everyone's favorite auntie

   Auntie Mame. [videorecording (DVD)]. Warner Bros. Pictures presents; screenplay by Betty Comden and Adolph Green; directed by Morton DaCosta. From the novel, Auntie Mame, by Patrick Dennis, as adapted for the stage by Jerome Lawrence and Robert E. Lee. Originally released as a motion picture in 1958.
   Director of photography, Harry Stradling, Sr.; art director, Malcolm Bert; film editor, William Ziegler; set decorator, George James Hopkins; costumes designed by Orry-Kelly; music by Bronislau Kaper. Performers: Rosalind Russell, Forrest Tucker, Coral Browne, Fred Clark, Roger Smith, Patric Knowles, Peggy Cass, Jan Handzlik, Joanna Barnes, Pippa Scott, Lee Patrick, Willard Waterman, Robin Hughes, Connie Gilchrist, Yuki Shimoda, Brook Byron, Carol Veazie.
   Summary: In 1928, a 10-year-old boy goes to New York to live with his eccentric, sophisticated Auntie Mame, a lady who throws a party for any occasion, or non-occasion. He grows up and brings home his fiancée and her parents, and Mame finds them uninteresting and snobbish.

style ****
substance ****

A recent viewing, my first ever, of Auntie Mame provided me with one of those magical moments in a cinema buff’s life. This is a movie that’s a complete joy start to finish, and moreover strikes an emotional chord in a very personal way. And how well it’s aged!

By 1958 American culture and society was simmering with a liberal gestalt that would boil over in the Sixties, and the time was ripe for a (relatively) no-holds-barred cinematic treatment of the play that was a recent smash hit on Broadway. The attitudes in the film version of Auntie Mame are actually more Thirties (i.e. pre-Code-ish) than Fifties, and the script and situations get away with a lot of risqué/un-pc material, at least by the standards of the era. Then again, while the Fifties were more repressed than our own times, they were also less pc.

So much of the dialogue still sparkles today, especially when combined with the flawless delivery and timing. Indeed the zingers come so fast and frequent that they reveal themselves only upon repeated viewings. Maybe it has something to do with the story being set mostly in the Twenties and Thirties: those eras, like fine wine, become mellower and better as they age, certainly more so than, say, the Sixties and Seventies, which haven’t aged very gracefully. Continuing the thought, it occurs to me that Auntie Mame is basically a pre-Code movie made in 1958, i.e. all the stylistic trappings of 1950s films but with story line, snappy dialogue and worldly wise-characters that are pure early Thirties.

And true to the film's pre-Code, proletarian spirit, Mame’s character is socially, and, by implication, politically liberal. This is conveyed primarily through her zesty one-liners and verbal comebacks, which she delivers with considerable aplomb. But, curiously, for all the progressive overlay, politics per se doesn’t figure a whit in Auntie Mame. And while it's undeniable that Mame Dennis is more style than substance (and as a result wealth becomes her a lot better than poverty), when the style is this warm-hearted and honest in its, well, stylishness, how can we complain?

Indeed, the sheer force of Mame's personality is such that it obscures her positive, substantive qualities: generosity, tolerance, open-mindedness, sense of adventure, and perhaps most of all, impatience with pretense, snobbery and prejudice.

The above commentary notwithstanding, somehow I always think of Auntie Mame as a musical without musical numbers, probably due to its high gloss look (especially Orry-Kelly’s splendiferous costumes) and Bronislau Kaper’s by turns frothy and sentimental score. And while the film has a widescreen, plush look so typical of the era, suggesting MGM or Fox, it was actually produced, and only rightly so, by Warners, the most pre-Code-ish studio of them all.

A few quibbles: yes, Auntie Mame is overlong, by about fifteen minutes, and for me the first half of the film bubbles with a tastier bouquet than the second. But more important, what happened to World War II? Auntie Mame starts in 1928 then quickly progresses to the crash in 1929, after which the chronology gets murky. Anyhow we jump to 1946 and it’s as though the war didn’t exist, a fussy observation perhaps but I found the disconnect distracting. My only other mild reservation is that for all its flourishes Auntie Mame is at heart very talky, and very stagey, gloriously so, but in the end little more than a filmed play. Or, if you like, a series of (mostly wonderful) set pieces, all dominated by the larger-than-life character of Mame herself.

Another minor, and purely packaging, criticism: the DVD print is beautiful to look at – all those sets and costumes are totally scrumptious – but the disk is skimpy on bonus features. You’d think a film as important as Auntie Mame merits the deluxe edition treatment with commentary, featurette, interviews, etc. Maybe Criterion can be persuaded to release it in the future.

It would be an understatement to say this is Rosalind Russell’s signature role. I’ll invoke the tired cliché: this was the character – and what a character! – she was born to play. She projects with incomparable panache all of Mame’s exuberantly flamboyant glory. However – the supporting performances are wonderful too. I’m especially partial to Joanna Barnes's empty-headed socialite, and even more so, Coral Browne’s alcoholic diva, who’s just as over-the-top as Mame herself and matches her quip for quip. The only misfire among the secondary players is Peggy Cass as Miss Gooch, both the character and the performance.

In sum, Auntie Mame is an always welcome dose of joie-de-vivre and feel good energy. In those times when I'm feeling down or have a world-is-too-much feeling, I play the DVD, or conjure up the memory, and revel in the film’s generous, warm-hearted glory. And for a time, the world is a happy place again.

Further reading:
Les Fabian Brathwaite, Hays’d: Decoding the Classics — Auntie Mame
Richard Tyler Jordan, But darling, I'm your Auntie Mame! : the amazing history of the world's favorite aunt, Kensington Books, c2004.
Eric Meyers, Uncle Mame : the life of Patrick Dennis, St. Martin’s, 2000.

