A SIMPLE PLAN 1998

“No man chooses evil because it is evil; 
he only mistakes it for happiness, the good he seeks.” 

                                                          Mary Wollstonecraft -1790

The plot of A Simple Plan initiates with the simplest of premises and most relatable of fantasies: found wealth. Three men hunting in the snowy woods of Minnesota happen upon a downed private plane in whose wreckage is discovered a dead pilot and a bag containing $4.4 million in cash. Reasoning that no one is likely to lose that kind of money without someone eventually coming to look for it, Hank (Bill Paxton), the most level-headed and intelligent of the trio, suggests they alert the authorities and hope for a reward. The two remaining discoverers--Jacob (Billy Bob Thornton), Hank’s slow-witted older brother, and Lou Brent Briscoe), Jacob’s equally slow-on-the-uptake best friend--motivated by chronic unemployment and an inability to fully grasp all that’s at stake, argue that such a sizable cash sum MUST mean the money is drug-related and therefore less likely to be reported as lost or missing. So they all vote and instead decide to keep the money, splitting it three ways. 

Bad Omen
A fox attacking a henhouse sets into motion events that appear at first glance to be good fortune, but the film's recurring visual motif of crows signals something entirely different

Hank, outnumbered, already an accomplice, and swayed by circumstances of his own—his job is dead-end and his expectant wife Sarah (Bridget Fonda) is due any day—agrees not to report the money on the proviso it remains in his possession and they do nothing until enough time has passed to assure no one is looking for it.

Sounds simple enough. 

The bad luck crow motif materializes in Hank and Sarah's home

But this is a contemporary morality tale. If good fortune is responsible for awarding this trio“The American Dream in a goddamn gym bag,” then their tragic flaw proves to be their inability to realize what a bad omen it is to have such a stroke of good luck come at the expense of someone’s life (the anonymous pilot of the downed plane). Once the deal to keep the money has been struck, it isn't long before the group (which has now come to include Sarah, exhibiting heretofore-untapped reservoirs of resourcefulness and guile) is beset by a veritable Pandora’s Box of setbacks born of bad judgment, greed, mistrust, and betrayal.

Bill Paxton as Hank Mitchell

Bridget Fonda as Sarah Mitchell

Billy Bob Thornton as Jacob Mitchell

Brent Briscoe as Lou Chambers 

Combine the intricate plotting of Alfred Hitchcock with the psychological complexity of Claude Chabrol, and you’ve got a pretty good idea of how deftly A Simple Plan mines both the suspense and moral ambiguity in this tale about a group of otherwise decent people entering into a hastily-conceived plot to stealth away a fortune in ill-gotten gains. But as much as unforeseen narrative twists make for a story full of roller-coaster thrill ride of obstacles, and grievous, sometimes fatal, errors in judgment; it’s the complicated, contradictory impulses of the various characters—their individual personalities, motivations, and interrelationships—that give the film its most compelling jolts of knots-in-the-stomach intensity.

Merging elements of the crime thriller, the heist film, and the murder mystery, A Simple Plan’s unique perspective distinguishes itself in never feeling as though the machinations of plot and genre are the forces moving the characters along. Everything that happens—even those events furthest beyond the scope of the expected, feel like the organic, inevitable consequence of the combustible, putting-out-fire-with-gasoline interactions of dissimilar individuals forced by circumstance into an unlikely, unlucky alliance.

Three on a Match

WHAT I LOVE ABOUT THIS FILM

I can't say I'm all that familiar with the work of Sam Raimi. Fans of the director will cite his series of Evil Dead cult films, but of the director’s to-date 15 feature film releases, I’ve seen only The Gift (2000) and Spiderman (2002), neither making much of an impression on me. So A Simple Plan,  to my way of thinking, a practically perfect crime suspense thriller, exists in a pristine little bubble. I can enjoy it as a free-standing work of distinction, without having to attribute any of its merits to director trademarks or signs of a talent maturing.

Happy New Year

I don't recall being interested in seeing A Simple Plan during its theatrical run, but on the strength of all the buzz surrounding Billy Bob Thornton's Oscar nomination later that year (one of two received by the film, the only one in the acting categories) I checked it out when it became available on DVD. If curiosity about Thornton's impressive physical transformation is what initially drew me to A Simple Plan, it ultimately became the least significant aspect of the film.
Almost instantly I responded to the dramatic potential of the setting, characters, and situation, engrossed by the unexpected intimacy achieved in approaching a heist/crime film as though it were a character drama. Raimi builds suspense like a master, overlaying the story with telling small-town details and a well-sustained tone of enveloping dread and tragedy. Even the bleak, wintry landscape seems less the work of Mother Nature than an ill-effects response to the numbing effects of greed.

