"freeze, liberal!"

Traditionally, right-wingers have gleefully trivialized/branded Hollywood as an evil factory for liberal propaganda, usually invoking the all-purpose expression "bleeding-heart" and any handy synonym for "weak," while also demonizing the likes of Susan Sarandon and George Clooney.

Hollywood, the land of wussies.

But wait!

Have these rednecks even been to a Hollywood movie lately? I ask because, in order to see "The Big Sick," I had to sit through six or seven trailers for upcoming films - movies ostensibly starring reputable actors but whose real recurring star is the .357 Magnum or whatever gun of choice is preferred by wuss filmmakers these days. One trailer after another featured phallic guns of all sizes, loudly neutralizing undesirables.

The movies seemed designed to appeal to gun-rights advocates, not ninny liberals, and the transparent product placement of guns in every film gives the weird impression that each could have been produced by ... the NRA.

a heartfelt plea to tcm: "stop already!"

In the words of Howard Beale, the unhinged newscaster created by Paddy Chayefsky, “I’m as mad as hell and I’m not going to take this anymore!”

I exaggerate. Actually, I'm more annoyed - and disappointed - than angry. My exasperation is in response to the introductions and post-screening discussions that run in tandem with the films screened by Turner Classic Movies in prime time and on weekends. There's this exhausting tendency by TCM hosts to reiterate the same information - sometimes facts, mostly opinions - over and over and over and over and over again. And again.

This is beyond redundancy, way beyond.

Case in point: Did you know that Ethel Merman, the star of the 1959 stage version of "Gypsy," was passed over when the 1962 Warner movie was made and that Rosalind Russell got the role?  This bit of information, which has been stale since 1962, is repeated every time Turner screens "Gypsy," which is a lot. "Gypsy" is a TCM staple and deservedly so. It's terrific.

Object lesson number 2: Did you know that Alfred Hitchcock's original choice for the title role in 1964's "Marnie" was Grace Kelly and that Tippi Hedren got the role after Kelly, pressured by her royal in-laws, demurred? Turner treats this as a newsflash every time "Marnie" is aired, even though your average movie buff (of a certain age) has known this since, well, 1964. Whoever writes the Turner intros needs to find fresh information.

It would also be an improvement if the intros avoided facile gossip, a la "No one expected Monroe, Grable and Bacall to get along," a sexist tidbit mentioned whenever 1953's "How to Marry a Millionaire" is screened.

What's particularly annoying (disturbing actually) about the "Gypsy" and "Marnie" examples is that both come with the implicit message that Merman and Kelly would have been superior to Russell and Hedren in their respective films when the preserved performances clearly say otherwise.

Anyway, I've lost count of the number of times (hundreds?) that the Merman-versus-Russell/Kelly-versus-Hedren discussions have taken place.

Let's start with "Gypsy" which was showcased on June 22nd during TCM's Gay Hollywood celebration - the gay connection being Arthur Laurents, who wrote the book for the original stage production (and continued to needlessly tweak it until the day he died).

It was hosted by Dave Karger, a former Entertainment Weekly writer, and author William J. Mann, neither of whom gave any indication of having seen the original stage production but nevertheless talked authoritatively about both it and Mervyn LeRoy's '62 film (whose fidelity to the play is impressive).  Sure, both may have heard about the '59 stage "Gypsy," but frankly, opinions based on hearsay are worthless.

I winced on cue when they brought up the dog-eared Merman information and generally dismissed Russell's definitive performance in the film. Mann commented that she was "pretty good."  OK, I'm seriously dating myself here, but I actually sat in a theater and saw Merman in "Gypsy."

It was my first Broadway show and I was taken to see it because my friend Steve Curry played one of Baby June's newsboys in the show. I remember Merman being extremely broad in the role, almost a caricature, and that she tended to sing directly to the audience rather than to her co-stars on stage (something which Laurents himself observed and disliked).

