PLAY MISTY FOR ME 1971

I have a comprehensive familiarity with the movies of Clint Eastwood that is grossly disproportionate to my relative indifference to him as an actor and director. While neither actively seeking him out nor going out of my way to avoid him, I’ve nevertheless somehow managed to see roughly 19 films starring the empty chair monologist of the 2012 GOP convention. That’s neck to neck with the number of Joan Crawford films I’ve seen…and I like her!   

Part of this I lay at the feet of my older sister. In my youth, she harbored such a take-no-prisoners crush on the former Rawhide star that whenever one of his movies played at the local theater, going to see it was a fait accompli in our house. No discussion. No argument. No resistance. I saw Paint Your Wagon, Coogan’s Bluff, and all those indistinguishable “rob, rape, ‘n’ shoot” spaghetti westerns of his, more times than I can possibly count. 

The other, more persuasive, part of this I attribute to Eastwood’s rather savvy handling of his career. Clint Eastwood has always had an eye for choosing roles that don’t press too heavily against his self-professed limited range, yet often they are in films with themes that are intriguing enough in their own right. Movies I would be interested in checking out independent of any consideration of Eastwood's participation. The Beguiled, Tightrope, The Bridges of Madison County, Unforgiven, A Perfect World, Million Dollar Baby, and Sudden Impact are all films I wanted to see in spite of Clint Eastwood, not because of him. 

Clint Eastwood as David Garver

Jessica Walter as Evelyn Draper

Donna Mills as Tobie Williams

Can we all pause for a moment to appreciate these awesome/awful '70s hairdos? 
Clint rocks an intricately sculptured, casual mass of blow-dried masculinity, while Walters and Mills both sport saucy variations on the ubiquitous Jane Fonda/Susannah York/Carol Brady layered shag.

The plot of Play Misty for Me is as simple as it is familiar: David Garver (Eastwood) is the honey-voiced (and by the size of his bachelor pad, financially successful) deejay of a light-jazz radio program in picturesque Carmel, California. Although “hung up” on local artist Tobie Williams (Mills)—aka “One of the foxiest chicks on the peninsula”—freewheeling David is also known to play the field a bit. It's David's propensity for quickie, love-the-one-you’re-with hook-ups that lands the smooth-talker in the bed of dark-eyed Evelyn Draper (Walters), a one-night-stand bar pickup who also just happens to be the provocative “Play ‘Misty’ for me” serial caller to his radio show.

While it would be two more years before Erica Jong’s “zipless fuck” entered into the sexual revolution lexicon; almost immediately David’s no-strings fling with the pleasant-appearing easy-listening groupie begins showing signs of growing increasingly less zipless and markedly more fucked. Faster than you can say “boiled bunnies” (see: Fatal Attraction, Play Misty for Me’s unofficial 1987 remake), Evelyn goes from fan to fanatic as she launches on an ever-escalating campaign of stalking and harassment, desperate to have David for herself alone, or pledged to ruining his life in retaliation for the perceived rejection.

Always a fan of thrillers, I was keen on seeing Play Misty for Me the moment I saw its Psycho-esque poster in the “Coming Soon to This Theater!” display case in a local movie theater lobby. And best of all, not a single gun, horse, or poncho in sight!  But wouldn’t you know it...by 1971 my sister was old enough to move into a place of her own, and so subsequently, the opening of the latest Clint Eastwood film no longer engendered the same degree of mandatory household allegiance it once had. In fact, everybody in the family was so relieved to be freed of my sister’s despotic, Eastwood-sway,  I was unsuccessful in persuading a single soul to go with me to see Play Misty for Me. (Which was probably for the best, as nobody wants to see a 13-year-old boy watching a movie through the fingers thrust over his eyes.)