Jesse James Meets Frankenstein’s Daughter (1966)

   Jesse James meets Frankenstein's daughter. Scarborough, ME: Elite Entertainment, 2003. Circle Productions Inc. presents; produced by Carroll Case; written by Carl Hittleman; directed by William Beaudine. 1DVD (85 min.). Originally produced as a motion picture in 1966. Special features include commentary by Joe Bob Briggs and trailer. Cast: John Lupton, Narda Onyx, Cal Bolder, Estelita, Jim Davis, Rayford Barnes, William Fawcett, Nestor Paiva.
   Summary: Jesse James and his sidekick Hank are on the run after a botched stagecoach robbery. Hank is seriously injured in the shootout. Both Jesse and Hank are taken in by a mysterious doctor with a thick Euro accent. It turns out the lady is Baron Frankenstein’s granddaughter Maria, who is conducting shady experiments at her makeshift castle, transformed from a former mission. (Note: JJMFD is not to be confused with the 1958 trash classic Frankenstein's Daughter, starring Sandra Knight and Donald Murphy, and directed by Richard Cunha. )


   Roundly savaged by critics and cinema buffs alike, Jesse James Meets Frankenstein’s Daughter is the proverbial guilty pleasure. Even so, some of us don’t think it’s nearly as bad as its reputation, as is evidenced by its continuing status as a cult classic [1]. For better or worse, better I think, JJMFD has an old school vibe to it, more akin to Fifties and even Forties westerns, and as a result very much out of touch with Sixties trends and sensibilities. In any case JJMFD was produced as half of a double feature with the similarly absurdly titled – with an equally absurd concept – Billy the Kid vs. Dracula, both directed by veteran B movie auteur William Beaudine. Opinions vary as to which is the superior effort: the consensus favors vs. Dracula though, as I often do, here I go against the grain and prefer JJMFD because it’s more over-the-top and just plain more fun. Why is it more fun? The answer in two words: Narda Onyx. But I get ahead of myself.

"I still have you, Igor."

   To begin, let’s clear up a frequent criticism of Daughter. The film is often maligned for having an incorrect title. Well, yes and no. Technically the title is correct, if a little misleading: our, um, heroine, Maria Frankenstein, is indeed Frankenstein’s daughter, but her father is the son of the great doctor (Henry Frankenstein in the Karloff movies and Victor Frankenstein in the novel). Thus yes, to be sure Maria is the grand-daughter of Dr. Frankenstein. By the way Maria identifies more with said grandfather and thus wants to continue his nefarious experiments in the more lightning-friendly American Southwest [2]. She considered her own father too much of a wuss in his reluctance to continue the Baron’s tradition of infamy.
   Trivia: in JJMFD Maria refers to Dr. Frankenstein as The Count. Actually he was always The Baron. It’s a surprising mistake: maybe the writers got their movie villains mixed up. Wasn’t there a count in another series of horror films, a Transylvanian fellow, or something?

it's alive!

  Speaking of the devil in the details, geographically Jesse James Meets Frankenstein’s Daughter is a bit on the obscure side. The exact location is never spelled out, though in the dialogue the American Southwest gets a mention. Commentators have varyingly listed Mexico, Arizona, (New) Mexico or a generic Southwest or Western U.S., presumably near the border. The name of Juanita’s small town is never revealed, though ‘Prescott’ is mentioned once, more or less in passing, but the real town of Prescott, Arizona, seems too far away from the border to be a viable candidate. Along the way a place called ‘Shelby’ assumes some importance. There actually is a Shelby, Texas, but located as it is in the southeast central part of the state again the geography doesn’t work. Bisbee (Az.) is mentioned once, in passing, and actually fits geographically, located as it is only a few miles from the Mexican border. However – since so many locations are casually tossed about in the story, it’s difficult to pin down one place definitively as the setting for JJMFD.

   For all its imperfections Jesse James Meets Frankenstein’s Daughter isn’t really a bad movie. Belying its reputation as a Poverty Row-like production, it has some pretty impressive talent in front of and behind the camera, and it shows in the final product. Whatever the reason, the western scenes seem a little more secure and polished, perhaps due to director Beaudine's experience in the genre. Nonetheless, the more rough-around-the-edges episodes at the mad scientist lab are far more entertaining, mostly due to Maria Frankenstein's unabashed histrionics, further discussed below. JJMFD is perhaps most admirable for getting the most out of a shoestring budget and short shooting schedule (reportedly seven days). There’s fine work from a competent, if mostly uninspired, cast. The sets and period detail, especially the furniture and mission architecture, are actually pretty good, and the Wild West atmosphere is nicely conveyed. Finally, the film’s color look is up to the standards of the era though nothing spectacular.

“you should have stayed in Europe and given pink pills to sweet old ladies”

   But best of all is Narda Onyx in the performance of a career. She inhabits the role of Maria with a fierce intensity lost on the other performers, the one possible exception being Estelita as the virtuous Juanita. And for all her scenery chewing Miss Onyx plays it deadpan straight without a touch of irony or self-conscious camp. In Miss Onyx’s marvelous portrayal Maria Frankenstein seems to be channeling her inner dominatrix, especially when she’s giving orders to her hapless brother Rudolph, always with a hint of the threat of physical violence for non-compliance. Naturally he cowers in her presence and obeys her every command (even while he secretly sabotages her ghastly experiments).
   Furthermore, the character of Maria enters that exclusive pantheon of female mad scientists, as well as the even more restrictive subgroup of the amorous female mad scientist (she has an immediate attraction to Jesse) [3].