Indeed, the weather is practically another character in A Simple Plan. I credit Raimi with giving his film a look representative of what its nearing-middle-age characters’ lives must feel like: constrained, hemmed-in, and as anchored as the figures in a snow globe. As Sarah brutally lays out in a scene of clear-eyed fatalism, when it comes to what possibilities life holds for these average, unexceptional people, the die is pretty much cast. Many scenes begin with shots of vast, icy stillness or crow-eye views of limitless banks of snow and nothingness.
Even at the very start of the film, when the streets are adorned with Christmas decorations and Hank walks with a lightness we’ll never see in him again, at no time is the snow made to appear picturesque or poetic. From the frosted windows, slate-gray skies, and characters swathed in layers and layers of insulated clothing (even indoors); the weather is presented as just another hardship. A severe, isolating, suffocating obstacle to an easier life. 

Gary Cole as Neil Baxter

PERFORMANCES

A Simple Plan's Oscar-nominated screenplay is by first-time screenwriter Scott B. Smith, adapted from his own 1993 novel. Paring down the story to the bare bones of its suspense-thriller structure, Smith's economic screenplay combines a strong eye for the shortcuts of visual storytelling with an ear for the kind of character-establishing dialogue one associates with a stage play. The tension-filled narrative flows easily from plot twist to plot twist, never once feeling contrived or labored. Best of all, he manages to accomplish all this while keeping the film’s central focus on the disintegrating relationships between the characters, and the telling ways they respond to having their theoretical (superficial?) principles tested by a genuine moral dilemma.

Without the benefit of much in the way of backstory, Smith’s characters, whether in moments of monstrous callousness or pitiable despair, are granted a level of humanity lacking in the novel. A grace attributable to the authenticity and depth of emotion the cast brings to their characters.

Bill Paxton and Billy Bob Thornton (who appeared together in 1992’s One False Move) share a symbiotic anti-chemistry as the brothers with nothing in common “…except maybe our last name.” The late Bill Paxton, whose settled-in boyishness lends his Hank the look of a self-disappointed fair-haired child, is all agitated exasperation and impatience in his scenes with Thornton. College-educated and preppy-fastidious next to the town’s hayseed casual, one senses Hank enjoys feeling like the civilized big fish in a little pond. Paxton taps into the seeds of disenchantment that lay just below the surface of Hank's easygoing affability. Paxton is terrific and it's easy to see why he was so often cast as likable characters. He radiated an easy openness and accessibility masking layers of complexity.

Sarah Discovers the Source of the Money 

Personal fave Bridget Fonda (Single White Female), exuding almost Shakespearean levels of steely dominance, proves to be as much of a surprise and dramatic force-to-be-reckoned-with as Thornton. From the moment her character is introduced we’re made aware of how smart she is, but as the promise of “what can be” comes to poison her tolerance for “what is,” she morphs into something of a domestic underworld mastermind. It's great fun (and plenty scary, too) to witness her transformation from bubbly bride to hardened housewife... like Carroll Baker running that all-lady hit squad out of her kitchen in Andy Warhol’s BAD.

Brent Briscoe as the oafish Lou is a Master Class lesson in how to humanize an unintelligent character lacking in self-awareness. He even achieves the impossible by playing a drunk scene convincingly. Pouring a life's worth of resentment into the way he unfailingly refers to Hank as “Mr. Accountant,” Briscoe's pivotal drunk scene calls for whiplash emotional shifts from jocularity, betrayal, heartsickness, desperation, and ultimately, rage. Briscoe plays it in a manner that takes us with him on this rollercoaster, letting us see where these emotions come from. 

Billy Bob Thornton pulls off something similar, but on a much more heroic scale, with his brilliant turn as Jacob. True, it’s become an Oscar-bait cliché for an actor to deglamorize, adopt intellectual disabilities, or lose themselves under pounds of prosthetics; but Thornton's external transformation is no acting stunt. The change in his outward appearance is largely the result of what he's doing on the inside; Thornton inhabits his character.
In showing us the man behind the loser’s countenance, Thornton sidesteps the easy pathos, revealing Jacob to be one of the least self-deluded characters in the film, one wholly lacking in self-pity. One of A Simple Plan’s many twists is the upending of the expectation that the relationship of these polar-opposites brothers might bear a trace of a George and Lennie Of Mice and Men dynamic. Far from it. In a particularly uncomfortable scene (exceptionally well-played by Paxton), the casually supercilious Hank learns that the misfit Jacob not only mocks him behind his back, but regards him with a level of disdain that borders on contempt.