"...an invitation to terror!" (Early advertising tagline)

In his first outing as director, Clint Eastwood definitely shows his inexperience (the trite romantic montage and interminable Monterey Jazz Festival footage play havoc with the film’s already shaky pacing), but he also shows a great deal of talent. Play Misty for Me is a thrill-ride suspense thriller that actually works, which is something not every entry in the genre can lay claim to. The original screenplay by Jo Heims and Dean Riesner has an irresistibly relatable premise that Eastwood does justice to by filming in a professional, straightforward manner refreshingly devoid of the usual self-consciously arty affectations that tend to mar so many debut directorial efforts of actors (that same year Jack Nicholson directed his first film: the plodding and oh-so-dated campus drama, Drive, He Said).

Don Siegel as Murphy 
As a favor to Eastwood, director Don Siegel (Invasion of the Body Snatchers) consented to appear in a cameo role as the bartender assisting David in his gambit to meet Evelyn. Siegel directed a total of five films with Eastwood and is said to have been instrumental in guiding Eastwood's hand in Play Misty for Me

WHAT I LOVE ABOUT THIS FILM

I get a huge kick out of movies where the leading men (especially if they are known for their macho and sex appeal) consciously take on roles that attempt to poke holes in the Male Mystique. Action fans tend to look on this as emasculating the hero, but if you’re longing to see men portrayed on the screen as something more authentic than wish-fulfillment templates of idealized masculinity, these self-aware implosions of archaic gender roles make for arresting character drama. 

Warren Beatty did it beautifully in Shampoo, and in the provocative and underrated Civil War drama, The Beguiled (released eight months apart, both The Beguiled and Play Misty for Me were co-written by women) Eastwood and director Don Siegel messed with a lot of men’s heads by depicting America’s #1 action hero as a hapless male at the mercy of a houseful of women.

Much in the way that glacially beautiful female sex symbols of the '60s discovered displaying a sense of humor to be the quickest route toward becoming humanized in the public's eye—Candice Bergen in Starting Over, Raquel Welch in The Three Musketeers—I find that macho action stars are only palatable to me when accompanied by a healthy dose of vulnerability.

One way Play Misty For Me conveys this vulnerability is through the composition of shots which emphasize the shift in gender power dynamics. As seen in these screencaps, Evelyn is often photographed in positions of superiority over David. She is forever pinning him down, looming over him, and basically reinforcing her dominance. David's diminished importance in the shots reflect his loss of control and power over his life. 

The vast majority of the characters Clint Eastwood built his career and reputation upon have struck me as being fairly insufferable. No matter how well-chiseled, a monosyllabic hunk of granite is still a rock. That's why I've always preferred him in average-Joe parts like Play Misty for Me's laid-back deejay, David Garver. Playing a man used to having things go his way suddenly forced to deal with the consequences of his actions, Eastwood's squinty impenetrability takes on human dimensions. He becomes a person I can relate to, if not necessarily care about. The humanizing effect is one big reason why, after all these years, Play Misty for Me has remained my favorite of all of his films. The other reason is the memorably unhinged performance of Jessica Walter.

Jessica Walter was nominated for a Best Actress Golden Globe for Play Misty for Me but lost out to Jane Fonda in Klute. Clearly a case of dueling shag haircuts.

One of the more terrifying things I learned while researching Play Misty for Me is that in 1970, The Hollywood Reporter noted that Ross Hunter - "old fashioned glamour!" devotee and producer dedicated to keeping older actresses employed (Portrait in Black) - had purchased the rights to the property. He planned on developing it as a vehicle for good but unlikely actress Dana Wynter. Still, anyone who's seen her witch-on-wheels performance in Hunter’s Airport couldn't deny she's precisely the kind of woman you wouldn't want to have mad at you.

Clarice Taylor as Birdie
Fans of The Cosby Show will recognize Taylor as Anna Huxtable, Bill Cosby's mother

PERFORMANCES

"The only hit that comes out of a Helen Lawson show is Helen Lawson, and that's ME, baby, remember?"  - Valley of the Dolls

Say what you will about Clint Eastwood as an actor, but he’s not one to surround himself with mediocrity in order to make himself look better. Many of his best films have been the result of his collaborating with talents which (in my opinion) far outclass his own: Meryl Streep, Geneviève Bujold, Geraldine Page, Gene Hackman—and the results have been all the better for it.
Maybe when you’re a megawatt personality like Barbra Streisand, it’s tough to find a male co-star with enough onscreen charisma to keep up (although I can’t say it has ever looked as though she wore herself out searching). 

