shirley maclaine, heartbreaker

I suppose that the "movie-star crush" is something of the distant past, a phenomenon of the 1950s and '60s experienced by some little boys (and a few girls) who were fated to become movie nerds in their adult lives.

Marilyn Monroe comes immediately to mind as the most popular object of affection among children back then, even if they had no appreciation of exactly why. My theory is that Marilyn came with an innate child-like quality that made her seem like a peer, despite her physically adult, womanly attributes. She was an innocent. She had no plots or designs.

A child.

But my personal crush was Shirley MacLaine. I was so enamored of her that, when I was about 11 or 12, I devoted my budding artistic skills to a little pencil caricature (see above) that, I thought, captured her appeal.

Fast forward several decades and I am a working movie critic. I spent 35 years reviewing and, occasionally, interviewing film people. Hundreds. But, somehow, never Shirley MacLaine. Never. But I finally met her in 1991 when Jack Lemmon was honored by the Hollywood Foreign Press with the Cecil B. DeMille Life Achievement Award at the Golden Globes that year. Jack and I were friends and I was invited to join in the celebration.

Connie McCauley, who served as Jack's career-long secretary and assistant and was vice president of his Jalem Productions, arranged the seating at Jack's table. Jack was with his wife Felicia Farr and, among the other guests, were Walter Matthau and his wife Carol Matthau (aka, Carol Grace and Carol Marcus and who had just written the fabulous autobiography, "Among the Porcupines"), their son Charlie Matthau and his wife Ashley and ...  Shirley MacLaine! Whom Connie sat next to me.

She appeared to be attending with either her agent or manager.

Shirley smiled and said hello - and then studied me with a steely gaze. A pause. "Didn't we work together on "Madame Sousatzka"? In retrospect, I probably should have said yes and engage her in a one-sided conversation about the 1988 John Schlesinger film. She would do all the talking and reminiscing. Opting for honesty, I said no. "I'm a friend of Jack's."

I turned to my wife Susan, who was sitting on the other side of me, planning to introduce them. When I turned back, almost a split second later, Shirley was gone. Her agent/manager was now in her seat and he sheepishly explained that Shirley needed private time to prepare her notes for the presentation. And Shirley? She was now sitting with Carol Matthau.

Oh, well. What can I say? Needless to say, it was a disappointment. Huge. Perhaps she thought that we'd have nothing to say to each other, And she probably would have been correct. Or - dare I admit it? - I simply wasn't important enough for her company. Either way, it seemed like bad form.

When Susan and I got home that night, I immediately logged on to "Madame Sousatzka" on IMDb to see what part I could have played. Had I been better versed on the film, I could have said yes to Shirley - that we did work on a couple scenes in the movie. I just needed a name. "I could have played 'Ronnie Blum'," I thought, oblivious to the fact that my decades-old crush, decidedly one-sided, was over. Goodbye, Shirley.

 Regarding Commensts: All comments are enthusiastically appreciated but are moderated before publication. Replies signed "unknown" or "anonymous" are not encouraged. Please sign any response with a name (real or fabricated) or initials.  Be advised that a "name" will be assigned to any accepted post signed "unknown" or "anonymous." Thank you. -J

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~Caricature of Shirley MacLaine

 ~Art work: Joe Baltake 1958©

   ~Poster art for "Madame Sousatzka"
~photography: Universal Pictures 1988©

willfully taken. every time.

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When I first read Jack Finney's "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" in novel form a lifetime ago in 1955, it seemed a natural for movies, specifically a B-level black-&-white movie, the kind that Hollywood produced also a lifetime ago - the tale of curious seeds that grow as people sleep, replacing the human form. Finney (1911-1995) originally wrote the piece - set in his (and my) beloved Mill Valley, California - for Colliers Magazine in 1954. Then came the movie. Enter Don Seigel who made just such a modest fifties-B-film classic some 63 years ago. Perfection. It remains so. It remains inimitable.

There was no need to tamper with or remake the material, rebooting of course being Hollywood's wont. Enter Philip Kaufman. It's 1978. Another version, also a California-set thriller. Almost as classic as the original.

It's 1993 now and Abel Ferrera, the king of New York raunch, brought just that dubious quality to Finney's narrative and - guess what - it worked!

Yet another. The playwright Oliver Hirschbiegel whipped the material into a surprisingly credible indie in 2007. Unusual but hugely watchable.

