LIPSTICK 1976

Spoiler Alert: Crucial plot points are revealed in the interest of critical analysis and discussion

Lipstick is a dramatized exposé and social critique on the serious topic of rape in the same way that Mommie Dearest is a dramatized exposé and social critique on the serious topic of child abuse.  

For all its purported noble intentions and "socially conscious" pre-release hype, Lipstick, a slick, high-concept dramatic thriller with a whopper of an identity crisis, is a film that can’t seem to avoid having its motives called into question. Since its release, Lipstick has suffered a public perception problem arising out of the cacophonous dissonance struck by the seriousness of its subject matter contrasted with the profound superficiality of its treatment. 

Poised to be the first major motion picture to thoughtfully address the dual victimization women face in cases of sexual assault—the crime itself and, later, the "victim blaming" judicial system—Lipstick hoped to provoke the kind of cultural controversy and heated social conversations sparked by Martin Scorsese’s then recently-released Taxi Driver. But the only dialogue Lipstick prompted was widespread criticism for what many saw as a tasteless attempt to exploit a serious issue by using “social relevance” as a smokescreen for a routine rape-and-revenge flick. 

And, indeed, audiences—unpersuaded by the film’s $3.5 million budget; team of legal technical advisors; and Oscar-adjacent pedigree…its cast included an Academy Award-winner (Anne Bancroft) and nominee (Chris Sarandon [Dog Day Afternoon]), its crew, Oscar-nominated cinematographer Bill Butler [One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest])—recognized Lipstick for what it was: an exploitation B-movie in A-list clothing.

Corner of Sunset and Larrabee

Logo design by Sandy Dvore

Producer Dino De Laurentiis, who scored a major hit with the Charles Bronson vigilante thriller Death Wish in 1974, hoped to land another jackpot with Lipstick. A movie that instead proved that you can take the exploitation fick out of the grindhouse, but you can't take the grindhouse out of the exploitation flick.  

Critics (those wholly unacquainted with feminism, anyway) were quick to label Lipstick "A feminist Death Wish," while a bemused public, tasked with trying to make sense of a film so clearly at cross-purposes with itself, fractioned off into two distinct camps. 

One camp comprised exploitation movie fans who enthusiastically embraced Lipstick's post-Billy Jack /neo-Taxi Driver zeitgeist and cheered the film's extravagant tawdriness and outrageously contrived (and outrageously satisfying) violent ending. 

Though perhaps unintentional, Lipstick's hyperfocus on model Margaux Hemingway's beauty somewhat clouded (if not outright contradicted) the film's determining theme that rape is an act of violence and control, not desire and sexual attraction  

The second camp was individuals who detected in Lipstick’s advance publicity and early plot synopsis, similarities to the real-life legal cases of Joan Little and Inez Garcia—two women at the center of two headline-making, mid-’70s court trials in which the rape victim killed her assailant—and hoped the film would be an illuminating examination of the thorny issue of violence and victim’s rights. This was the group most disappointed and offended by Lipstick, voicing the common head-scratcher complaint/query: who thought it was a good idea to make a glossy, glamorous movie about rape?

Since American culture holds the not wholly inaccurate perception that the wealthy and beautiful are shielded from life's harsh realities, I think Lipstick sought to dramatize that no woman or girl is invulnerable to the threat of violent sexual assault. But somehow, that message didn't really land. 

"The built-in sensuality of the film medium presents a permanent dilemma: A director, even with good intentions, can hardly help turning a beautiful woman into a sex object, and there is always the danger that what starts out as an exposé becomes exploitation." 

Molly Haskell, in her 1974 book "From Reverence to Rape: the Treatment of Women in the Movies."

Of course, there was a third camp—the word "camp" being particularly germane in this instance—who saw in Lipstick's earnest self-seriousness and heedless vulgarity a true cult film in the making. Normally, lovers of Bad Taste Cinema would have to look to the films of Andy Warhol, John Waters, or Russ Meyer to find a more preposterous co-mingling of haute couture, gratuitous nudity, sweaty-palmed villainy, flared nostril acting, and off-putting violence. 

Not this time. If it can be said that Lipstick is in any way successful, I contend that it truly triumphs as an unintentional trash classic and an early contender for the title ascribed to Andy Warhol’s BAD the following year: “A picture with something to offend absolutely everybody.”