My recollection may be based on a childhood experience (I was a fairly observant kid) but, unlike the theater freaks who pontificate ad infinitum about "Gypsy" and Merman, I actually experienced both.  Russell, a world-class actress, brought nuance and compelling patrician airs to the role.

She's more than just "pretty good."

"Gypsy" became something of an obsession early on.  I've seen as many productions of it as I could - and more than one Madam Rose, which as Mann astutely pointed out is what the character is called in the show, never Momma Rose (something which also bugged Laurents). Linda Lavin, Tyne Daly, Bernadette Peters and others all brought something to the role but none of them fully located the tragic figure that Russell so effortlessly captures in the film.  Her line readings, her razor-edge timing and Warners' creative commingling of her singing voice with Lisa Kirk's conspired to create a fully-formed character that has been only two-dimensional on stage. Russell is flat-out excellent. Hands-down.

The Kelly-Hedren reference came up yet again following the July 21st screening of 1954's "Rear Window," which features Kelly and is one of many titles in Turner's on-going "Fifty Years of Hitchcock" series. TCM's Ben Mankiewicz hosts with the Swiss documentarian Alexandre O. Phillipe, whose latest work, "78/52," is a full-scale examination devoted to the filming of the shower sequence in "Psycho" and who, for lack of a better description, is "Hitchcock literate."

Phillipe's observations, to date, have not only been well-reasoned, intuitive and informative, but also refreshingly adventurous, not at all predictable.

Anyway, after the screening, Mankiewicz brought up Kelly and, without missing a beat, mentioned that Hitchcock originally wanted her for "Marnie."  I appreciate that Phillipe immediately stepped up and flatly stated that Hedren "crushed" the role of Marnie - a "tour-de-force" performance, he added.  At last! Another champion for a criminally underrated performance. Kelly was a limited actress who often could be charming, but I can't imagine her meeting the intimidating challenges of this role.

Hedren turns in revelatory, intricate work as a damaged woman caught in a destructive cycle, a performance that has grown in retrospect for many critics (see Richard Brody below). Turner will air the film again tomorrow (July 28) at 8 p.m. (est) and, this time around, listen to the sad, child-like voice Hedren affects whenever she regresses into her past. And she's matched by Sean Connery as the man, curiously both empathetic and brutal, who is intrigued enough to take the time to understand her.

I'm really curious about tomorrow's discussion of the film. On the one hand, "Marnie" is a Mankiewicz favorite, having been one of his monthly picks back on September 23rd, 2009. On the other hand, the usually affable Ben has been a tad combative in his stint with Phillipe.

Their chemistry hasn't been exactly smooth and, after Wednesday's screening of "Vertigo," Mankiewicz was curiously and uncharacteristically negative, calling the film's ending "contrived." Phillipe argued compellingly in its defense (does the ending imply that the James Stewart character commits suicide?) but to little avail. It was an interesting dynamic to say the very least. (If all this was an attempt by Ben Mankiewicz to bring an added dimension to TCM by incorporating a little verbal fisticuffs - a friendly arugument, an occasional debate about a film- I say Bravo!)

But back to "Marnie." Much like "Vertigo," its spiritual twin, it was critically maligned upon its initial release. And also much like "Vertigo," contemporary critics have stepped back and found much to praise about the film, particularly Hedren.

"Vertigo" is now viewed as a masterwork and I've a hunch that the status of "Marnie" will take the same route and continue to grow.  That said, I'm turning the remaining space over to Richard Brody, the movie editor for The New Yorker magazine and the author of “Everything Is Cinema: The Working Life of Jean-Luc Godard.” He's also one of our best movie critics. 