But Eastwood, a good actor of limited range, is smart to cast co-stars who help him look better and bump up his game a notch. And it's to Eastwood's credit that he so graciously hands over the entirety of Play Misty for Me to Jessica Walter, whose portrayal seriously puts this film over. She's not simply good in this, she's GOOD in this. She makes Eastwood appear more engaged and present than usual, while giving her underwritten role just the right amount of sane and just the right amount of batshit crazy to make for a compelling, chilling, and oh-so-convincing screen heavy.

Armed with precious little in the way of backstory for Evelyn (we don't even know what she lives on), The sole bit of information she discloses about herself is that she lived in Albany when she was 19, but then, she's not exactly what you'd call a reliable narrator. In spite of this, Walter creates a character whose mounting instability always feels as though it's coming from a place very real. Even if it's a reality that only takes place in her head. I first became aware of Jessica Walter in Sidney Lumet's ensemble drama The Group (1966), in which her bitchy, motormouth character made a strong impression (as it also did, I understand, with Eastwood, who cast Walter after seeing her in that film in spite of the studio pressing for Lee Remick). Of course, I'm a huge fan of her priceless comedic work in TV's Arrested Development, but the knife-wielding Evelyn Draper is a nerve-rattling performance that I'll always think of as one of my top favorite Jessica Walter performances.

Donna Mills of Knots Landing fame is saddled with the largely thankless, ornamental role of Dave's true blue girlfriend, Tobie. Serving chiefly as a plot construct, Tobie is designed to make Eastwood's character more sympathetic and provide gender role contrast (she's sweet, soft-spoken, and passive to Evelyn's in-your-face confrontational). She also makes a good potential victim to add to the film's body count.
Play Misty for Me also boasts two by-now-tiresome cliche stereotypes that were a tad fresher back in 1971. Every movie that sought to brand itself with a superficial coating of "hipness" featured a gay character (Tobie has a swishy, gay best friend) and a Black character (Dave has the obligatory jive-talkin' soul brother buddy in addition to a standard-issue sassy Black housekeeper). I found myself praying for Evelyn and her knife would show up each time these characters appeared. Half of my prayers were answered. 

Design Technology for Tighty-Whities Had Not Yet Been Perfected
In later years my sister would tell me that this scene was the catalyst for her eventual disenchantment with Clint Eastwood (citing the uniform, Gumby-like taper of his physique, plus the droopy drawers). But I suspect it was really when he started making those redneck "Every Which Way..." comedies. 

THE STUFF OF FANTASY

My aforementioned affinity for films that tweak the hypermasculine ideal finds its complement in films depicting women turning the tables on men and acting out in assertive ways atypical to the conventions of the horror/suspense-thriller genres. 

I’m crazy about movies like Leave Her to Heaven (1945), Pretty Poison (1968 ), That Cold Day in the Park (1969), Kitten With a Whip (1964), Andy Warhol's BAD (1977), Eye of the Cat (1969), Remember My Name (1978), and of course, Fatal Attraction. Not just because I've grown weary of violence against women depicted as entertainment in 90% of what comes out of Hollywood, but because it intrigues me how the mere refocusing of aggression from female to male within a narrative can result in such a huge paradigm shift that even the old feels new.

My Not So Funny Valentine

Apropos of nothing perhaps, save for what passes for courting in motion pictures, but in watching Play Misty for Me recently, it struck me as odd that the trope of the ardent lover who won't take no for an answer has been a staple of both thrillers and romantic comedies. It's weird to think that you could take the basic "psycho-chick" plotline of Play Misty for Me, recast Clint Eastwood's pursued "victim" with a rom-com darling like Sarah Jessica Parker or Drew Barrymore; substitute Jessica Walter's obsessive lover with Adam Sandler or Seth Rogen, and, taking away the knives and death threats...you have the same "chase her until you wear down her defenses" premise that's at the center of I don't know how many excruciating romantic comedies.