Whose Gaze Is It, Anyway?
Mr. Stuart cools his cobblers while making an obscene music phone call

In telling its story, Lipstick plays fast and loose with just whose perspective we're afforded. In the early part of the film, the camera's gaze is more sympathetic to the rapist's experience. Evident in how the brutal assault is shot and edited in ways protective of the assailant's modesty, yet never missing an opportunity to expose the victim's nudity in a sometimes startlingly crass tableau. 

Were Lipstick even a marginally better-made film, I think I’d find it too disturbing (or offensive) to sit through. So I take it as a kind of mercy that it’s a movie that lavishes appreciably more imagination and care on its modeling sequences and fabulous disco synth soundtrack (by French composer Michel Polnareff) than on the darker implications of its central drama.  It’s clear Lipstick strives for “ripped from today’s headlines” realism, but its melodramatic tone almost dares you to take it seriously. 

Margaux Hemingway as Chris McCormick

Chris Sarandon as Gordon Stewart

Mariel Hemingway as Kathy McCormick

Anne Bancroft as Carla Bondi

Perry King as Steve Edison

In a reversal of the standard ‘70s practice of made-for-TV movies borrowing the plotlines of then-current feature films, Lipstick’s plot has much in common with the groundbreaking 1974 TV movie A Case of Rape. Both films dramatizing how a woman’s thwarted efforts to put her rapist behind bars expose a judicial system that instead puts the victim’s life and sexual history on trial. But where the Emmy-nominated Elizabeth Montgomery TV film opts for a somber tone of social realism, Lipstick’s unsubtle approach prioritizes shock. 

In a choice that seems to go against everything this film pretends to be about, screenwriter David Rayfiel gives Chris a brother who's a brother…or rather, a priest (played by John Bennett Perry, father of the late Matthew Perry). Given the size and inconsequence of the role, his presence feels like a tacked-on, tone-deaf signifier of  Chris' virtue. The sexist "good girl" -"bad girl" moralizing behind antiquated rape laws is what this movie is supposed to be denouncing...not perpetuating.

Story: Model Chris McCormick (Margaux) agrees to meet with her 14-year-old kid sister Kathy’s (Margaux’s own 14-year-old kid sister Mariel) favorite teacher, Gordon Stuart (Sarandon), to listen to his experimental music compositions. Stuart ends up sexually assaulting Chris, but when charged with the crime, he convinces the court that it was consensual rough sex initiated by the sexually jaded plaintiff. 

In the wake of the court’s Not Guilty verdict, Chris suffers losses both personal and professional. When Mr. Stuart targets Kathy in a second assault, big sister is forced to take matters into her own hands.

Despite Lipstick’s pervading tone of reality-challenged sensationalism, it does manage to make the occasional hamfisted point or two. Either by using Bancroft’s legal prosecutor character as a rape-statistics mouthpiece, or via the whittling down of complex issues into gratuitous setpiece moments calculated to provoke maximum audience outrage and catharsis. 

But as a representative dramatization of what a distressing percentage of women go through, Lipstick is both too specific and too far-fetched to resonate as any sort of larger, relatable social indictment. Even the most obvious angle of social commentary available to the film—using the profession of modeling to explore the role that media and advertising play in perpetuating and normalizing rape culture—proves to be an opportunity largely squandered.

In an act of guerilla programming, filmmaker Martha Coolidge (Rambling Rose, Valley Girl, Introducing Dorothy Dandridge) released her debut feature Not a Pretty Picture—a sensitive semi-documentary about date rape—in New York on Wednesday, March 31, 1976…just two days before Lipstick opened in theaters on Friday, April 2nd. Though not widely seen then, critics hailed it for being, in execution, all that Lipstick sold itself to be. 

Directed by Lamont Johnson (That Certain Summer—1972) and written by David Rayfiel (Three Days of the Condor—1975), Lipstick was released in a surge of social relevance and pop culture topicality. The latter, courtesy of Margaux Hemingway, the 6-foot supermodel and granddaughter of Ernest Hemingway whose then-ubiquitousness (appearing on the cover of  Time and landing a million-dollar contract with Fabergé Cosmetics, all in less than a year) made worthwhile the gamble of handing over the lead role in a major motion picture to an acting neophyte.