In his capsule review of "Marnie" for the magazine, Brody has had this to say about Hitch's minor masterpiece and its luminous star:

"Tippi Hedren’s cool grace in 'The Birds' hardly prepares a viewer for her porcelain froideur as a sexually traumatized kleptomaniac in Alfred Hitchcock’s psychologically resonant, visually transcendent film, from 1964. Sean Connery co-stars as a businessman who hires Marnie as his secretary, lusts mightily after her, and, catching her with a hand in his till, takes it upon himself to win her heart—and, above all, her body—by healing her mind. Borrowing liberally from himself (notably, several tropes from 'Spellbound,' 'Vertigo,' and 'Psycho'), Hitchcock gives his obsessions luridly free rein—intentionally and not. He was, in fact, obsessed with Hedren, whose rejections he repaid with harsh treatment, and it shows in his images: few films have looked as longingly and as relentlessly at a woman, few onscreen gazes at an actress have so perfectly crystallized an integral and unique style of performance, and few performances have so precisely defined a director’s world view, even unto the vanishing point. He could, and did, go no further."

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~images~
(from top)

~Tippi Hedren in "Marnie"

  Universal Pictures 1964 ©

~Dave Karger and William J. Mann

  Turner Classic Movies 2017 ©

~Ethel Merman in "Gypsy"

 Friedman-Abeles 1959 ©

~Rosalind Russell performing "Some People" and "Rose's Turn" in "Gypsy" and
with Ann Jilliann in the "Dainty June and Her Farmboys" number

 Warner Bros. 1962 ©

~Ben Mankiewicz and Alexandre O. Phillipe

 Turner Classic Movies 2017 ©

~Grace Kelly

 Paramount Pictures 1956 ©

~Alfred Hitchcock with Hedren on the set of "Marnie"

 Universal Pictures 1964 ©

~Hitchcock in his cameo for "Marnie"

 Universal Pictures 1964 ©

cinema obscura: david beaird's "it takes two" (1988)

David Beaird's "It Takes Two," from 1988, is an unusually accomplished and knowing little film, at once enchantingly funny and shrewdly observed.

There is an inclination to call this a lost film but, the fact is, this is a movie that was never found in the first place. It was half-heartedly released (by United Artists, then on its last leg) and casually dismissed by critics (that is, those who bothered to see it). No surprise, it never found an audience.

It is very much an independent film but no one grasped that back in '88, largely because of unfortunate timing. "It Takes Two" was ahead of its time by just a few months. In 1989, Steven Soderbergh's "Sex, Lies and Videotape" would become the darling of film festivals and would open the door for small, edgy films dealing with real-life man/woman issues. Which exactly describes "It Takes Two." But it was too late for Beaird's film.

Set on the eve of a wedding, "It Takes Two" deals with what men ostensibly want (hot cars and hotter women, and lots of them) and what women want (love and a security that might be restricting). Men here, represented by the groom-to-be, are painted as dreamers, while women, in the form of his sweetheart and future wife, are seen as realists.

It's the familiar battle of the sexes and, although the film comes with an undeniable '80s feels, it has a sweet, unpretentious touch that's ageless. And, as in most romantic comedies, the man and woman here are each outraged by (and attracted to) an element in the other's character.

The man and the woman here are essentially kids, just barely out of high school. Travis Rogers and Stephi Lawrence have lived in Waxahachie, Texas, all their lives, on their families' respective farms. Travis' family breeds horses and is strictly lower middle-class, while Stephi's dad, "Bull" Lawrence (the name says it all), is admired as the local "manure mogul."

Travis and Stephi are absolutely crazy about each other and, what's more, they were made for each other. But they see matters, life, differently.

Travis has never been to a big city and has never owned anything fine, anything to call his own, and has never been with anyone except Stephi - and he hasn't really been with her. (They're both virgins.) He has dreams of fancy cars and panting blondes, dreams followed by nightmares of Stephi locked inside his queasy stomach - dressed in her wedding gown.

Stephi is spoiled, a bit self-centered and something of a nag, but (thanks to some three-dimensional playing here) you just know how much she caares about Travis and how she only wants to make him happy.

When he announces that he wants to invest most of his hard-earned money in a fancy Tovare, advertised as an American imitation Lamborghini, and that he plans to go to Dallas right before their wedding to buy one, Stephi goes along with him, but only after a few fights.