   Speaking of things amorous, in addition to her gloriously over-the-top performance, Miss Onyx is very sexy in the role, this despite the bulky dresses and lab smocks she wears [4] (her echt-Central European accent compensates). She’s just as alluring as Jesse’s love interest Juanita (Estelita), who’s no slouch in the looks department and a lot nicer human being, though truth be told, Estelita has much the same fiery attitude as that of Maria. Why is it that evil women characters (e.g. the Bond villainesses) are always the most sexy? Ergo Maria is at her evil seductress best, accent-wise, when she goes into full on Mrs. Dracula mode in those scenes when she’s doing her most dastardly deeds.

   A perusal of IMDB reveals Narda Onyx’s credits as almost totally in television, not film [5]. Certainly I’ve not seen all her TV appearances, not even a minimum of them, but if what I have seen is any indication she was probably typecast as mysterious exotics or sinister villains. In view of her incredible theatricality and screen charisma in JJMFD we can only sigh and ponder the waste of a career, or can we? Had she not left the movies after JJMFD what would have become of her acting endeavors? Maybe her talents could have been harnessed and better served in more worthy vehicles. Or would she have been relegated to similar B material?

   In any event the last quarter century of Miss Onyx’s life is a blank, at least with regard to any mention in the public record. Searches online and elsewhere yield nothing except that her death took place in 1991 in Ventura, Ca., at age 59. Did she simply retire to private life after JJMFD? Was the film such an embarrassment she wanted to wash her hands of the movie business altogether? Whatever the explanation, and whether or not she considered the character of Maria Frankenstein beneath her dignity, Miss Onyx seems to be having a rousing good time playing the role.

   Trivia: JJMFD was the swansong for several of the principals associated with the film. As mentioned above it was Narda Onyx’s last film before she disappeared from public life. Similarly, it was the last movie William Beaudine directed. JJMFD was the last film for Cal Bolder though he appeared in a few television series later. JJMFD was Steven Geray’s penultimate film (he had a bit part in something called The Swinger later that year). And finally Estelita Rodriguez died under mysterious circumstances only a few months after the filming of JJMFD [6].
     On the other hand, veterans Jim Davis and John Lupton went on to lengthy careers. Davis by the way appeared (also as a lawman) in the cult classic Dracula vs. Frankenstein, which if anything has a lower reputation than Jesse James Meets Franknstein’s Daughter.

   Still, time has been kind to Jesse James Meets Frankenstein's Daughter: there's not a lot that's new in the film, but not a lot that's wrong either. Approached in a certain frame of mind, JJMFD can be immensely entertaining, and not just in a bad movie sort of way. However ... we can only guess what the result would have been had JJMFD been given the A-picture treatment by a more or less reputable company like Hammer. Much of the atmosphere and charm would likely have been lost. In addition, the  necessary American flavor might well have been compromised had such a quintessentially British operation been at the controls. 

 [1] Jesse James Meets Frankenstein’s Daughter rates a pitiful 3.2 stars out of 10 on IMDB. On the other hand, it gets a somewhat inexplicable 4.5 stars (out of 5) on Amazon. Go figure.

[2] Just what are Maria’s motives in continuing with the experiments? Well, as mentioned above, the devil is in the details. Translation: it’s all a little vague. One take is that she simply wants to perpetuate the, uh, glory of the Frankenstein tradition. Another possibility is that she wants to create a race of Übermenschen, the ultimate goal being – you guessed it – to take over the world.
    Indeed, with her dominatrix tendencies, take-no-prisoners attitude, and the hint of sexual perversion, all coupled with her thick Central European accent, Maria Frankenstein both looks back to the lethally exotic versions of the Forties femmes fatales, and even more so, anticipates the most extreme manifestations that would appear a decade or so later in the notorious Nazisploitation movies, most notably Ilsa, She-Wolf of the SS.

    As for Maria's plans for Hank/Igor, in addition to being her bodyguard and all around strong man, there's the suggestion that he will become her sex slave as well. However, the message is so subtle that it can be read either way, or not at all. And besides, we get the impression that it's not the promise of sex that's the biggest turn-on for Maria, but rather her pushing-the-boundaries experiments and the resultant power their successful completion will give her.

[3] In referring to women, the term ‘amorous’ always seemed to me more decorous than ‘horny’. Speaking of amorous, mention must also be made of the 1971 potboiler Lady Frankenstein, in which we have a highly sexualized Tanya Frankenstein (Rosalba Neri), who just happens to be Dr. Frankenstein's daughter. Like Maria Frankenstein in JJMFD, Tanya wants to continue her father's pushing-the-boundaries experiments. By the way Dr. Frankenstein is portrayed, improbably, by Joseph Cotten, who actually does a pretty good job in what was obviously not the high point of his career. Indeed, few actors are as quintessentially American in demeanor, looks and accent as Joseph Cotten, so he seems an eccentric choice to play the echt-Central European Victor Frankenstein. However, he makes an earnest attempt at the role and for the most part succeeds. 
     Other memorable, not necessarily amorous, women mad scientists include Rafaela Ottiano in Devil Doll (1936) and Katherine Victor in Teenage Zombies (1959). Victor also appeared in the cult favorite Frankenstein Island (1981), essaying yet another Dr. Frankenstein descendant, this time the doctor's great-granddaughter. Then there's the lesbian mad scientist (Louise Lewis) in Blood of Dracula (1957).
    Aside: the great Michael Gough is hors concours for the mantle of the lecherous male mad scientist. In Konga (1961), he has the hots for his favorite student Sandra (Claire Gordon), much to the displeasure of his girlfriend assistant and wife wannabe Margaret (Margo Johns). In fact, Gough's monomaniacal Dr. Decker has much in common with Narda Onyx's over-the-top take as Maria Frankenstein, both the character and the performance. Also worthy of a mention is Dr. Cortner (Jason Evers) of The Brain That Wouldn't Die. His ostensibly 'clinical' search for the perfect female body barely conceals a smoldering lecherousness on his part.
    Perennial mad scientist George Zucco rates honorable mention in the lecherous department for lusting after leading ladies Peggy Moran in The Mummy's Hand and Evelyn Ankers in The Mad Ghoul. You've got to give Mr. Zucco credit for his good taste! Also worthy of a shout-out is the poverty row cheapie The Monster Maker, in which an incredibly oily mad doctor J. Carrol Nash has an obsessive infatuation for beautiful socialite Wanda McKay. And though the sinister ventriloquist Vorelli (Bryant Haliday) in Devil Doll (1964) isn't a mad scientist (he's pretty close), he has a decidedly randy side. 

