"Camelot" Ushers in the Lusty Month of May

Today is May 1, the traditional date for little girls to dance around Maypoles and Soviet workers to parade through the streets. It’s also the start of “The Lusty Month of May.” This is the title of a big production number in Lerner and Loewe’s Camelot, and it’s my cue to talk about the 1967 movie version of the Broadway musical hit.

Jack Warner, the last of the great movie moguls, loved Camelot. He was convinced that a film adaptation could be as huge a box office success as the top roadshow of that era, The Sound of Music. He also felt it could equal the cachet of Warner Bros.’ previous Lerner and Loewe extravaganza, My Fair Lady. Nearing the end of a long career (he was about to sell the studio to Seven Arts), Warner anted up $1 million to buy the film rights, then spent a great deal more to make the production as sumptuous as humanly possible. Ultimately he invested somewhere in the neighborhood of $15 million, which in that era was an enormous expenditure. His crew, headed by director Joshua Logan, filmed at eight Spanish castles. Australia designer John Truscott was signed to produce exquisitely detailed costumes, like Queen Guenevere’s wedding gown. Encrusted with tiny sea shells and pumpkin seeds, it’s reported to have cost $12,000, though its full beauty was never fully captured on screen. 

So intense was Warner’s focus on Camelot that he pretty much ignored smaller Warner Bros. films of that era, like Bonnie and Clyde. At first his gamble seemed like a good one. The fact that Camelot was widely known as the favorite musical of the late President Kennedy worked in his favor, and the story’s elegiac tone seemed to suit the mood of the day. So many expensive reserved seats were sold well in advance that he could afford to stock his picture with rising young British stars like Richard Harris and Vanessa Redgrave whose appeal was largely to the art-house set. Said Warner with satisfaction, upon watching the completed film, “It’s the best thing I’ve ever seen. I’m not sure that there’ll be pictures like that one any more.” 

Director Logan, in talking about Camelot’s appeal, emphatically did not promote it as suitable for a family audience. The story, of course, is that of the tragic love triangle between the mythic King Arthur, his queen, and the noble knight, Sir Lancelot du Lac. Promised Logan, “The film shows real adultery in the relations of the King, Guenevere and Lancelot, something the stage musical didn’t do.” Tying his movie to the shifting morality of the Sixties, Logan called it “a mod treatment of the adultery theme,” with physical passion woven into the film’s very fabric. This determination to appeal to hip young Baby Boomers comes through loud and clear, starting with Camelot’s gorgeous poster, which features Guenevere’s wildly flowing and flower-entwined tresses, along with an almost psychedelic profusion of colors. The outdoor frolicking in several of the big musical setpieces seems cribbed from some edition of the Renaissance Pleasure Faire. Featured players Vanessa Redgrave (Guenevere) and David Hemmings (Mordred) represented Boomer touchstones due to their appearance in 1966’s Blow-Up, which combined philosophical conundrums with some of the first on-screen nudity that American youth had ever seen.   

Warner Bros. was so sure of this film that merchandisers went berserk, offering up Camelot-themed nightwear, wallpaper, and stockings in “a pageant of ‘translucent’ colors, misting the legs in romantic shades from an enchanted spectrum.” Too bad the movie belly-flopped, leaving Bonnie and Clyde as the last big hit of the Jack Warner era.

Hawking Stephen (and Other Ideas on How Movies Can Bring In Frozen Assets)

Today, as a companion piece to its new live-action Cinderella, Disney is releasing a seven-minute animated short, Frozen Fever. This is, of course, a spin-off of the 2013 megahit Frozen, using the same characters and talent to rake in more moolah from little girls—and big ones—who can’t get enough of  Anna and Elsa. A recent business-section article in the Los Angeles Times (titled “Disney Works to Keep ‘Frozen’ Hot”) explains that the spunky Nordic sisters are so popular with consumers that “ retailers don’t want to let them go.” Today you can buy Frozen-themed dolls, dress-up wigs, iPhone cases, and adult-sized lingerie. There are also Frozen T-shirts, dental floss, notebooks, and (for all I know) frozen peas. The challenge for Disney is to figure out in advance the point when demand for all this Frozen merchandise starts melting away.

Disney has always been great at dreaming up marketing tie-ins: remember the Davy Crockett Cap? And the aggressive merchandizing of movie megahits has been with us at least since Star Wars. But even in the  late 1960s, studios were trying to exploit their hot pictures in the commercial marketplace. In 1968 the new Century City Shopping Center (located on what once had been the back lot at Twentieth Century-Fox) held a week-long promotional event celebrating Bonnie and Clyde. Thousands of potential shoppers turned out for a Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow look-alike contest, a Tommy gun display, and storefronts decorated with simulated bullet holes. I’m sure many Bonnie berets and mid-calf skirts were sold. It’s surprising that another big hit of the era, The Graduate, never attempted to capitalize on Mrs. Robinson’s sexy animal-print jackets, skirts, and unmentionables. But the makers of Camelot launched an ambitious loungewear line featuring romantic Queen Guenevere peignoir sets, a Lancelot “mini jumpsuit,” and Court Jester two-toned culottes. Too bad Camelot was an expensive flop—and no one bought the clothes.

 Cut to 2014. No, this wasn’t a huge year for runaway prestige hits. The makers of comic-book movies featuring Spider-Man, the X-Men, and others of their ilk know all about selling to their built-in audiences. But the films that made it to the top of the heap on Oscar night have been a modest bunch. Most could definitely use some extra revenue. As a Roger Corman veteran, I’m always alert to unexpected financial opportunities, and so I offer up (tongue very much in cheek) some free marketing suggestions for the year’s Best Picture nominees.

   

 For the Stephen Hawking biopic, The Theory of Everything, the obvious tie-in is with a medical supply house. But there’s also an early bit of romantic business involving Tide detergent. Sounds like a marketing opportunity to me. Boyhood? Cameras make sense, given the lead character’s choice of vocation. And how about hair clippers? Selma is a tough one—but possibly (given the role of the Edmund Pettus Bridge in the film) dental bridges? The Imitation Game, all about code-cracking, could be linked to decoder rings for the kiddies. But since the material is very adult, how about a brand of apples? (Those who remember how Alan Turing died will surely see the connection.) Whiplash has a natural tie-in to drum kits, but also to band-aids (to protect bleeding fingers). The Grand Budapest Hotel is easy: travel packages and a patisserie that delivers its goodies in pretty pink boxes. Birdman seems ripe for an action figure, and how about the brand-name tighty-whities worn by Michael Keaton in Times Square? And then there’s the year’s box-office champ, American Sniper. An opportunity for a branded shooting range franchise?

OK, I’ll stop now.