In short, this fabulous material is surefire as the stuff of movies.

I like them all - all the invasions.

Take me...

I'm next!

Again.

 Regarding Comments: All comments are enthusiastically appreciated but are moderated before publication. Replies signed "unknown" or "anonymous" are not encouraged. Please sign any response with a name (real or fabricated) or initials.  Be advised that a "name" will be assigned to any accepted post signed "unknown" or "anonymous." Thank you. -J

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~The various incarnations of an effective invasion, poster-wise

~Poster art: "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" / Allied Artists 1956©
 ~Poster art: "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" / United Artists 1978©
 ~Poster art: "Body Snatchers" / Warner Bros. 1993© 
 ~Poster art: "The Invasion" / Warner Bros. 2007©

"the young and the restless": utterly torturous

We're not in Genoa City anymore, Toto.

No, this feels as if we are doing time in some ink-stained writers' room at CBS where scenarists are desperately struggling - but failing -  to restore the greatness of one of the network's crown jewels. That would be "The Young and the Restless," once a resounding sensation of either the station's daytime or nighttime schedule - but now virtually unwatchable.

I've written previously about the pure pleasure of daytime dramas that my wife and I have enjoyed for decades, recently singling out "The Young and the Restlest" here and here, the former of which celebrated the writing - for the show's female cast in particular. But almost immediately, the writing went into a serious decline, with one actress after another dropping out.

The show never rebounded. Frankly, matters have become worse, exacerbated by the bad casting decision to bring back old characters (to appease the fan base) and other decisions - artistic, narrative or otherwise - that border on the grotesque. It's been utterly painful to watch.

One could blame the writing exclusively, but the pathetic writing and other dubious decisions are ostensibly based on executive orders.

While my eyes were once glued to the screen for each plot turn, I now find myself taking mental notes (pick up dry cleaning, take Peanut to the vet's) or simply walking away from the TV for minutes at a time, confident that I am missing ... nothing. I tried to make sense of the addlepated decisions.

Case in point: The Genoa City Athletic Club (also called the GCAC and The Club), the cozy, woody, viewer-friendly hotel-gym-bar-restaurant combo that has been seemingly abandoned without notice for the awfulness of a trendy new place called The Grand Phoenix. This new place boasts a discordant production design that’s truly unattractive, almost toxic.

Its lobby looks as if some out-of-control production designer simply threw ugly furniture and decor against the walls, letting the mess stay where it all landed; the guest rooms are even worse - uninhabitable.

Perhaps The Grand Phoenix is supposed to reflect the messed-up personality of  Phyllis who allegedly designed the place. More likely, it's the result of a professional's inept design. The bottom line: I miss the GCAC!  In my mind, I always wanted to stay in a room there and share a drink with Jack or Abby at the bar or join Nick in the gym. One can dream.

Moving on, what's with the show's preoccupation with the letter "C" - Chelsea, Chloe, Connor, Christian, Cane, Charlie? Cccconfusing. A minor complaint but also unnecessarily annoying. And Chelsea always screaming for and shouting at Connor is like chalk against a blackboard for me.

Which brings to the show's worst offense - its cast of characters. 

In a naked attempt to pander to the show's so-called fan base, the producers have restored recently departed familiar faces to the canvas – Chelsea, Chloe, Kevin and Hillary (now named Amanda). Chelsea has been given the most to do, which largely means looking nervous and edgy in scene after repetitive scene. In the two or three months since she's been back, Chelsea has struggled to crack a smile, producing a performance dominated by darting eyes. Not good. Meanwhile, the charmless Kevin wore out his welcome at least several comebacks ago.

And a little bit of Chloe - whinny, mannered and bad-quirky - goes a long, long way, while a recast Phyllis (recast with the original) has been a bust.

Other characters have morphed (in a bad way), seemingly taking the show hostage. There's Billy. Once an incorrigible schemer, he's now an unattractive, judgmental prig. Much worse is Mariah, an unctuous know-it-all who seemingly is in every scene with every other character, except (strangely enough) for Tess. Tess, yes, Tess. She is supposed to be Mariah's inamorata, involved in a curiuos lesbian relationship that is strictly non-sexual, so as not to turn off the show's right-leaning fan base.

The routine Mariah-Tess romance goes as such: The template is always the same - some grotesque gourmet dinner, always planned by Mariah, that ends with Mariah (always again) praising Tess to high heaven in an overdone testimonial and then planting a tiny, chaste kiss on Tess's tear-stained face. Tess, easily the most useless character on the show, never reciprocates. Never. She behaves like a piece of wood.