    Ultimately 'Dr. Frank' (Donald Murphy) gets the prize for the most loathsome lecherous mad scientist for his predatory advances in Frankenstein's Daughter (1958), in which he hits on two different women. Not content to make an unsuccessful play for his colleague's niece, he later attempts a thuggish seduction of her best friend.  

    
[4] The one exception is when she dons traditional Spanish señorita attire and affects a femme fatale persona in a failed attempt to bring Jesse into her sphere of evil by using her female wiles. Predictably she is not thrilled when Jesse rejects her and all her haughty pedigree in favor of the Mexican peasant girl. In her woman scorned fury Maria concocts a devious plan to exact a terrible revenge upon Jesse.

[5] Her very thin film résumé includes another infamous role, Greta Braun in Hitler (1962). She also managed to write a book around the same time, the subject matter being of all things a biography of Johnny Weismuller, titled Water, World and Weismuller: a Biography, VION, 1964.

[6] Estelita Rodriguez was reportedly working on a cinematic portrait of Lupe Velez when she died. In the film she was to appear as the famed Mexican film star of the Forties.

Further reading: Johnny D. Boggs, Jesse James and the Movies, McFarland, 2011, pp. 187-89; Senn Bryan, "Twice the Thrills! Twice the Chills!": Horror and Science Fiction Double Features, 1955-1974, McFarland, 2019, pp. 267-68; James R. Durham and Howard W. Marshall, "Review of 'Jesse James Meets Frankenstein's Daughter' by Circle Productions." Folklore Forum 4(5):130-132 (1971); Lissette Lopez Szwydkys, and Michelle L. Pribbernowy, “Women Scientists in Frankenstein Films, 1945-2015,” Science Fiction Film & Television, v11 n2: 303-339.

the Fifties were 'the best of everything'

The Best of Everything. Twentieth Century-Fox Film Corporation; screenplay by Edith Sommer and Mann Rubin; directed by Jean Negulesco. Based on the novel by Rona Jaffe. Director of photography, William C. Mellor; film editor, Robert Simpson; music, Alfred Newman. Performers: Hope Lange, Stephen Boyd, Suzy Parker, Martha Hyer, Diane Baker, Brian Aherne, Robert Evans, Louis Jourdan, Joan Crawford.
Summary: It’s 1959, a time of post-WW2 prosperity and Cold War angst. New York is the publishing and intellectual capital of America. Four typists at a publishing house fight to have their own careers and find true love in the ruthless New York business world.

style ****
substance ***1/2

The Best of Everything is often lumped together with late Fifties and early Sixties camp classics like Valley of the Dolls (recently reviewed in these pages) and Peyton Place. To be exact, Dolls appeared nearly a decade later, in 1967, and in the opinion of the writer, is a much different, and ultimately inferior, work to both aforementioned titles. But more on that later.

First, it must be admitted that said comparisons are not without merit. And inasmuch as Everything’s über Fifties gestalt might solidify its status as the original Valley of the Dolls, it also harkens back to those ‘women’s pictures’ of the early Thirties which starred the likes of Kay Francis, Ruth Chatterton, Joan Blondell and, yes, Joan Crawford, the present film’s nominal but mostly invisible star.

Indeed, there are striking similarities to Valley of the Dolls: three ingénues try their hand at the big time, and one meets with a tragic end. There’s also an intimidating, tough-as-nails old pro that the ingénues secretly aspire to. In both films this character is portrayed by a mega-star from cinema’s Golden Age. Both films are set in an artsy milieu, and both have male romantic interests that cut pretty poor figures, caddish in one film and weak and dull in the other. There is an equivocal ending in which the main ingénue literally walks out of the picture. And of course both have lushly romantic music scores with memorable title tunes.

Even with all the topical elements, Best of Everything has aged pretty well. The characters and their concerns still resonate, and moreover, the production elements are first-rate and everything works together in beautiful synergy, all contributing to a very easy-to-watch cinematic experience. An exception: the much-praised mod office interiors. Truth to tell they didn’t do that much for me. I’m more partial to the coffee shop where the principals like to hang out, or theatre auteur David Wilder Savage’s book- and African art-laden bachelor pad.

The opening pan of New York City with the lush theme music sets the tone and recalls the beginning of Love is a Many Splendored Thing (the panorama in that film was Hong Kong), with music again by Fox mainstay Alfred Newman [1]. Johnny Mathis’s silky voice croons the lilting title tune and we can be forgiven for thinking this one will be another campy soaper. But no, it’s not. And in fact it wouldn’t be too far off the mark to say the opening sequence is the best part of the entire film from a purely cinematic point of view. The street scenes of folks going to work are also reminiscent of the, more frantic, opening of North by Northwest, which came out the same year.