THE STUFF OF FANTASY

I think one of the major reasons I love movies about “plans gone awry” is because I’m a control freak and lifelong non-joiner who goes out of his way to avoid groups, teams, and collaborations of any kind. These movies confirm my worst fears. My favorites: Silent Partner (1978), Before The Devil Knows You’re Dead, (2007), What Became of Jack and Jill? (1972), Jackie Brown (1997), The Killing (1956), Fargo (1996), and Séance on a Wet Afternoon (1964)—all involve meticulously arranged plans going horribly awry due to the human factor. The factor of error that comes from disparate characters pursuing the same goal, but for wildly different reasons.

"Did you tell him about the plane?"

A major thrill to be had in watching A Simple Plan is getting caught up in the yo-yo pull of being initially drawn to one character, only to be confronted with something unsavory in them, then suddenly having your sympathies shifted elsewhere. The trick of making the viewer complicit in a crime is nothing new (Hitchcock’s Psycho), but the quality of performances in A Simple Plan raises the emotional stakes and ups the tension ante. By the time the film arrived at its crushing conclusion, I was fairly wrung out from the suspense.

THE STUFF OF DREAMS

The first words spoken in A Simple Plan belong to Hank, recounting in voiceover something his late father (a simple farmer who lost his land to debt) once said to him about what it takes for a man to be happy: “A wife he loves, a decent job, friends and neighbors who like and respect him.” Hank, in carving out a life for himself substantially more stable than that of his parents, has attained all of these. Hank and Sarah both work at jobs neither finds particularly fulfilling: she at a library, he as an accountant at the local feed mill; but with a nice home, the respect of the community, and a baby on the way, they have realized a humble their version of the American Dream.

But built into the American Dream is a paradox: a reverence for achievement, ambition, and accumulation that’s at fundamental cross-purposes with being content with what one has. As a culture, we don't seem to respect people who are happy in their lot…we call them slackers and underachievers. Yet for people who devote their time and efforts to amassing and hoarding obscene levels of wealth, we've only terms of admiration.

A Simple Plan reveals that Hank, like many people in this country, has adopted the belief that having more is always preferable to having enough. He can’t conceive of happiness as a place in the present, only an idealized destination point on the horizon of some nebulous “future.”

This thematic subtext underscores everything that happens in A Simple Plan, asking us to examine the moral distinction...if there exists one...between need and want. Happiness is always held up as the ultimate goal behind all the greed and hunger for acquisition our society seems to worship. We keep telling people to dream big and set their sights high, to meet goals and then set bigger ones when those are achieved. But does there ever come a time when chasing after the next big thing is too high a price to pay for happiness? 

As each news cycle brings with it increasingly disheartening evidence of America’s rapidly disintegrating moral compass; as absurd and corrupt “leaders” normalize justification and deception while distorting the values of truth and honesty in the interest of money and power; I’m afraid A Simple Plan already reveals itself to be a bit of a timepiece in suggesting that the loss of one’s humanity is a loss of considerable significance.

Bridget Fonda and Bill Paxton in a clip from "A Simple Plan" (1998)

BONUS MATERIAL

Mr. Schmitt, a disgruntled customer accusing Hank of faulty bookkeeping, was played by actor and producer John Paxton, the 77-year-old father of Bill Paxton. John Paxton died in 2011.

Copyright © Ken Anderson   2009 - 2019

SWEET CHARITY 1969

Although I started out as a film major in college, sometime around my sophomore year the dance bug bit me, and I wound up with a career as a professional dancer. Small wonder then that movie musicals have come to mean a great deal more to me than just escapist entertainment. They represent the convergence of my twin passions.

The first movie musical to really make me sit up and take notice of the genre's potential for expressing the grand emotions of joy, longing, and love, was Bob Fosse’s Sweet Charity. Granted, I was just 12 years-old at the time (1969 – balcony of the Embassy Theater, Market St., San Francisco), so what did I know about grand emotions of any kind? Still, no film before had ever given me such a roller roller coaster thrill-ride of emotions packed into a single cinematic experience. I mean, I remember getting goosebumps just from the way the film opened with the Universal Studios logo fading in to the accompaniment of a choral/orchestral crescendo. It was all so overwhelmingly theatrical it didn't feel like a movie at all, more like an event!