Meanwhile, the once-promising character of Kyle is currently in the throes of being rethought into an entitled baby; Rey remains a big snooze; Cane the most repellent among all the characters, hands-down; Nate a pointless addition to the cast; Adam recast by a reptilian stick-figure; Devon continuing to make no sense whatsoever in terms of anything/everything he does, and Jill, who has become reason not to watch the show at all. 

So does anyone, any character, make the quickly-declining show worth watching these days? Well, actually, yes - and it has everything to do with the joy in their work that the actors achieve, in spite of the bad material.

First and foremost, Sharon and Jack, followed by Summer, Traci, Abby, Lola, Dina and the fabulous new addition, Theo. Wishing them my best.

Now, if only I can join Jack and Sharon at the GCAC bar for a Scotch neat.

If only.

Note in Passing: Sharon Case (as Sharon), who has incredible chemistry with everyone in the cast, remains the best actor on daytime, hands-down, and Peter Bergman (as Jack) always seems to be having a blast.

Their enthusiasm can be - and is - contagious.

 Regarding Comments: All comments are enthusiastically appreciated but are moderated before publication. Replies signed "unknown" or "anonymous" are not encouraged. Please sign any response with a name (real or fabricated) or initials.  Be advised that a "name" will be assigned to any accepted post signed "unknown" or "anonymous." Thank you. -J

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~Where terminal daytime dramas go when the end is close

façade: hal ashby's third act

Hal Ashby, who died 30 year ago at age 59, enjoyed a brief but exhilarating directing career. The former house editor for Norman Jewison (and 1967 Oscar winner for Jewison's "In the Heat of the Night"), he was prodded by Jewison to transition into directing, helming eleven narrative films, plus one documentary, in the modest span of about 15 years.

Ashby's debut, 1970's fabulous "The Landlord," was something of a happy accident. Jewison had commissioned Kristen Hunter's novel to direct himself, but sidelined by pre-production work on "Fiddler on the Roof," he generously handed the material to his invaluable editor.

This was Ashby's Act One as a budding auteur. A year later came the seminal, ready-made cult classic,  "Harold and Maude." Two brilliant movies, neither of which was immediately embraced by critics or audiences. He would have turned 90 this year and I've a hunch both titles would not only be embraced but celebrated for his birthday.

Ashby's Act Two was something of a jaw-dropper - rich, beautifully realized films starting with "The Last Detail" in 1973 and continuing with near-breathlessness with "Shampoo," "Bound for Glory," "Coming Home" and "Being There." Much of what is written these days about Ashby revolves around these particular titles.

Ashby's Act Three, however, produced during a particularly troubling time in his private life, is no less interesting. His choice of material was as personal and idiosyncratic as ever and his eye for casting remained fresh and sure. Less sure was his directorial confidence but the shared erratic quality of his final four films only make them more fascinating.

Either by accident or perhaps on purpose, Ashby's work on "Second-Hand Hearts" (1981), "Lookin' to Get Out" (1982), "The Slugger's Wife" (1985) and "Eight Million Ways to Die" (1986) mirrored much of the expressionism that John Cassavetes was specializing in at the time.

"Second-Hand Hearts"
(aka, "The Hamster of Happiness"), a shaggy-dog tale about losers, offers the singular team of Robert Blake and Barbara Harris, who are compulsively watchable here.

"Second-Hand Hearts" may be a genuine lost title, although it popped up on Turner Classic Movies recently, while "Lookin' to Get Out" managed to make it to DVD in a "narratively enhanced" version that restores footage excised by Paramount.  Working with Jon Voight and Ann-Margaret, Ashby took rather routine buddy gambling material and somehow twisted it into something vaguely existential.

Mainstream and middlebrow, "The Slugger's Wife," an original screenplay by Neil Simon, comes with an unexpected melancholy with Michael O'Keefe and Rebecca DeMornay, fine performers who never hit the big time, as two people - a ballplayer and a singer not entirely made for each other.

The film lingers almost in spite of itself. (Martin Ritt puts in a bit as the wittily named Burly DeVito, manager of the Atlanta Braves, the team for which O'Keefe slugs.) More memorable but no less erratic is "Eight Million Ways to Die," an atmospherically sordid character study with Jeff Bridges outstanding as detective who uses booze to self-destruct, seesawing between his planned rehabilitation and the vices that permate his personal/professional lives. Rosanna Arquette and Alexandra Paul are the atypical female leads here.