Best of Everything gives us a glamorous, well-scrubbed New York that was the center of the universe, populated by beautiful people and beautiful people-wannabes in which all the women wear Dior dresses and the men favor gray suits. A Weegee’s New York it's not: for all the inter-office backbiting in the story, from a purely visual standpoint there’s not a hint of the literally dark New York we see in other films of the era (TV shows, too), most blisteringly so in the sulfuric, gloves-off late noir classic Sweet Smell of Success. But I digress.

As for the principals, Best of Everything is for the most part exceptionally well cast. In what’s little more than an extended cameo, Joan Crawford is wonderful playing a very Joan Crawford-esque character to which she manages to bring some nice shadings. And for all of Joan’s (in)famous scenery chewing, this is actually a rather restrained performance. It helps that she’s ably directed by former collaborator Jean Negulesco. Usually thought of as a Forties film noir specialist, here he shows a nice touch for a Fifties aesthetic and maybe deserves the credit for reining Joan in. The three girls in the big city – Hope Lange, Suzy Parker, and Diane Baker – are well chosen and bring energy and believability to their roles. The men, both actors and characters, fare less well, though oily Louis Jordan and an Errol Flynn-esque Brian Aherne make strong impressions.

Getting back to the Valley of the Dolls comparison: The Best of Everything is more subtle, more honest, and certainly less over-the-top, and thus has few if any of the camp qualities of Dolls. It may simply be that Everything is the genuine item, i.e. a Fifties story actually shot in the Fifties, while Dolls was a Fifties idea shot in the ultimate swinging Sixties, summer-of-love year of 1967.

In any case, times and tastes have changed but people and emotions haven’t, and The Best of Everything is a nostalgic, tasty slab of angel food cake with scoop of ice cream topping served with warm milk chaser, scrumptiously delicious in its plushy, easy to digest beauty, but even a little nourishing in spite of itself, best viewed with a hanky or two nearby.

[1] Actually I prefer the dreamy, piano dominated theme associated with the Suzy Parker character to the brought-back-one-time-too-many main title tune.

Further reading:

Jacobs, Laura. “The Lipstick Jungle.” Vanity Fair, March 2004.
Negulesco, Jean. Things I Did and Things I Think I Did. New York: Linden Press/Simon & Schuster, 1984.

Bettie Page Reveals All (2012)

Bettie Page Reveals All. Single Spark Pictures. 101 minutes. [2012]. Color and b&w. Mark Mori, director; Doug Miller, writer. With: Hugh Hefner, Dita Von Teese, Rebecca Romijn, Paula Claw, Tempest Storm. Narrated by Bettie Page.
Summary: An intimate look at one of the world's most recognized sex symbols, told in her own words for the first time. From an impoverished Southern family to scandalous '50s pin-up model, to shocking retirement in 1957 at the peak of her modeling career. With an array of gorgeous photographs, unusual archival material, and movie footage.
Bonus features: Restored Irving Klaw Wiggle movies starring Bettie; The early years of Bettie Page; Deleted scenes & bonus footage; Phone call with Bettie and Paula Klaw; Bettie's funeral video; Photo gallery of never-before-seen Bettie pics.

style ***     substance ***1/2


The documentary Bettie Page Reveals All is a loving biographical tribute to one of American pop culture’s most durable and recognizable sex symbols. What’s most remarkable about Reveals All is that it’s in a sense an authorized biography as Bettie's husky-voiced narration overlays much of the film, giving us invaluable insight into the woman in all her shadings of innocence, worldliness and intense spirituality.

Bettie disappeared from public life in 1957 more or less at the height of her modeling career, and languished in obscurity, semi-poverty and mental illness for over a quarter century. She was both thrilled and mystified at her resurgence in popularity in the 1990s. As is mentioned in the film she had a sense about when not to appear; even as she was a huge star again she became camera shy and made few public appearances, preferring her fans remember her when she was young and photogenic.
It’s difficult to think of a film star or other pop culture figure who achieved a comparable legendary status based on work created in such a short period of time. Only James Dean comes to mind, and curiously his peak years in the mid-1950s almost match Bettie’s perfectly [1].

It’s a tribute to filmmaker Mori that he treats the subject matter with dignity and respect: even with all the spicy photos that pepper the presentation there’s no sense that Mori is exploiting his subject. The controversial - for its time - content is never presented in sensationalist or lurid manner. Mori is also to be commended for giving full due Bettie’s Christian faith, which she speaks of, though never heavy-handedly. Ultimately by the film’s end we like and admire Bettie even more. Indeed it’s a measure of her mainstream respectability that one of her more unlikely admirers was the Rev. Robert Schuller, who appears in a clip from the film and conducted her memorial service.

But the more basic question is: what is there about Bettie Page that gives her such wide appeal today? It’s not that there weren’t other pinup models around in the 1950s. The answer must be her wholesome glamour and naturalness, along with a total lack of pretentiousness in the photos and the woman herself.
Another key ingredient is that Bettie was from a rural background (more or less); she grew up in Nashville, Tennessee and essentially retained a down home quality and outdoorsy athleticism all her life, and somehow this comes through in the photos. Thus so many scenes of her romping on the beach, frolicking in the water, or in the forest, or surrounded by wild animals, in sharp contrast to the illicit, urban sexuality that dominated the pin-ups and girlie magazines of the era.

Yet for all her exuberant self-expression and ostensible spontaneity, Bettie played for the camera brilliantly with the instincts of a true actress [2]. It’s just that she never seems to be posing, at least not in any self-conscious sense. And not surprisingly pin-up photographers preferred her over all other models. Adding to the mix is the sense that she’s enjoying herself. Bettie seems to be telling us that physicality in general and sexuality in particular is normal, healthy, and most of all fun, and often funny.