Their fights are actually a kind of mutual criticism, very realistic, and as most married couples know, they are sometimes the only road to accommodation - torturous, painfully introspective but necessary.

So while Stephi prepares for the big wedding, which is only 46 hours away, Travis goes to Dallas, aptly Oz-like in his eyes, to buy his car. The sales clerk, a blonde named Jonni, is the kind of woman that Travis saw only in his dreams and she takes him for a ride in more ways than one. (It's a sly touch that the autoplex where Jonni works is named Emerald Motors.)

Travis' pursuit of his male fantasy turns into a male nightmare that somehow ends kind of dreamy, thanks to the efforts of writers Richard Christian Matheson (son of Richard Matheson) and Thomas Szollosi.

Back in 1988 when I first saw (and reviewed) "It Takes Two," I felt that I had discovered some remarkable, attractive new talent.

George Newbern and Leslie Hope, the stars, are two accomplished players who should have gone further in the nearly 30 years since "It Takes Two" was first released. Newbern as Travis is a crackerjack leading man, at turns funny and serious and always willing to expose himself to the audience. His Travis is a fine character study of a young man old enough to grow a mustache but young enough to look silly with one.

Leslie Hope (who, back in the day, was soon to be seen in Oliver Stone's "Talk Radio" and with Matt Dillon in "Kansas") is the titanic supporting structure of this film. As Stephi, Hope reads dialogue as if she were having a candid conversation with her friends and has a smile to die for. In the film's big scene, when Stephi thinks Travis has stood her up at the altar, Hope has a monologue that defines her unusually complex character.

Kimberly Foster, who plays Jonni, is sort of a neo-Kim Novak, a striking blonde with a punky edge, a heart of gold (of course) and, most important, a streak of decency. She's excellent. And a special note about the invaluable character actor Barry Corbin who plays the aforementioned Bull and who brings a tangy, lived-in feel to the role. You could say the same about "It Takes Two" - tangy, lived-in and also ... bittersweet.

Oh, and by the way, just prior to its release, "It Takes Two" was titled "My New Car." Neither generic title does the film justice.

Notes in Passing: Five years later, in 1993, George Newbern and Leslie Hope would be teamed again, in the nifty Drew Barrymore faux Hitchcock thriller, "Doppelganger," directed by Avi Nesher. Newbern would become best known for his role as Kimberly Williams' young husband in the "Father of the Bride" twins, while Hope would move from acting to directing.

And the talented David Beaird would direct "Scorchers," a 1991 guilty pleasure starring Faye Dunaway. Highly recommended fun. Beaird hasn't made a film since 2005's "The Civilization of Maxwell Bright," starring Patrick Warburton, Simon Callow, Eric Roberts, Austin Pendelton and Jennifer Tilly. And based on Beaird's filmography, that's one I'd like to see.

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~image~

~Leslie Hope and George Newbern in "It Takes Two"

~photography: United Artists 1988 ©

the same movie: McGuane times two

A good writer is a magician of sorts, a fabulist who can make the trite seem, well, fabulous.

Thomas McGuane certainly qualifies as a good writer and, back in the 1970s, he produced two scripts seemingly married to the same essential plotline.

Released a year apart, Frank Perry's "Rancho DeLuxe" (1975) and Arthur Penn's "The Missouri Breaks" (1976) are both original scripts about cattle rustlers and land barons. Both are Westerns but the former is modern, comedic and, at 93 minutes, rather breezy, while the latter is darker, more traditional and, at 126 minutes, something of a trial to sit through.

While it's never been acknowledged that both are based on the same material, it's compelling to compare and contrast, observing how McGuane creatively moved his pieces - his characters - around, changing relationships while adhering to a tale told twice. Here goes...

Point One

In "Rancho DeLuxe," Jeff Bridges and Sam Waterston play two contemporary cattle rustlers who, perhaps unwisely, set their sights on the livestock of the newly transplanted Clifton James and wife Elizabeth Ashley, who came to Montana from Scehnectady, New York.