Fascinating. Ashby both opened and closed his career as a narratve filmmaker with The Brothers Bridges.

Ashby's documentary was The Rolling Stones' "Let's Spend the Night Together" (1983). Trailing off towards the end, he directed Neil Young in something called "Solo Trans" (1984); the pilot of Dennis Franz' TV series, ""Beverly Hills Buntz" (1987) and his last, "Jake's Journey," a 1988 British TV film with Graham Chapman and Peter Cook.

He died in in December of that year of liver and colon cancer.

 Regarding Comments: All comments are enthusiastically appreciated but are moderated before publication. Replies signed "unknown" or "anonymous" are not encouraged. Please sign any response with a name (real or fabricated) or initials.  Be advised that a "name" will be assigned to any accepted post signed "unknown" or "anonymous." Thank you. -J

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~Hal Ashby 
 ~photography: United Artists 1970©

~Beau Bridges in a scene from "The Landlord"
 ~photography: United Artists 1970©

~Mood shot of Bud Cort and Ruth Gordon in "Harold and Maude"
 ~photography: Paramount 1971©

~Peter Sellers as Chance, literally walking on water in "Being There"
 ~photography: United Artists 1979© 

~Caricatures of Robert Blake and Barbara Harris for poster art for "Second-Hand Hearts"
 ~photography: Paramount 1981© 

~Poster art for "Lookin' to Get Out"
 ~photography: Paramount 1982©

~Ashby with Rebecca DeMornay on the set of "The Slugger's Wife"
~photography: Columbia Pictures 1985©

~Jeff Bridges and Rosanna Arquette in "Eight Million Ways to Die
~photography: PSO International 1986©

"frankie": a different destination

"frankie": Isabelle Huppert dans la disparition graduelle de une jeune fille. à plus tard.

During the past decade or so, we've experienced various examples of The New Normal, including destination events grounded in the current wide-spread narcissism.The Destination Wedding, of course, is one example

The Destination Bar Mitzvah, another case in point.

It takes an astute mind to bring a newer, shrewder layer to this self-addiction - and filmmaker Ira Sachs rather wittily and poignantly manages to push matters to yet another level with ... Destination Funeral, a conceit that not only works surprisingly well (to a limited degree) but functions perfectly in tandem with his star's commanding persona.

That would be the iconic Isabelle Huppert whose character here is in the throes of death and is intent on spreading the word to family and friends, but in only one specific location for her passing and funeral - the dreamy, sun-dappled Portuguese seaside town of Sintra.

The movie, with the real-time feel of an unrushed afternoon, consists of Huppert performing acting duets with her wonderful supporting cast - sharing secrets, expressing regrets and often testing them with a dour playfulness that's wholly suitable for this very unusual occasion.

She's Françoise Crémont, known as a great actress but whose greatness has often minimalized other aspects of her life  Her outsized personality, so crucial on stage and screen, has worked out with decidedly different results with family and friends. On hand to attest to this are Frankie's first husband, Michel (Pascal Greggory); her current husband, Jimmy (Brendon Gleeson) and Jimmy's family from his first marriage; Paul (Jérémie Renier), her son with Jimmy; Frankie's best friend Ilene (a terrific Marisa Tomei) and Ilene's hanger-on, would-be fiance Gary (Greg Kinnear). All great company.

But this is clearly Isabelle's film - her year, in fact. What with the film, "Greta" and her success on stage in "The Mother" (two more title roles), Huppert is experiencing something of a new destination herself. An invigorating second act.

'Frankie" opens today in San Francisco and Palo Alto.

 Regarding Comments: All comments are enthusiastically appreciated but are moderated before publication. Replies signed "unknown" or "anonymous" are not encouraged. Please sign any response with a name (real or fabricated) or initials.  Be advised that a "name" will be assigned to any accepted post signed "unknown" or "anonymous." Thank you. -J

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~Isabelle Huppert on stage during Florian Zeller's play, "The Mother" 
~photography: Ahron R. Foster 1960© 

 ~Huppert in her a publicity shot for her movie debut in Otto Preminge's "Rosebud." Age 22
~photography: Paramount 1975©

~Forty years later - Huppert today. Age 66.
~photography: Eurovision 2019©