Evelyn and David "meet cute" in a way that's kind of creepy

Perhaps that's what makes a thriller like Play Misty for Me click with audiences; we can all relate on some level. At one time or another we've all known what it's like to pursue or be pursued, yet unsure as to whether we're coming on too strong, misreading the signals, or inadvertently leading a person on. In songs, literature, and movies, the concept of men relentlessly pursuing a love interest is reinforced as romantic. Gender double standards instantly brand a woman doing the same as threatening (tragically ironic since in real life, women are statistically the ones more likely to be assaulted or killed). Rom-coms tell men they should never stop trying to win the person they love. When it comes to women doing the same, the word from men in thrillers like Play Misty for Me is, "Enough already!" 

After an argument, Evelyn shows up at David's door wearing nothing under her overcoat. In 1989 John Cusack would pull a similar stunt (with a blasting boombox substituting for standing there starkers) in Say Anything. Although depicted as a romantic gesture, it always seemed kind of creepy stalker-ish to me. 

THE STUFF OF DREAMS

Coming as it does at the tail end of the '60s “free love” movement and the start of the promiscuous, swinging singles bar era that would dovetail into the joyless, Looking for Mr. Goodbar end of the sexual revolution; it’s difficult not to project onto Play Misty for Me’s rather straightforward thriller plot, a whole heap of sexual cautionary-tale subtext. 

Considerable footage (perhaps a tad too much) is devoted to capturing the beauty of the Carmel, California locations

When I look at the film today, I’m reminded of how very much Play Misty for Me is a product of its time in terms of clothing (oh, brother!), hairstyles (see above), slang (“Everythang is gonna be everythanng!”), and music (Misty, Erroll Garner’s 1954 classic is a hauntingly ideal piece to build a movie around). I'm still able to appreciate the film as a very effective thriller (if a tad on the TV movie side in its visual blandness) but I don't shy from enjoying some of the film's dated, by-now-familiar elements that have taken on an air of cap or comedy for me. And by this I mean, the way Evelyn's rages tend to make me think I'm looking at the young Lucille Bluth from Arrested Development. Or how, in these post-Mommie Dearest years, it's difficult (especially if you see this with an audience) not to find Evelyn's hair-trigger mood swings to be reminiscent of Faye Dunaway's iconic performance (scissors!).  

In early drafts of the screenplay, David did not have a steady girlfriend. It was decided that Evelyn would appear more dangerous (and David more sympathetic) if she represented a threat to the couple's "domestic" happiness

What does seem to traverse all generations is the film’s reinforcement of the old-fashioned belief that behind all the desire for sexual freedom, emancipation, and lack of commitment, true happiness can only be achieved through monogamy, domesticity, and adherence to traditional gender roles.

One of the reasons I think Play Misty for Me was so popular with the public is because long before Evelyn begins exhibiting signs of serious mental illness, she is depicted as a threat and disruption to the natural order of things. David is a skirt-chaser, but a reformed one, dedicated to changing his ways and starting anew with torch-carrying Tobie. But From the start, Evelyn fails to adhere to normative standards of male/female interaction. She’s the sexual instigator when David would prefer she sit by the phone and wait until HE calls her. She has a temper (women in the movies were seldom allowed to swear. Every time Evelyn blurts out an obscenity in this film, the camera cuts to people reacting like that audience watching "Springtime for Hitler" in The Producers. 

Possibly most damning for Evelyn as a character the film wants to stack the deck against, is her assuming she has some say in where the relationship is going. In wanting to move faster than David (way faster) she is depicted as dominating and grasping.

Thrillers and horror movies are rooted in the introduction of chaos into order. In the '70s, what could be more chaotic to the status quo of male/female relations than the introduction of Women's Lib? Men have been sexually terrified of women since the days of the film noir femme fatale. With the dawning of the sexual revolution, the onscreen fireworks really began. 
Play Misty for Me may not have been the first psycho-sexual thriller, but it's stood the test of time by remaining one of the most enduringly enjoyable.