In "The Missouri Breaks," Jack Nicholson leads a cattle-rustling ring and decides - again, perhaps unwisely - to take on cattle baron John McLiam, a widower with a grown daughter, played by Kathleen Lloyd.

Point Two

In "Rancho DeLuxe," James hires pokey old Slim Pickens to ensnare rustlers Bridges and Waterston. Traveling with Pickens is his niece, Charlene Dallas, who is what James Agee would have called "a dish." Ah, but Pickens and Dallas are not exactly what they seem to be.

In "The Missouri Breaks," McLiam hires Marlon Brando, a cattle-rustling regulator with an eccentric way of handling the job. He dons disguises to dispatch his unfortunate prey. In both films, the hired hand recruited to entrap the rustlers engages in a kind of play-acting. Both Pickens and Brando play characters who consider their line of work a "sport," approaching it in highly theatrical ways that are not all that dissimilar.

Point Three

In terms of "love interest," in "The Missouri Breaks," Nicholson forges a relationship with Lloyd, while in "Rancho DeLuxe," one of James' goons, played by Harry Dean Stanton, becomes smitten with Dallas. (Note in Passing: Richard Bright plays James' other goon - Burt to Stanton's Curt.)

In both cases, the romance is doomed by deceit and betrayal.

Point Four

The respective endings is what sets the two films apart. "The Missouri Breaks" ends on a note that's bloodier than anything that preceded it, as difficult as that is to image." "Rancho DeLuxe," on the the other hand, ends without violence, with the two heroes rather blissfully in jail, a dénouement that, oddly enough, recalls the ending of ... "The Producers."

Point Five

Oh, yes, and the two films were released by United Artists. And perhaps not coincidentally, Elliott Kastner was a producer on both films.

blasphemy & sacrilege!

 

Or, Rain already, rain on her parade! Do it!

Willam Wyler's "Funny Girl" (1968) is the final candidate for my disruptive Hall of the Overrated. Perhaps this is a premature end, considering the many other titles that I would have liked to tackle here. "Independence Day"! "Rain Man"! "The Silence of the Lambs"! The list goes on: Films that other moviegoers (and critics) have enjoyed and even obsessively loved.

"Funny Girl" is also the third title on the list that belongs to my favorite genre - the film musical, particularly the film musical that's an adaptation of a stage play. At the risk of seriously dating myself, I should note that I saw all three shows in their original Broadway productions - "West Side Story" as a kid and, later, "Cabaret" and Funny Girl" as a young adult.

But more about that later.*

During its lifespan, the movie musical was routinely overseen by people with music backgrounds but, every so often, Hollywood would assign one to director not connected with the genre but a solid craftsman nonethless: 

• Howard Hawks - "Gentlemen Prefer Blondes"
• Fred Zinnemann - "Oklahoma!"
• Henry Koster - "Flower Drum Song"
• Francis Ford Coppola - "Finian's Rainbow" (and, later, "One from the Heart")
• Sir Carol Reed - "Oliver!"
• Sidney Lumet - "The Wiz"
• Milos Foreman - "Hair"
• Sir Richard Attenborough - "A Chorus Line"
• Martin Scorsese - "New York, New York"
• Peter Bogdanovich - "At Long Last Love"
• John Huston - "Annie"
• Michael Ritchie - "The Fantasticks"

Some of these pairings worked (Hawks, Zinnemann), some didn't (Lumet, Attenborough). In the case of "Funny Girl," Columbia brought in the estimable William Wyler (he of "Ben-Hur" fame, as well as "The Best Years of Our Lives" and "The Children's Hour," among many other varied films) and teamed him with the star of the 1963 Broadway show, Barbra Streisand. And, apparently, there was a power struggle over exactly who was the film's auteur - its seasoned director or its driven leading lady.

