmcp2qpLHULV7CWcR35oWI7edPoX-NiLO-qahGlb1aQpgCxRziI3geJtYl8fF3LLg/s2557/Massimo_Girotti_L%2527Innocente_1976++++++.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1096" data-original-width="2557" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwnh-j1JnwjnZZrNPP2iXgwGTBOtZ3t04_wve_rToTdw549t9u3ohGbqWXeaTMOsxnfhfy2cWBI2Jmcp2qpLHULV7CWcR35oWI7edPoX-NiLO-qahGlb1aQpgCxRziI3geJtYl8fF3LLg/w488-h209/Massimo_Girotti_L%2527Innocente_1976++++++.JPG" width="488" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Massimo Girotti as Count Stefano in <i>L'Innocente</i> (1976) - Visconti's last film</b></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEgK7nwh2PKnk-tQHOTOjGCt3YJjyL9Er6LtJeaFY7n5lNOEiKJ6gBojUBDwHNI_LvE18vafyB6rg12nsQTXL9UsvJgjabqIR5CxiLZ4FnxsFWktufbA8EdIA0XsPer6HGfMFkjv4RJvs/s2560/L%2527Innocent_Jennifer_O%2527Neill_1976+%25282%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1092" data-original-width="2560" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEgK7nwh2PKnk-tQHOTOjGCt3YJjyL9Er6LtJeaFY7n5lNOEiKJ6gBojUBDwHNI_LvE18vafyB6rg12nsQTXL9UsvJgjabqIR5CxiLZ4FnxsFWktufbA8EdIA0XsPer6HGfMFkjv4RJvs/w400-h170/L%2527Innocent_Jennifer_O%2527Neill_1976+%25282%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div>Copyright © Ken Anderson 2009 - 2021</div></div></div>Ken Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04940648971296673233noreply@blogger.com17