Charity and her "Charlie" tattoo: Decades before every man, woman, child,
and grandparent could be found sporting hipster body ink

Then unfamiliar with the show's score or any style of dance that wasn't of the sort seen on TV variety shows like Hulabaloo or The Jackie Gleason Show; I was thrilled to find Sweet Charity to be a catchy and kinetic melding of traditional musical theater and a stylized form of contemporary discotheque dancing. It instantly transported me into a groovy, very '60s world of color, movement, music, and spectacle. I was so taken with the whole thing, I don't think my mouth closed once over the course of the film's two-hour plus running time.
I sat though Sweet Charity twice that day, returning the following week to see it two times more. Thereafter, I sought it out whenever it aired on television or made an appearance at a local revival theater. To this day it remains one of my favorite screen musicals, although now more due to nostalgia and all that iconic Fosse choreography than out of a distinct fondness for the movie itself.

Shirley MacLaine as Charity Hope Valentine

John McMartin as Oliver Lindquist

Sammy Davis, Jr. as Big Daddy

Ricardo Matalban as Vittorio Vidal

WHAT I LOVE ABOUT THIS FILM
A victim of really bad timing, Sweet Charity was pretty much raked over the coals by the critics and ignored by the public when it was released. The New Hollywood was just emerging and young audiences were making hits of small, groundbreaking films like Easy Rider & Midnight Cowboy. In this atmosphere of gritty naturalism, Sweet Charity looked elephantine, dated, and more like entertainment geared toward your mom and dad. And for a film released in the early days of the dissolution of the Censorship Code, Sweet Charity does come off as overly modest. Indeed, 1931's Ten Cents a Dance (a Barbara Stanwyck pre-code movie) is a good deal less coy about the life of a dance-hall hostess than this 1969 feature that tiresomely skirts around the fact that sweet ol' Charity may have turned a trick or two in her quest for true love.

Omen Unheeded: Maybe the set designer was trying to give Fosse a hint, but in this scene from Sweet Charity this 1967 issue of Time magazine - featuring a cover story on Bonnie & Clyde and The New Cinema - sits in ironic counterpoint to the old-fashioned antics occurring onscreen.
Movies like Bonnie & Clyde spelled the end for big-budget Hollywood musicals.

But the passing years have been kind to Sweet Charity. In the wake of Nine and Burlesque and the fact that virtually no one appears to know how to make a decent musical nowadays, Bob Fosse's $20 million folly now looks endlessly inventive and borders on genius by comparison. Most everything that's pleasing about Sweet Charity Fosse would hone and polish to greater effect in Cabaret, but it's all there: Fosse's unique ability to make the camera a part of the choreography, his love of tableau, the use of color and space, the eye for detail....

Jazz Hands Jamboree

Whether or not you like the results, the one thing you can't help but appreciate about Fosse is that he's a man who respects and understands the potential of the musical genre.

PERFORMANCES
For many years I really considered Shirley MacLaine's performance in Sweet Charity to be one of her best. But much in the way that the film itself plays better if you've never seen the Fellini masterpiece upon which it is based (1957s Nights of Cabiria), MacLaine's Charity is a lot more persuasive if you've never seen her in 1958's Some Came Running. They're essentially the same role. The major difference being that MacLaine in Some Came Running is touching and tragic, while her Charity Hope Valentine leans toward strenuous waifishness, and can prove more than a little exhausting.
I recall a movie director once making the observation that audiences want to root for a character struggling NOT to burst into tears. MacLaine (like Diana Ross' equally moist performance in 1978s The Wiz) explodes into mascara-streaked tears so often, that by the third or fourth outburst, you've grown somewhat numb to her heartbreak. MacLaine is very good in Sweet Charity, but her performance virtually screams "Oscar Bait" (although nominated for Some Came Running, MacLaine wasn't so lucky with Sweet Charity). Also, in rehashing a characterization she perfected in a film made 10 years earlier, the older MacLaine, failing to bring anything new to the mix, misses an opportunity to mine the inherent poignancy in the life of an aging "good-time girl."

THE STUFF OF FANTASY
Sweet Charity has a killer musical score. Those six notes Comprising the intro to "Big Spender" are as iconic and recognizable as the Jaws rumble or that Strauss-meets-monolith surge in 2001: A Space Odyssey. Aside from the disposable "Rhythm of Life" number, I enjoy all the music in Sweet Charity...the arrangements all being very much of the moment (that being the go go 60s) and terrifically energetic.

"It's ME! Charity!"

THE STUFF OF DREAMS
The dancing! The dancing! The dancing! Bob Fosse is my all-time favorite choreographer. The genius on display in "Rich Man's Frug," "Big Spender," and "I'm a Brass Band" make this film a musical classic no matter what its flaws.