Caught in the middle is the movie itself which is at once big and splashy and gaudy - and also lengthy and lethargic. At its best, it's highly disappointing. Not that the original show itself was that great, apart from Streisand's showstopper-after-showstopper performance. She was the only reason to see it. As for the material, it served simply as an opportunity for its composer, Jule Styne, to repeat the same formula (a vaudeville-based musical biography) that worked so successfully for him with "Gypsy" a few years earlier. But there's really no comparison at all.

"Funny Girl," which chronicles both the personal and professional life of Ziegfield star Fanny Brice, remains  merely a serviceable musical comedy that, both on stage and on film, has functioned strictly as an over-the-top showcase for its star. This was made apparent when the material was blown up to 70mm proportions for the film. Wyler's camera is ruthless.

Unless you are an avid Streisand fan or have a deep appreciation for the kind of broad performance she delivers, his movie is something of a trial to sit through. And little is more deadly than its first 15 minutes.

Streisand enters an empty theater in full Grande Dame mode, looking pained and full of regret and ready to share the struggles of her journey. Cue to flashback. Now looking younger (in an anacronistic way, circa 1968), she performs what's supposed to be a novelty number, "If a Girl Isn't Pretty," with character actresses Kay Medford (as her mother) and Mae Questel, but the way it's staged here, the song is downright funereal.

So who made the decision to open the film this way? Wyler? Streisand? Producer Ray Stark? Or Isobel Lennart, who wrote the scripts for both the play and the film? Or was it one of those decisions by committee?

Matters don't improve as Streisand is indulged by a beached Wyler - dancing a fractured version of "Swan Lake," trying to balance herself on roller skates, playing a pregnant bride and acting coy with Omar Sharif.

And then there's the faulty lip-syncing - which is actually kind of funny.

In spite of its bloat, "Funny Girl" plays like a watered-down version of Styne's previous hit. Picking Wyler to direct this material was probably a ploy to give the film something of a pedigree and I guess he delivered that. But for all its razz-a-ma-tazz, "Funny Girl" feels stillborn and that's probably because of Wyler. He was the wrong choice. In comparson, Mervyn LeRoy - who directed the 1962 Warner film version of "Gypsy" - had an active background in (and feel for) vaudeville and it shows. And it helps that he made such titles as "Gold Diggers of 1933," also for Warners.

* Note in Passing: "Gypsy" was another show that I saw as a kid, the original production with Merman. I often think about the musical shows I saw growing up. It was a natural part of my youth. So when did it become a gay thing to enjoy musicals? Exactly when did men begin to define their masculinity by the movies they watch?  I ask because my wife and I each had fathers who loved musicals, both on stage and on screen  No big deal.

Both took their families to tryouts of new musicals in Philadelphia and both loved "Oklahoma!," "South Pacific" and "The Music Man" on screen. A musical was just another type of movie to see.  This week, a Western. Next week, a musical. And the week after that, something with Clark Gable or Doris Day. It simply didn't matter. A movie was just a movie.

And some variety made movies even better. But not anymore. Men now think that their sperm count or testosterone level will shrink if they watch a musical. This phobia was driven home by Larry David who wrote an episode of "Seinfeld" - episode 17, season four, to be specific - titled "The Outing," in which George (Jason Alexander) purchases two tickets to a "Guys and Dolls" revival as a birthday present for Jerry (Seinfeld).

One for him, one for Jerry.

Uptight that anyone would think he is gay, Jerry screams in his unique Seinfeldian way, "Isn't that a lavish Broadway musical?"

To which George responds, "It's 'Guys and Dolls,' Jerry, not 'Guys and Guys'!"

"The Outing" first aired February 11, 1993 and matters haven't changed.

Sadly, it's gotten much worse.

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~images~

~Barbra Streisand and Kay Medford in "Funny Girl"
~photography: Columbia Pictures / Rastar Productions 1968 ©

~Jason Alexander and Jerry Seinfeld in "The Outing"
~photography: Castle Rock Entertainment / NBC 1993 ©