BONUS MATERIAL

What's in a name? An early mock-up ad reveals that, at least for a time, Universal was going to jettison the graceful ambiguity of Play Misty for Me and go for the hard sell.

Clint Eastwood's prior film, the clever, female-centric The Beguiled, suffered at the boxoffice due to it representing a true departure for Eastwood fans (he's a baddie). The slasher film rose to horror film popularity in the late '70s, with Play Misty for Me Eastwood can be credited with delivering one of the first (if not the first) genre entries of the decade, spearheading a genuine trend.

Starsky & Hutch "Fatal Charm" -1977: Pert and perky Karen Valentine (a personal fave) is cast against type and playing the unstable love interest of Hutch in an episode that is a near-direct rip-off of Play Misty for Me.

"Annabel Lee"  - Edgar Allan Poe 1849

Copyright © Ken Anderson  2009- 2014

THE GROUP 1966

The generic Hollywood “woman’s film,” those melodramatic, get-out-your-handkerchiefs – style weepies that were once Joan Crawford’s and Bette Davis’ stock in trade, underwent a colorful (that is to say, increasingly explicit) transformation during the '50s and '60s. Reflecting the changing role of women in American culture, the once romance-centric genre transmogrified into the multi-character, hand-wringing, career-girl soap operas of the sort typified by Rona Jaffe’s water cooler drama The Best of Everything (1956), in which Joan Crawford’s stock '40s shopgirl character gets an executive upgrade, and that deservedly iconic ode to Broadway, booze, and barbiturates, Valleyof the Dolls (1967).

Jessica Walter (Lucille Bluth on my favorite TV show, Arrested Development) looks "Joan Crawford fabulous" and almost walks away with the film as Libby, the least sympathetic but most dynamic member of The Group

These films dramatized, in highly glamorized fashion, the challenges facing women as they strove to balance love, friendship, and the pursuit of their dreams while navigating the patriarchally hostile waters of the American workforce. Always purporting to “blow the lid off” one taboo subject or another (in George Cukor’s The Chapman Report it was the sex lives of suburban housewives) these films offered at most a cursory nod to female independence before reverting to type and getting back to the business of subtly endorsing traditional gender roles.

Valley of the Dolls, in its exquisite awfulness, remains the gold standard by which every “sex and soap” women’s film is and should be compared. But one of my favorite forgotten examples of the genre that managed to fall through the cracks due to past unavailability (it had a brief VHS life [Thanks, Poseidon3!], was never released on Laserdisc, but is currently available on made-to-order DVD) is Sidney Lumet’s lively screen adaptation of Mary McCarthy’s 1963 bestselling novel, The Group. 

Eight is Enough
The sparkling cast of up-and-comers that comprise The Group

I don’t know who first coined the phrase “superior soap opera” but the term categorically applies to this expensively mounted, surprisingly well-acted tale of the interweaving lives of eight friends—graduates of Vassar College, Class of ’33— as each sets out to make her mark on the world. The experiences of these economically and psychologically diverse heroines reflect, in microcosm, the emergent state of (white) American womanhood in the mid-20^th century. Specifically, the Roosevelt Administration years from The Great Depression through to the earliest days of the outbreak of WW II.
As each woman embarks on the journey of realizing the American Dream that their wealth, position, and privilege have practically guaranteed them, they discover that life outside the protective bubble of college and "The Group" poses considerably greater challenges. 

With a cast of eight beautiful women all falling histrionically in and out of love, bedrooms, and careers, The Group basically takes the usual all-girl triad formula of The Pleasure Seekers and Three Coins in the Fountain (along with the aforementioned The Best of Everything and Valley of the Dolls) and merely ratchets up the stakes by moving it into territory first blazed by Clare Boothe Luce in The Women. All of which is sheer Nirvana for fans of camp cinema and movies about high-born women brought to low circumstances, but a headache for studio publicity departments and folks seeking economic ways of recounting the plot and summarizing the characters.  