OK, so it's a shameless rip-off of West Side Story's rooftop "America" number, but it's still a lot of fun

Big Spender: Anthem to assembly-line sex

"Big Spender" is seriously a mind-blower. Contemporary theatrical revivals of the show always get it wrong. This isn't a SEXY number...its a number about mechanized sexuality. The women on the bar are robotically spouting the words the "johns" want to hear while lifelessly assuming postures of fake sexual allure. The bar and the louche poses of the dancers have become instantly iconic, but for all-time favorite, the "Rich Man's Frug" number still can't be beat.
You can watch it a hundred times and still find more to catch the eye and captivate. The technique of the dancers is impeccable. If you doubt it, take a gander at the DVD of the 1999 Broadway revue, Fosse. "Rich Man's Frug," recreated by some of Broadway's best dancers, is almost jarringly clumsy by comparison. The overly-muscled frames of the contemporary dancers are no match for the lithe-yet-strong movie dancers interpreting Fosse's precise isolations. The dancers in the 1969 film are like liquid dynamite.

"Rich Man's Frug" - It helps to know what the 60s dance called "The Frug" really looked like in order to know just how witty this number is.

Mention should be made of Sweet Charitys alternate "happy ending" (included as an extra on the beautifully restored DVD release). Fosse fought hard and won to keep the film's bittersweet ending that has Charity abandoned by her suitor, yet still hopeful about life and love. This duplicates the heartbreaking ending of the Fellini film.

I think I am alone in feeling that Sweet Charity would have been a better film with the happy ending, which Fosse thought too corny.

The sad ending was right for Fellini's film because Cabiria's (Giulietta Mesina) desire to change her life spoke to the film's broader, quasi-religious, theme of redemption being possible only after divesting oneself of everything material.
Cabiria is conflicted about making her living as a prostitute: she longs for the innocence of her girlhood, but is nevertheless proud of the independence she has achieved through her work. her tiny home and savings are all that separate her from a fate similar to that of a the homeless aging prostitute she meets, forced to live in one of the many hills surrounding the town.

When Cabiria loses all of her worldly belongings to a faithless lover, the movie's magical denouement hints at the possibility that now, at last, after all of her previous efforts to find inner peace, she has a real shot at redemption and love. With nothing material left to her name, she is once again the clean, pure, innocent girl she was revealed to be by the hypnotist, and free to start a new life for herself.  The "sad" ending here makes sense, for it is not really sad at all...more bittersweet. The same can't be said of Sweet Charity.

The sad ending doesn't suit the musical because the film hasn't earned it. Of course, this is the ending the Broadway show gave us, but even Neil Simon (the show's playwright) has gone on record saying, "We played around with the ending a lot," and that it was Fosse who pressed for a dark conclusion. Nights of Cabiria offered pathos: a spunky post-war Italian prostitute hopes in vain to change her life. While Sweet Charity gives us bathos: the sympathy cards are so heavily stacked in Charity's corner that there is no real journey for her. She is merely set up to be knocked down.

Flower Power: The appearance of flower children in any movie was sure to date it terribly. By the time "Sweet Charity" hit theaters, the Summer of Love was already two years past, and four months after the film's release, the emergence of The Manson Family sounded the death-knell of the hippie mystique.

For me, the corniest thing about Sweet Charity IS the unhappy ending! It tacks an inappropriate gravitas onto this overblown fable that feels less genuine to the plot and more like a self-conscious effort on Fosse's part to appear hip by giving us the opposite of a Hollywood Happy ending. Granted, Fosse's ingrained cynicism is by now the stuff of legend, but it just doesn't sit right in Sweet Charity.

We've sat through a gargantuan spectacle of a musical which, in spite of its best efforts, is still very old-fashioned in structure and hip-deep in fantasy. Now, at the end we are asked to be "realistic" and deny Charity the obvious happy ending she has coming to her. Well, in the words  of Fosse protégé Liza Minnelli, "Balls to you!"

Original Ending: Charity walks off alone but hopeful

Alternate Ending: Charity and Oscar attempt to make a go of it in spite of her past and in spite of his fears

A movie doesn't become more true-to-life just because it's pessimistic any more than it becomes instantly profound just because it's sad. A movie should have a consistent point of view from which the truth of the narrative is culled. As far as I'm concerned, the true ending for Charity Hope Valentine is to end up with the buttoned-down Oscar Lindquist. What feels most realistic to me is, in being far from a well-matched couple, there is a a bittersweet uncertainty in their actually being able to make a go of it. 

So whenever I watch Sweet Charity on DVD, the only ending that feels really authentic to me is the happy ending. perhaps Sweet Charity was always doomed to be a flop, but I do wonder how it would have performed at the boxoffice had Fosse rewarded audiences for sitting through 2 ½ hours of Shirley MacLaine crying, with a happy ending. 