I Found A Million Dollar Babe

Cringe ads like these, promoting the dominance of the male gaze and implied proprietary physical access to women's bodies, were very common in the '70s. It was my hope that part of Lipstick’s agenda included exploring the role advertising plays in rape culture and normalizing the casual objectification of women.  

Lipstick first came to my attention when I saw the movie's lip-shaped logo featured in a full-page teaser trade ad in Variety. Combining two of my favorite things—movies with one-word titles and movies with catchy slogans—I had no idea what any of it meant, but I was all in. 

I took it as a hopeful omen that many of my recent favorites were movies with symbolic, single-word titles: Nashville, Smile, Shampoo. Plus, in a '70s movie landscape overcrowded with buddy films and male-centric stories, Lipstick felt like a signal heralding an emergence of more movies about women and featuring stronger female characters.

The courtroom scenes never rise above Perry Mason-level familiarity, and the terrible case Bancroft's prosecuting attorney mounts will have you screaming at the screen. Performance-wise, it's hard to tell if Bancroft is overacting or just seems that way next to the TV-scale performances of her co-stars. 

What really boosted my enthusiasm was when I learned that Lipstick was to open in San Francisco at MY theater! Which is to say, the movie theater where I’d been employed since high school--The Alhambra Theater on Polk Street. The once spacious Alhambra had been divided into two smaller theaters in 1974, and Lipstick was slated to replace Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore in Alhambra #1 (after a staggering 13 months!), while Alhambra #2 turned things into an unofficial Chris Sarandon Film Festival by hosting Dog Day Afternoon.   

The only downside to this terrific news was my awareness of the Alhambra being a neighborhood movie theater (sister theater to the first-run Regency on Van Ness), and as a result, we rarely ever got the movies that the studios had confidence in. 

I’m not sure if the fault lies with the actor, director, or simply how the role was written, but given that the reality for many women is that rapists look like the average guy-next-door, it does the film no favors to have Sarandon's character be a weird, twitchy, Norman Bates type. At our first glimpse of him, he's so obviously off-the-rails that we question Chris' judgment in letting her little sister near him in the first place.  

With a dash of trepidation now introduced to my otherwise unbridled sense of anticipation, I was reluctant to see Lipstick in the usual manner of theater ushers…in out-of-sequence bits and pieces while standing in the back of the theater with a flashlight. Craving the full, uninterrupted Lipstick experience, I went on opening night (on my day off) and sat in a sparsely populated, virtually all (gay) male audience. The porno theater vibe of the experience was hard to ignore. 

After its first week of release, Paramount knew it had a bomb on its hands. Marketing went from understated to alarmist, with newspaper ads in major cities disclosing local rape statistics over increasingly violent imagery

Lipstick had been booked into the Alhambra for a month, but there was no way it could survive four weeks as a solo. After the first week, Lipstick was paired with Straw Dogs (1971), then Chinatown (1974), and finally Once is Not Enough (1975).

I think I went into Lipstick expecting something perhaps along the lines of Klute…a gritty crime story built around a character study of a woman. I was way off. I sat through Lipstick twice that night, liking it more the second time when I surrendered to it being the schlock exploitationer it was. And while it was not the movie I had hoped it would be, it was somehow both better and worse than I could ever have imagined.

And if you think that sentence sounds convoluted and paradoxical, well, say hello to the two words that perhaps best describe Lipstick.

Vogue meets International Male

Handsome Perry King has little to do as Chris' semi-supportive boyfriend with the blown dry hair and dubious mustache.

WHAT I LOVE ABOUT THIS FILM 

As a lifetime devotee of so-bad-they’re-good movies, and confirmed aficionado of Cinema de Strange, virtually everything I love about Lipstick stems from its outré luridness. It's so trashy! It’s like a Sidney Sheldon potboiler crossed with an Italian Giallo. And as Lipstick’s alluring but superficial gloss isn’t offset by anything more substantive in the way of writing, acting, or characters, none of it actually feels tethered to reality. Too much of Lipstick’s rape & revenge plot feels engineered to provide a visceral experience, not a contemplative one.

Dressed to Kill

What can you say about a movie whose apogee and nadir is the blissfully baroque image of a beautiful, statuesque model, lacquered and coiffed, racing through the parking lot of the Pacific Design Center in a glittering red evening gown while brandishing a rifle? It’s got Ken Russell written all over it.