The challenge presented in having to promote a film with an ensemble cast of relative unknowns is revealed in the giggle-inducing tone adopted by the film’s ad campaign; the copy of which I’ll borrow to briefly introduce the members of The Group:

Lakey: The Mona Lisa of the smoking-room…for women only!

Dottie: Thin women are more sensual. The nerve endings are closer to the surface.

Priss: She fell in love and lived to be an “experiment.”

Polly: No money…no glamour…no defenses…poor Cinderella.

Kay: The “outsider” at an Ivy League Ball.

Pokey: Skin plumped full of oysters…money, money, money…yum, yum, yum!

Libby: A big scar on her face called a mouth.

Helena: Many women do without sex, and thrive on it.

If I remember correctly, most, if not all of these lines come directly from the novel (a terrific read, I might add) and several are even repeated in the film. How anyone was able to resist such sleazily salacious come-ons is beyond me, but The Group didn’t fare too well at the boxoffice at the time and slipped quietly into obscurity after that. My guess is that it’s because the film at its core wasn’t really as trashy as its hard-sell. Well, more’s the pity, for The Group, by benefit of its remarkable cast and director Sidney Lumet’s deft handling of the wide-sweeping plot, is a step above the usual glossy soap opera.

Dottie (Joan Hackett) loses her virginity to emotionally remote artist Dick Brown (Richard Mulligan). In real life, Hackett & Mulligan were married from 1966 to 1973. They appeared together in a 1971 episode of  Love, American Style

WHAT I LOVE ABOUT THIS FILM

As a fan of both Robert Altman’s trademark ensemble opuses and movies with overdressed women dramatically suffering in opulent surroundings, there isn’t really much to dislike about The Group. Touching on everything from politics, birth-control, lesbianism, marriage, mental illness, spousal abuse, adultery, childbirth, alcoholism, and date-rape (all in the course of 2 ½ hours) The Group has a lot of field to cover. Director Sidney Lumet (The Pawnbroker, Network, Dog Day Afternoon) keeps things moving at a rapid-fire pace that adds spark to the light comedy (Jessica Walter is a hoot as a bitchily gabby gossip) and tension to the drama. If the expeditious pacing of the story spares The Group from ever being plodding or dull, it's fair to say it also occasionally undercuts the film’s overall emotional impact. The commitment to brevity that results in Joan Hackett’s character disappearing for a protracted time in the middle of the film is a considerable flaw as far as I'm concerned, but at least it’s a flaw born of an attempt to tighten the sprawling narrative. 

An example of Sidney Lumet's masterful framing and use of space in The Group 

I generally just like the propulsive feel of The Group's visual style. I can’t remember when I’ve seen a movie that handled the staging and filming of group scenes better or to greater effect; nor can I recall a cleverer employment of cinematic devices to provide plot exposition. In rewatching the film, my attention is drawn to the many subtle character interactions and small details (like the financially-struggling Kay always wearing the same hat to every wedding) easily overlooked on first viewing due to the film’s quick cutting and Lumet’s skillful use of the foregrounds and backgrounds to relay information.

When I think of what I like about The Group, the conclusion I always arrive at is, what’s not to like?

The telephone features prominently in The Group not only as a means by which the friends stay in contact but as a handy device to relate plot exposition

PERFORMANCES

If you’ve ever harbored the notion that a film like, say, Valley of the Dolls would have been “better” with real actresses in the roles (sorry Patty Duke), watching The Group should pretty much lay that fantasy to rest. The cast assembled for The Group couldn’t be more accomplished or better-suited to their roles, but even they can’t surmount a screenplay or a basic story construct so plot-driven. The mere volume and frequency of crises and conflict in films like these reduce even exemplary performances (Hackett, Knight, Pettet, and Hartman) to “best of” moments.