Charity: "I'm nuts about happy endings!"

Copyright © Ken Anderson

SPARKLE 1976

Perhaps it's because I'm too old to know precisely what a Jordin Sparks is (it's not, as initially presumed, a small town in Virginia, but a recording artist). Still, I had no idea there was to be a remake of this cult-worthy 1976 Irene Cara film (slated to star said Ms. Sparks) until I began to do a little Internet research for this post.

Maybe this is a harbinger of some kind of covert Hollywood covenant to redo the entire Irene Cara oeuvre (we've already had a reboot of The Electric Company and a limp remake of Fame). If so, I'm going to seriously lose it if somebody announces a remake of 1985s Certain Fury—itself a kind of a gender-flip remake of Sidney Poitier's The Defiant Ones—which featured Oscar winners Tatum O'Neal and Irene Cara as a pair of mismatched ex-cons handcuffed to one another. (I kid you not.)

So now there's to be a remake of Sparkle…

If Hollywood is so concerned about piracy, you'd think they might first start "in-house" and set an example by ceasing this endless plundering of their own past successes and begin to cultivate a little originality. But I digress.

Sparkle. The place and time is Harlem/1958. The girl-group plotline evokes The Supremes and all they represent as conflicting symbols of aspirational Black success and crossover assimilation. The small-time show-biz milieu of Harlem jazz clubs and the seedy R&B/soul circuit pay homage to the Black roots of rock & roll while the music prefigures the emergent voices of inner-city youth and the beginnings of the Civil Rights Movement.

Irene Cara as Sparkle Williams

Lonette McKee as Sister Williams 

Dwan Smith as Dolores Williams

Philip Michael Thomas as Stix Warren 

Dorian Harewood as Levi Brown

Sparkle is a '50s girl group take on the oft-told show-biz saga of gifted performers from humble beginnings who discover, only too late, that the road to fame is paved with heartbreak, disillusion, and tragedy. "I want the big time!" conveniently asserts beautiful, self-assured, and headed-for-certain-trouble Sister Williams (Lonette McKee), one-third of the gospel-singing Williams sisters, consisting of woke, budding Black-Power radical, Delores Williams (Dwan Smith); and sweet-natured, self-effacing Sparkle Williams (Irene Cara)…i.e., the obvious heroine of the film.

With the help of neighborhood pals Stix (Philip Michael Thomas), a dreamer who longs to write songs, and Levi (Dorian Harewood), always on the hustle, this trio of starry-eyed schoolgirls dubs themselves "Sister & the Sisters" and become regional nightclub overnight sensations.

But of course, since Sparkle is both a cautionary tale on the price of fame and a morality play on the importance of integrity, things go wrong in a big hurry. Cue in the drug abuse, dashed hopes, romance troubles, death, racketeering, and familial discord. Will Stix ever realize his dreams of becoming a songwriter? Will the tragedies visited upon Sparkle instill a newfound maturity in her singing? Is talent alone enough to lift a bunch of hopeful but naive teens out of the ghetto? 

If you don't know the answers to these questions, you've likely never seen a rags-to-riches show-biz movie before.

Soul Sisters

Those looking to Sparkle for gritty, '70s-type urban realism will have to look elsewhere. Although released in the same year as Taxi Driver, Sparkle is more of a direct descendant of those old Judy Garland/Mickey Rooney "Let's put on a show!" musicals, crossed with the inner-city slum dramas Warner Bros. specialized in during the '30s. Like Rocky, another film released in 1976, Sparkle is really just an updated old movie.

In fact, Sparkle's melodramatic yet ultimately uplifting plotline and its virtually all-Black cast most closely resemble the heyday of the "Race Film." Race Films were independent motion pictures made between 1915 and 1950, created exclusively for and often by Black filmmakers. During the era of segregation, these films, popular in Black neighborhoods across the country, featured all-Black casts and were the first movies to portray African Americans in heroic lead roles central to the plot.

Sparkle's backlot depiction of Harlem, populated with characters going by the names "Stix," "Satin," and "Tune-Ann," harken back to The Harlem Tuff Kids (Black cinema's answer to The Bowery Boys), a pack of late 1930s comic delinquents with names like "Icky," "Stinky," and "Shadow."

Brownstone Socializing: (l. to r.) Levi, Dolores, Sister, Stix, & Sparkle

I wonder if the online commenters criticizing the so-called silly names of Sparkle's characters have the
 same problem with Grease's "Putzie," "Doody," & "Frenchy"; or Laverne & Shirley's "Squiggy"?