It’s important that I not be too dismissive of Lipstick, for though it was a commercial and critical flop (one critic called it a “Tower of Trash”), Lipstick actually did influence rape laws in California. In late 1976, the California Legislature passed a resolution that prohibited the mention of a rape victim’s sexual history from being brought up in court. It was named The Margaux Hemingway Resolution No. 109 in her honor. 

THE STUFF OF FANTASY

That Lipstick is a triumph of style is nowhere more evident than in the superb title sequence, which, for me, is alone worth the price of admission. The film’s opening 3 ½ minute model photoshoot economically combines a chic, music video-style credits sequence with the subtle (the first and only time that word can be applied to anything related to this movie) establishment of Lipstick’s undeveloped subthemes regarding the normalized dehumanization at the core of sexism and misogyny. 

We see a woman, passive and silent, attended to by a phalanx of men devoted to enhancing her appearance. Often using the language of seduction (tellingly, the only female voice present is dismissed summarily). We're left to ask ourselves. is the woman we’re watching being glorified or objectified? 

It's practically documentary: Margaux Hemingway is photographed by the man who launched her modeling career, Francesco Scavullo. Also present are Scavullo's assistant and life partner, Sean Byrnes,  Way Bandy (makeup), and Harry King (hair). The only fictional addition is actress Catherine McLeod playing an ad agency executive. 

PERFORMANCES

Though ill-served by a script that conceived her character as almost entirely reactive, I like Margaux Hemingway in Lipstick and never thought she was as bad as the critics made out. True, she doesn’t have much range, but she has an appealing presence and earthiness that might have been showcased to better advantage with a director more protective of her limitations (you don’t keep cutting to reaction shots of someone with so little variance in expression). Still, if you compare Margaux’s performance in this, her first movie to, say, Raquel Welch in her 13th feature film…1969s Flareup (which shares with Lipstick a similar “A woman’s outrage, a woman’s revenge!” dramatic arc), Margaux comes off looking like Liv Ullmann.

Everything that was said and written about Mariel Hemingway stealing the movie out from under everyone is quite accurate. As the most authentically realized character in the film, her performance is remarkable in its naturalness and sensitivity. When the failure of Lipstick signaled the end of  Margaux's lucky streak, the accolades Mariel received created a rift between the sisters. Margaux was quoted as saying: “She ended up stealing the movie and deserved the acclaim, but I was upset. Because it was as if people were tired of me and gave her the attention.”

THE STUFF OF DREAMS

I can't say whether Lipstick is simply a timepiece that stands as evidence of an era when no one batted an eye that a team of men would craft a movie about rape without the creative input of even a single woman, or if it's a movie that deserves credit simply for drawing attention to a topic few major films were even willing to tackle. For me, part of its lingering legacy is the sad, meta intersection of reality and fantasy that comes with the participation of the two Hemingway sisters and all that we now know that we couldn’t have known then.

Cover Girls
Cover: An item placed in front of something to protect or conceal

It's discomfiting to watch a film about rape/sexual abuse that stars siblings who themselves faced issues concerning mental health, body image, eating disorders, alcohol and drug abuse, and sexual abuse.  

Margaux Hemingway died of an overdose on July 1, 1996, at the age of 42. Mariel became a successful  Oscar-nominated actress (Manhattan - 1979) and is currently a tireless advocate for mental health.

Lipstick co-stars Mariel Hemingway and Chris Sarandon went on to work together in three other films: Road Ends, 1997; Perfume, 2001; and above, a Canadian film adaptation of Louisa May Alcott's Little Men, 1998.

BONUS MATERIAL

Lipstick's fabulous opening sequence. 

From Michelangelo Antonioni's Blow Up (1966) to Faye Dunaway stopping traffic in Eyes of Laura Mars (1978) fashion shoots in movies have always been a favorite of mine. 

Francesco Scavullo

Copyright © Ken Anderson      2009 - 2024

MOVIES I FORGOT TO REMEMBER

What The Hell Did I Just Watch?

Silent Scream, Friday the 13th Part VII: The New Blood, Wanted: Dead or Alive, Amityville 3-D, The Nesting, and Dead & Buried. Even when presented with evidence that I actually saw these "classics," it's still news to me. 

"Movies are the memories of our lifetime." Martin Scorsese

The Fabelmans (2022) - Steven Spielberg

Except when they're not. 

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. 

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.

Which brings me to the subject of this post. 