Sidney Lumet cast his father, Baruch Lumet in the small role of Mr. Schneider, Polly's paternal neighbor

A standout, both appearance and character-wise, is Jessica Walter, who either annoys or enchants in a showy role that is essentially Rosalind Russell in The Women. Also very good is the highly appealing Shirley Knight. My personal favorite, however, is Joan Hackett (making her film debut along with Bergen and Pettet) whom I never tire of watching and who never seems to hit a false note.

60s lesbians were always portrayed as severe, vaguely predatory types who stood around giving each other knowing looks under arched eyebrows. Here, an admittedly outclassed Candice Bergen introduces her sorority sisters to her "friend" the Baroness (Lidia Prochnicka)

Before I finish, special mention must be made of the men in The Group. True to the genre, the men are a pretty odious bunch. Almost to a man they are characterized as weak, bigoted, manipulative, oppressive, brutalizing, or womanizing. Some all at the same time. This is of course to be expected and goes with the soap opera territory. What surprises me most is that there isn’t a single looker in the bunch. I know it’s a matter of taste and I'm taking into account that perhaps in 1966 these guys passed for handsome (so what was Paul Newman?); but to a most distracting degree, the men at the center of The Group are like a grandmother’s wish-list of desirable males. Hal Holbrook? Larry Hagman? Richard Mulligan? James Broderick? The film features such a parade of sexless, daddy-fixation types that after a while I actually started to take it as some kind of personal affront. Valley of the Dolls suffered from the same malady.

No, this isn't an image of Polly (Shirley Knight) and her father. This is Gus (Hal Holbrook) the patently implausible object of desire of two gorgeous women and one unseen wife in The Group

THE STUFF OF DREAMS
My older sister (whom I credit/blame for a good deal of my love of bad movies) got me to watch The Group on TV with her when I was a kid. A protofeminist if ever there was one, she tended to gravitate towards movies with female protagonists but lamented the fact that a great majority of these films tended to be vaguely masochistic soaps and cheesy exploitation films. 

The Group was Elizabeth Hartman's follow-up to her Oscar-nominated film debut in A Patch of Blue. As Priss, she's cast again as a victim of an oppressive relative, this time a husband.
 Sloan (her physician husband, following a miscarriage): "We'll, we can't have this again, Priss. Worst possible advertisement for a pediatrician!"

My sister (who was drawn to the bitchiness of the Libby character but identified with the self-sacrificing nobility of Polly) enjoyed the camp fun to be had at the expense of the fancy clothes, elaborate hairstyles, and frankly unsympathetic milieu of the privileged classes; but what she also responded to, and in turn helped me to appreciate, was what the film was trying to say about the challenges of maturity. The idealized vision of the world (and oneself) one can safely harbor while sheltered within the walls of youth and academia can take quite a beating when confronted by the disappointments and compromises of the real world. Is a person really failing in life if they put to rest youthful dreams in hopes of achieving some unforeseen, yet perhaps more authentic, realization of fulfillment? And how much pain does one cause oneself clinging to idealized illusions of "potential" and entitled success...all the while ignoring the possibility for happiness dressed in humbler clothing? 

Have to hand it to my sister...if she could find that kind of insight within a glossy potboiler like this, I'd say I learned about the value of "bad" films at the feet of a master.

In a role rendered considerably smaller in the film than  in the book, Carrie Nye has at least one memorable scene as Norine, a low-income Vassar classmate and outsider excluded from The Group 

Now, I’m not going to make out like The Group is some kind of profound, unacknowledged classic, but in light of what women's films have become over the years (they proudly proclaim themselves "chick flicks" and celebrate shopping as a valid expression of female empowerment), and in our current boomerang culture that doesn't encourage young people to seek and accept struggle as an integral part of the growing-up process; well...let's just say that there's something to be said for a 46-year-old guilty-pleasure movie that comes across as more progressive and perceptive in 2012 than it did in the year of its original release.

Halcyon Days
Helena's scandalous painting of The Group (that's Helena as the satyress)

Copyright © Ken Anderson  2009 - 2012