The '70s were certainly boom years for Blacks in film, but by 1976, I personally had grown weary of the decade's pimp & prostitute /Kung Fu-Badass Blaxploitation overkill. The fascination all those sassy Black female crime-fighters and morally dubious Super-Flys held for the white suburban male teens who filled the local theaters where these films played (was Quentin Tarantino among them?) was lost on me. Nor was I much fonder of the parade of Noble Slave dramas or other parades of Black suffering that seemed to represent the only other alternative view of Black life Hollywood seemed interested in exploring.

With '70s America deep in the throes of a nostalgia craze that romanticized the past as a simpler, gentler time (tellingly, devoid of people of color): The Summer of '42, The Last Picture Show, American Graffiti, The Way We Were—the arrival of Sparkle on the scene felt like a small kind of miracle and a very welcome change of pace. The screenplay's approach to the material may have been a tad trite, the direction amateurish and ill-serving of its young cast, but Sparkle gave Black kids (the film was rated PG) a nostalgic taste of their own history for a change. It's not a perfect film, but even with the clichés stacked higher and higher with each scene, I find something irresistibly likable and naively charming about Sparkle.

Sparkle is at its best when it stops propelling its predictable plot forward and pauses long enough to provide keen-eyed details of African-American life in the late '50s. Growing up in a household with four sisters, I recall very well the Sunday evening kitchen ritual of hair straightening with a hot comb straight off the burner.   

WHAT I LOVE ABOUT THIS FILM

As a fan of musicals, Sparkle's primary appeal for me has always been Curtis Mayfield's catchy musical score and the sleek, '60s girl-group choreography of Lester Wilson. Mayfield's songs are pop/funk, '70s-style riffs on the early R&B/Soul sound of Motown, while Wilson's choreography captures the stylized, often witty, gesture/posing dance style that became an identifying staple of girl-group performances for years.
The songs, as sung by the film's cast, are all so well-performed that there was an outcry from fans when the soundtrack album for Sparkle was released, with Aretha Franklin taking over the vocals exclusively. Although I've read conflicting accounts over the years as to the whys of this decision, and while I personally prefer the film's cast interpretation of the songs, one has to imagine that, to the studio, the financial prospects of an Aretha Franklin album must have appeared a great deal more lucrative than that of a soundtrack album to a modest film with no stars in its cast.

Choreographer Charles "Cholly" Atkins
Exclusive Motown choreographer whose routines for musical acts like The Supremes and The Temptations were the inspiration for Lester Wilson's work in Sparkle

PERFORMANCES

Although the delectably fresh-faced Irene Cara emerged the bigger star in later years as actress, recording artist, and Academy Award-winning songwriter (for "Flashdance…what a Feeling"), it's Lonette McKee who gives my favorite (and the most narratively grounding) performance in Sparkle. She is so electrifyingly good that the temperature of the film drops several degrees for every minute that she's off-screen. A more intuitive director than Sam O'Steen (editor of Rosemary's Baby, making his feature film directorial debut) might have sensed how strongly the prolonged absence of the film's most dimensional and dynamic character would have on Sparkle's overall impact.

 Indeed, had Lonette McKee been given the opportunity to be the kind of dominant presence in the film that she is in the lives of her sisters, I believe the audience would have mourned her absence alongside the characters on screen much more than they're allowed to. McKee's sad eyes and well-executed tough-girl persona convey a sense of authentic emotional gravitas. Without McKee, Sparkle becomes slightly too light for its own good.

Mary Alice as Effie Williams

On the subject of meeting her daughter's new suitor, small-time gangster Satin Struthers (Tony King)-
Effie: "He's just gonna drag you to the gutter with him."

Sister: "The gutter? How can you say that? He's as big-time as you can get."

Effie: "I've lived in Harlem all my life…I know a rat when I see one."

THE STUFF OF FANTASY

In the impressive array of talent (both young and veteran) that appear in cameo and bit roles, Sparkle pays homage to pioneer African-American entertainers:

Veteran comic actor Don Bexley (best known as Bubba on the TV show Sanford & Son) appears in Sparkle as the raunchy emcee for the Simmons Hall amateur contest

Legendary comic Timmie Rogers as the M.C. of the Shan-Doo Club
 where Sisters & The Sisters make their debut.
Back in the days when African-American comics habitually appeared in blackface, spoke in dialect, and wore sloppy clothes; Rogers was the first to appear in a tuxedo, as himself, and daring to speak directly to white audiences (a practice unprecedented in Black comics during the '40s ).
With his emphatic catchphrase, "Oh, yeah!" He was my father's favorite stand-up comedian.