Even in her notorious bondage flicks there’s never any sense of real danger or physical pain, but rather always a wink and a nod, letting us know it’s all in good fun. Ironically it was these films in particular that outraged the morality police in the ever-repressed 1950s and inspired the infamous raids and subsequent congressional investigations.

It’s perhaps only fitting then that Reveals All, despite its virtues, has a certain clunkiness in execution. So be it. This might even be an unintended compliment and indirect reference to Bettie and her gloriously subversive, no-frills art. Much of the charm of her oeuvre was that Bettie’s creative universe was more seat-of-the-pants than that of the era’s other sex goddesses & pin-up queens - Marilyn Monroe, Rita Hayworth, and Ava Gardner - who had the full powers (i.e. money) of the film industry behind them.

In their very primitiveness there’s something very lean & basic about the photos – what you see is what you get, and Bettie is always a revelation, an explosion of exuberance and the full joy of life, nothing phony or over refined. She was who she was, and in this she never waivered. As one of her photographers so aptly put it: "She projected. She came right out at you." That she did.

See also: Ella Taylor, A Side of Bettie you’ve (somehow) never seen; Gaby Wood, A dominatrix laid bare. Then there’s The Notorious Bettie Page (2005), the feature film biography of which Bettie famously disapproved.

[1] The brief career - and subsequent resurgence in popularity decades later - of Fifties horror hostess Vampira might rate a strong honorable mention.

[2] With no disrespect to the main feature, the real hidden gem of the Reveals All DVD is the generous helping of bonus features. Especially noteworthy are the vintage short movies Bettie made under the supervision of producer Irving Klaw. This is Bettie at her devastating mid-1950s peak, very much in her element as she gyrates, undulates and dances her way through these rough-around-the-edges shorts. Bettie obviously loved the camera and the camera loved her back: skimpily clad in her trademark black undergarments and four-inch stiletto heels, she exudes the same charisma as in her stills, and what's more proves herself to be quite the athlete, and quite a dancer (apparently she loved dancing). Some of her movements even suggest the acrobat or gymnast. In one number she brandishes dominatrix whip. 
   We can only sigh at our loss that Bettie Page never made a feature-length motion picture. How could the film industry have missed her? Beautiful and photogenic to the nth degree, and knowing all the tricks of the trade in posing and mugging for the camera, she would for all the world have been can't-miss material for the movies. Big however - would her magic have translated to the big screen? Would her Southern accent, so charming and affable as she narrates Reveals All, have been a help, or hindrance? Alas, we'll never know the answer to these questions, since at the height of her powers she disappeared from public life for a quarter century.

Valley of the Dolls (1967)

    Valley of the Dolls, a Mark Robson-David Weisbart production; screenplay by Helen Deutsch, Dorothy Kingsley; produced by David Weisbart; directed by Mark Robson; produced by Red Lion Productions Inc. and released by Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation. Based on the novel by Jacqueline Susann. Originally released as a motion picture in 1967. Theme song sung by Dionne Warwick.
    Performers: Barbara Parkins, Patty Duke, Paul Burke, Sharon Tate, Tony Scotti, Martin Milner, Charles Drake, Lee Grant, Susan Hayward. Summary: Three girls come to New York City and later, Hollywood, to chase their dreams of stardom. The girls go for broke, but fall prey to show business, sex and drugs, in this trashy, campy exposé of the dark side of stardom [1].

style ****
substance ***1/2

High gloss trash can be beautiful

    Usually described as a camp classic or cult classic, Valley of the Dolls is indeed an immensely entertaining kitsch masterpiece. Its undeniably high gloss production values can’t quite make up for the many defects, so from a purely aesthetic standpoint, Dolls must be considered a failure. But what a failure – a glorious, cliché-ridden synthesis of Peyton Place, The Oscar, A Star is Born and All About Eve, to cite some of the obvious, in some cases, far superior, precursors. But, and rather improbably, Dolls also has a serious side, being as it is a cautionary tale about the dangers of drug abuse and alcohol addiction, and of the corrosive effects of success-at-any-price in the take-no-prisoners show business gestalt [2].

    The bumpy cocktail of Swinging Sixties – complete with then-racy language, ‘steamy’ near-nude scenes, and quasi surrealist/psychedelic interludes – mixed with the genteel Fifties style melodrama, may seem old hat today, but, accurate or no, Dolls was a shocking portrayal a half century ago of the relentless and pitiless pressures the entertainment industry inflicts upon its biggest stars, and the resultant cost it exacts.

    While it's true there's no emotional center of gravity to the film, there are plenty of juicy individual scenes, the juiciest of all being the infamous Susan Hayward wig catfight with rival Neely O’Hara (Patty Duke). As if to emphasize, or more likely, to tone down, all the spicy content, the film is just plain beautiful to look at. Few melodramas have been so lovingly presented: director Mark Robson is in top form in his control over the sumptuous visuals.

    The cast is mostly excellent: Paul Burke and Tony Scotti ooze an oily charm, Sharon Tate and Barbara Parkins are fine, and Susan Hayward best of all as the aging diva with a touch of wisdom. Even Jacqueline Susann herself gets a fleeting cameo as a tenacious reporter. Only Patty Duke falls short as the hard-bitten, pill popping mega star Neely O’Hara. Actually I wish Miss Hayward had been given lots more screen time and Patty Duke much less. But alas, such was not to be. I’d also give a miscast honorable mention to 1950s golden boy Martin Milner, here as Neely's cranky agent and sometime boyfriend and husband. Milner’s pouty, grumpy take on the role never really works, and happily he disappears from the picture about half way through.