Saying

To Movies I Forgot I Ever Saw

(Something tells me I'm not the only one who doesn't remember seeing this

 1987 comedy starring Shelley Long and Corbin Bernsen)

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.

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. 

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.  

Michael Douglas and Sharon Gless in The Star Chamber - 1983

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." 

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.

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!"

****

Andrew Stevens-Derrel Maury-Kimberly Beck-Robert-Carradine-Steve Bond

A bullied teen exacts bloody retribution on his tormentors in this cynically prescient High School horror film /social allegory.

What I wrote in 1982:

"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." 

Carol Lynley-Wendy Hiller-Edward Fox-Honor Blackman-Olivia Hussey

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.

What I wrote in 1982:

"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 better-than-it-deserves cast. 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."

 

Lee Majors, Robert Mitchum, Valerie Perrine-Saul Rubinek 

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 Looker.

What I wrote in 1982:

" '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."

Caitlin O'Heaney-Don Scardino-Tom Hanks 

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.

What I wrote in 1982:

"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."

Petula Clark- Cathleen Nesbitt-John Castle 

Actress Diane Baker (Marnie, Strait-Jacket) 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.

What I wrote in 1982:

"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."

Edward Albert-Erin Moran-Ray Walston-Grace Zabriskie-Sid Haig

A Roger Corman-produced Alien 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.  

What I wrote in 1982:

"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."   

Rachel Ward-Leonard Mann-Drew Snyder

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 (Casino Royale, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang). 

What I wrote in 1982:
"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."

Nell Schofield-Jad Capelja-Jeffrey Rhoe

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 (Tender Mercies, Crimes of the Heart) opened in the US in 1983. 

What I wrote in 1984:

"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."

Johnny Yune-Margaux Hemingway-Raf Mauro  

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.

What I wrote in 1984:  

"'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."

Linda Blair-Stella Stevens-Sybil Danning-Tamara Dobson-Nita Talbot-Edy Williams

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. 

What I wrote in 1984:

"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. "

Samantha Eggar-Linda Thorson-John Vernon

A Chorus Line meets Friday the 13th in this casting couch slasher about a cattle call audition that has wannabe actresses vying for a role to (literally) die for.

What I said in 1984:

"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?"

Teri Garr-Michael Keaton-Martin Mull-Christopher Lloyd-Ann Jillian

Husband is fired from his job, so wife becomes the breadwinner. Call the Press.

What I wrote in 1984:
"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."

Maggie Smith-Michael Palin-Denholm Elliott-Liz Smith

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.

What I wrote in 1988:

"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." 

Jane Alexander, William Devane, Lukas Haas, Kevin Costner-Mako

The threat of nuclear war was on everybody's mind in the early '80s, spawning several films (The Day After -1983 [made for TV], Under Fire - 1983, and Silkwood -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.

What I wrote in 1984:

 "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."

 Annette O'Toole-Martin Short-Paul Reyser

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.

What I wrote in 1989:

"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."

Rita Tushingham-Jackie Burroughs

When I wrote about Claude Chabrol's film Le Cérémonie (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

(Ruth Rendell's A Judgement in Stone – 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.

What I wrote in 1988:

"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."

Melanie Griffith-Tommy Lee Jones-Sting-Sean Bean

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 (Leaving Las Vegas). 

What I wrote in 1990:

"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."

Whoopi Goldberg-Sam Elliott-Ruben Blades-Jennifer Warren-Brad-Dourif

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.

What I said in 1988:
"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)." 

Eric Stoltz-Judith Ivey-Jennifer Jason Leigh

The arrival of a stranger threatens the close relationship of two sisters bound by a scandalous secret. 

The directing debut of Bill Condon (Gods and Monsters, Dreamgirls).

What I wrote in 1988:

"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 run a hotel out of their decaying Louisiana mansion, yet still find time to harbor a dark secret." 

Diane Lane-Michael Woods-Cotter Smith-Tyra Ferrell

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 Fatal Attraction. 

What I wrote in 1988:

"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, Laura Mars-style widow designs attract the attentions of a loony out to make her life pure hell." 

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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." 

Be sure to check out the Companion Piece essay to this post:  
MAKING A MEMORY: CINEMA & THE CULT OF LONGING

May all your movie experiences be more memorable.

Copyright © Ken Anderson   2009 - 2023