Tony Award-winning choreographer Michael Peters (Dreamgirls) also created the iconic dances for Michael Jackson's Thriller and Beat It music videos. In Sparkle, he appears as an outrageous R&B singer in the style of Screamin' Jay Hawkins

The performer shown briefly in Sparkle, portraying a singer in the mode of Ruth Brown and LaVern Baker, is Renn Woods. Woods portrayed Dorothy in the 1976 National Tour of The Wiz and appeared in the films Hair and  Xanadu

THE STUFF OF DREAMS

Sparkle is set in the late '50s, but the film's footing feels too uncertain for me to determine whether its resemblance to an actual movie made in the 1950s is entirely intentional. If I have any complaint about its storytelling structure, it's that Sparkle's plot is so eager to reach its destination that it rushes these interesting and unfamiliar characters along at too rapid a pace. 

Nevertheless, the film is a lot of engaging fun in its small, slice-of-life moments. The mother ironing in the living room; the kids having to change out of their "school clothes" when they come home; the ever-present neighbor lady who constantly butts into other people's business; the young men sporting "conk" hairstyles (relaxed-hair pompadours).

Black American Graffiti
 As earlier stated, Sparkle is at its best when just showing us glimpses of life in late-'50s Harlem

All of the above are more compelling than the straight-as-an-arrow course that Sparkle's conventional rags-to-riches storyline  races us through (I've seen the film many times and I'm still unclear as to how long the girls get to enjoy their success before things start to go wrong. It feels like a week.) Watching Sparkle - written by Joel Schumacher and Howard Rosenman - I'm left with the feeling that it would be a much better film had the characters and their behavior been allowed to move the plot forward...not the other way around. Too bad. The people populating Sparkle seem like folks I would be interested in getting to know better if only they'd been granted the time to be fleshed out more. 

Where Sparkle's footing feels most assured is in its atmospheric depiction of the squalid glamour of the Harlem nightclub scene. These sequences, along with the musical numbers, give the film a moody grit that the screenplay lacks. Cinematographer Bruce Surtees (Night Moves, Lenny) paints Sparkle with a dark, Gordon Willis-like palette of claustrophobic shadows, creating some of the most atmospherically seedy nightclub sequences since Cabaret.

Sparkle is one seriously DARK movie (and I'm not referring to its themes); it's almost unwatchably so on VHS. Now, with HDTV and a digitally remastered DVD, Sparkle looks better than ever. A few years ago, I recall reading somewhere that the low-exposure look resulted from having a cinematographer who was inexperienced in lighting People of Color.

Sparkle was released in 1976. The same year as The Omen, King Kong, A Star is Born, Family Plot, and Marathon Man; all films with advertising budgets that probably exceeded Sparkle's entire production costs. I stood in lines to see each of the above films, but I was practically the only person in the San Francisco theater where I first saw Sparkle. As a PG-rated, small-scale period musical drama with a Black cast of virtual unknowns and but a few easily-exploitable elements (no kung-fu mamas or jive-talkin' daddies to promote); a film as atypical as Sparkle was a hard sell in the '70s market.

I have no idea if Sparkle was successful enough to ever show a profit, but I'm glad to know it has become something of a cult classic over the years. Because, flawed as it is, Sparkle is a rarity. Not only in being a female-centric Black film, but the first to dramatize the formation of an R&B girl group, using the formative years of the African-American music scene as a narrative backdrop. Since no film before this had ever tackled the subject matter, it's my guess that in some small way Sparkle went on to inspire the 1981 Broadway musical Dreamgirls. 

Although the current track record for remakes is pretty shabby, I'm going to keep an open mind about the Sparkle remake and wish it well. If nothing else, it's sure to bring more attention to the original.

ADDENDUM: January 20, 2014
Watched the 2012 remake of Sparkle on DVD. Because this is a blog devoted to movies I love, perhaps the kindest thing I can say about the remake is that the original is in no danger of being replaced in anyone's memory. Indeed, by comparison, the Sparkle has the 1976 original looking like the Citizen Kane of Black Cinema. 

I genuinely couldn't believe how weak the effort was. I enjoyed seeing Whitney Houston but was dismayed by the fact that, with $17 million and over thirty years of advanced motion picture technology, they couldn't produce a film with even a fraction of the competence of a low-budget feature from the '70s. It was a seriously depressing endeavor on so many fronts.

Clip from "Sparkle" (1976)

AUTOGRAPH FILES:
               The signatures of Phillip Michael Thomas (L.) and Lonette McKee (R.) I got way back in 1978 and 1980, respectively.

Copyright © Ken Anderson  2009 - 2012