    But lest we sing Dolls’ praises too much, back to the heart of the matter: the true joy of this type of camp classic is that it takes itself totally seriously, and the actors play it deadpan straight. In other words, it doesn’t start out with the intention of being a comedy. Rather, like fine wine, the bizarre, absurd and comic elements reveal themselves and are appreciated over time. To wit: Patty Duke’s over-the-top acting is part of the (unintended) camp appeal we revel in, or cringe at, today. Another distraction is the lip-synching to the songs: Patty Duke and Susan Hayward never quite get the gestures right to match the ebb and flow of the music. I always prefer actors to sing their own material, an all too rare practice in the movies. But then again an inadvertent compensation is another campy, quintessentially Dolls-esque off kilter touch. Ditto for Susan Hayward‘s star number in New Haven, in which she’s literally upstaged by the Calderesque mobiles.

    Valley of the Dolls may indeed be the last gasp of the trashy, glossy soaper that tried so hard to be frank and serious, but more often than not descended into inadvertent camp. All the more perverse then that, in addition to being uncannily prescient in the trends it anticipated, Dolls itself exerted a huge influence on popular culture. Echoes of its kitschy majesty reverberated far beyond its first appearance in the late Sixties: pulp blockbusters by Sidney Sheldon, Danielle Steel, and Jackie Collins; the romance novel industry which sprang full-blown in the 1970s and 1980s; TV series like Dallas and Dynasty; the north-of-border ascendancy of the Latin American telenovela; the TV mini-series and TV movies; cable TV’s 24-hour infotainment programming; even stretching so far as to the stunning vulgarity of today’s reality TV.

    More so than ever, in our current media- and celebrity-obsessed culture, with its seemingly insatiable thirst for scandal and the sensationally bizarre, we can be fairly confident that the smutty potboiler, be it literary or cinematic, won't be disappearing anytime soon. As for Valley of the Dolls, it’s not so much a case of being so bad it’s almost good. It’s just plain good, in its own well meaning but spectacularly wrongheaded way. Thus the inevitable fate of the campy, trash classic: so tempting to hate but easy to love.

[1] The Fox 2-disc special edition of Dolls has a bevy of  bonus features, including commentary by Barbara Parkins and Ted Casablanca, screen tests, and best of all, the documentary 'A World Premiere Voyage.' Also worth a look is the featurette, 'Jacqueline Susann and Valley of the Dolls,' which reminds us how much the publishing world has changed since the novel appeared a half century ago. Then again, perhaps it reminds us how little has changed.
[2] Whatever Dolls' message, it may have been obscured by the film's glamorous depiction of drug addiction, set as it was in the plush show business milieu. For analysis, see: Nathan Smith, How Valley of the Dolls Turned Taking Drugs Into a Feminist Act.

The Scarlett Empress (1934)

The Scarlet Empress [DVD]. A Paramount Picture; Adolph Zukor presents; based on a diary of Catherine II, arranged by Manuel Komroff; directed by Josef von Sternberg. Criterion collection v109. Originally produced as a motion picture in 1934. Photographed by Bert Glennon; art directors, Hans Drier, Peter Ballbusch, Richard Kollorsz. Performers: Marlene Dietrich, John Lodge, Sam Jaffe, Louise Dresser, C. Aubrey Smith.
Summary: Catherine, a German princess, is married to the Grand Duke Peter, the heir to the Russian throne. Because of his madness, she was able to seize the throne and become known as Catherine the Great.

style ***1/2
substance ***

Of all the films Marlene Dietrich made with director Josef Von Sternberg – seven in total – it’s The Scarlet Empress that’s most deserving of the epithet cult classic. The film was a box office and critical flop, and it’s not difficult to see why, given that audiences in the early Thirties might have expected a romantic historical melodrama along the lines of Queen Christina of a year before [1]. TSE is certainly one of the strangest movies this writer has ever encountered, but on the other hand I suspect subsequent viewings will be rewarded handsomely by way of the film’s detail-rich, über-stylish direction from the auteur’s auteur, Josef Von Sternberg.

Indeed, and no disrespect meant toward La Dietrich – she looks radiantly gorgeous in every scene she’s in – it’s really director Von Sternberg’s show, ably assisted by set designers Hans Drier, Peter Ballbusch, and Richard Kollorsz. The thunderous score comprised mostly of thick swaths of Tchaikovsky intermixed with snippets of Wagner and Mendelssohn is also a plus. Ditto for Travis Banton’s exaggeratedly imperial chic costumes.

Marlene is a wonder but as depicted here the character of Catherine has little to do but look beautiful. The true Dietrich persona doesn’t kick in ‘till about two thirds of the way through the film, especially the final scenes in which she’s befrocked in the martial white-on-white outfit for the final apotheosis.

But it’s really the supporting cast that walks away with acting honors, especially John Lodge as Count Alexei and Louise Dresser as Empress Elizabeth. Lodge in particular shows great screen presence, and he and Marlene have an edgy, icy chemistry. As for the other noteworthy performance, I was never won over by Sam Jaffe’s Grand Duke Peter, an interpretation which hovers perilously close to high camp buffoonery intermingled with occasional genuine malevolence. Hard to believe the same actor only a few years later essayed the benevolent, visionary, albeit slightly eccentric, High Lama in Lost Horizon.

Part black comedy, part adventure story, and part horror film, but mostly a mind-bending explosion of phantasmagoric images, The Scarlet Empress is indeed sui generis: it’s a work of profound sadness and inhumanity, relentlessly suffocating and hothouse. Historico-claustrophobic noir, if you like.

[1] Catherine completists are encouraged to seek out the very different in style and tone The Rise of Catherine the Great (1934), which stands up pretty well in comparison to TSE. The former is much more a conventional Golden Age courtly melodrama along the lines of Marie Antionette and further benefits from fine performances by Elisabeth Bergner as Catherine and Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. as Peter. 

There's something about a paranoid thriller : Dollars (1971)

Dollars [DVD]. Columbua Pictures; produced by M.J. Frankovich; written and directed by Richard Brooks. Columbia Pictures: Sony Pictures Home Entertainment,[2008]. Originally released as a motion picture in 1971. Music, Quincy Jones. Performers: Warren Beatty, Goldie Hawn, Gert Frobe. Summary: A call girl teams up with a security expert to steal money from the safety deposit boxes of three crooks.

style ***1/2

substance ***

“Every big crime’s supposed to say something about the time we live in”

I’d never even heard of Dollars till I caught it the other day on getTV and found it to be something of an undiscovered gem: not quite a masterpiece but a darn good, eminently entertaining yarn, consummately executed by those in front of and behind the camera.

While I admit it’s a stretch to place this in the paranoid thriller category, it has enough similarities as to both style, content, and era to - just barely - merit inclusion in this rather artificially created genre. To wit, there are mysterious, alternatingly menacing and comic, bad guys who drift in and out of the story. One who has a penchant for wearing sunglasses in particular projects an oily malevolence.

Dollars has a Euro style, you-are-there feel to it, a certain urban grittiness, if you like, punctuated by the mod Quincy Jones score which is complemented by tunes sung by Little Richard and Roberta Flack. It’s all a jangly, cinema-verité style, to be sure, which may not be to all tastes but impossible to ignore.

The film - a sort of  synthesis of Oceans 11, Day of the Jackal, and a James Bond flick - is very much of its time, but also prescient, by several decades, in its cheeky sendup of Big Money, the black market, and American economic imperialism (it was set and filmed in a most unappetizing Hamburg, the same city that provided the backdrop for the much more recent, and superior, A Most Wanted Man, with which it has certain similarities).

Writer-director Richard Brooks is in top form and keeps things moving forward with a lively but steady hand. Our nominal stars Beatty and Hawn have great chemistry but the quirky supporting cast which features familiar faces but not a lot of familiar names is if anything even more delicious. We even have Mr. Goldfinger himself Gert Fröbe, who plays a well-intended but rather slow witted bank executive. My only criticism of the film is the edge-of-the-ledge chase finale, which, albeit skillfully done, goes on a bit too long.

Time has been kind to Dollars:  while some of its atmospherics show signs of age, its message and basic truths are right on the money even today.

Body Double (1984)

Body Double [DVD]; Columbia TriStar Home Entertainment, 2004; screenplay by Robert J. Avrech and Brian DePalma; produced and directed by Brian De Palma. Originally produced in 1984 as a motion picture. Music, Pino Donaggio; director of photography, Stephen H. Burum; edited by Jerry Greenberg.

Performers: Craig Wasson, Melanie Griffith, Greg Henry, Deborah Shelton. Summary: a voyeuristic, unemployed actor spies on a neighbor's nightly disrobing and sees more than he wants to. A grisly murder leads him into an obsessive quest through the world of pornographic film-making.

style ***1/2

substance ***

Watching Body Double is not a warm experience. Hardly. In fact it’s a seedy, downright sleazy experience, but that’s part of the fun. And it can be enjoyed with a certain smugness and a minimum of self-inflicted guilt simply because it doesn’t take itself too seriously. Gaudy? Sensationalist? Yes, absolutely. Irresistible? Well, maybe, and maybe not. But it has a high gloss patina and is somehow very easy to watch, in a cringeworthy sort of way – is that perhaps the working definition of a guilty pleasure? In any case for the viewer who fancies this kind of over-the-top thriller, one could do a lot worse on a cloudy, rainy night.

Director Brian De Palma has been called an acquired taste, and indeed considering all the polarized reviews of BD floating around the ‘Net this would seem to be an understatement. His admiration for and borrowing from the original suspense master Alfred Hitchcock has been much commented on so we won’t belabor the issue here, except to note that Body Double, as some of Hitchcock’s films tend to be, is more about style than substance. And the story itself, with its heavy doses of voyeurism, romantic obsession, reality and illusion, and lots of camera trickery, is a kind of commentary on the art, uses, and sometimes abuses, of filmmaking.

Thus Body Double also invokes, albeit faintly so, those cinematic behind-the-scenes critiques of the film industry, so memorably invoked in arguably – in some cases definitely – artistically superior films like Sunset Blvd., The Player, The Oscar and A Star is Born. True, the film ventures perilously close to pornography, and by implication, trash, but somehow it has a quirky elegance that at least partially redeems the tawdry subject matter. Besides, the film never really lapses into graphic porn, since it generally suggests more than it actually depicts.

Whatever his flaws as a director, De Palma has a great sense of camera angles as well as flair for soft, rich colors, and one of the joys of his movies is the fine visuals. Even if the content falters, the story is always presented in a visceral way, edited and filmed for maximum emotional impact. As to the cast, Craig Wasson, one of the most forgettable of actors, here as the flawed (non)hero, is perfectly cast precisely because of his numbing ordinariness and forgettableness, and he delivers a serviceable if not exactly brilliant performance. Both our leading ladies Deborah Shelton and Melanie Griffith are very easy on the eyes and Melanie in particular is appealing as the porn star with a heart of stone.

Eminently 1980s and especially enjoyable for the Hitchcock references, Body Double is a fun watch,  and in its way much recommended, with the usual not-for-all-tastes caveat for this kind of material. It may not be a masterpiece per se and may not even be De Palma’s masterpiece, but it’s a quintessential erotic thriller and certainly deserving of its status as a top-shelf cult favorite.