Deflate-Gate, Hollywood-Style

In the world of sports, the big story right now is “Deflate-Gate.” The strong probability that footballs were illegally deflated in an NFL playoff game at the behest of  Tom Brady and the New England Patriots has now resulted in some stiff penalties, not to mention major embarrassment. Hollywood, by contrast, has never been accused of deflating anything. Instead, daily life in the movie capital can fairly be called “Inflate-Gate.” Many starlets, for one thing, still feel they’ll have a better chance of success if they buy themselves a bigger set of bazooms. And then there’s something that goes on daily, the constant scramble to give oneself sole credit for accomplishments that more fairly belong to a group.

In my Roger Corman years, I saw this tendency all around me. (Yes, the breast implants along with the insistence on taking credit where credit was not due.)  Today Roger happily congratulates himself for adding the dark humor to the cult classic, Death Race 2000. Back in 1975, however, he fought hard to remove director Paul Bartel’s comic touches from the finished film. Yet Roger is not alone in taking a solo bow for the accomplishments of others. A fascinating 2008 documentary called Every Little Step is a behind-the-scenes look at the staging of a classic Broadway musical, A Chorus Line. Composer Marvin Hamlisch is shown discussing how the comic thrust of one of the show’s songs was lost on the audience until, during out-of-town tryouts, a key adjustment was made to its title. Hearing Hamlisch tell this amusing story, it’s easy to assume he wrote the song’s words as well as its music. Never once does he stop to acknowledge the show’s gifted lyricist, Edward Kleban.  

Producer Robert Evans, the 1970s “boy wonder” of Paramount, has never been accused of false modesty. His rollicking memoir, The Kid Stays in the Picture, makes clear his contributions to such major hits as Rosemary’s Baby, Love Story, The Godfather, and Chinatown. But part of Evans’ charm is that he owns up to his failings as readily as his triumphs. There’s one moment when he goes far out of his way to recognize the contribution of an underling. When principal photography on The Godfather was in the can, it was apparently discovered that the film had no real ending.  That’s when “Peter Zinner, one of the film’s two editors, took the task upon himself. He choreographed mayhem with religion, intercut murder with the baptism of Michael Corleone’s newborn child. He saved the day—he saved our ass!” Evans clearly sees the irony: “Coppola went on to become the decade’s maestro, Evans its boy genius . . . but Peter Zinner—who? He silently disappeared, looking for a new gig—saving another producer’s or director’s ass.”

Despite the preening of many producers, directors, and stars, filmmaking is a collaborative effort, toward which everyone’s contribution counts. But, inevitably someone gets overlooked. In 1964 the late Paul Almond directed Seven Up, a documentary that intimately explored the lives of fourteen British schoolchildren. The Up series has continued into the present, returning at seven-year intervals to interview the same subjects. But though Almond conceived the concept, it is his successor, Michael Apted, who now gets the accolades.

Then there’s Sesame Street’s Big Bird. He’s long been a beloved icon, but how many know the name of Caroll Spinney, the man beneath the feathers? This oversight was rectified last year by a documentary called I Am Big Bird: The Caroll Spinney Story. And Spinney’s hilarious Birdman parody, a YouTube hit, helps give credit where credit is surely due. 

“Clouds of Sils Maria”: Cloudy, with a Chance of Cataclysms

An acclaimed middle-aged actress at the height of her powers. An eager young up-and-comer, full of praise for her inspirational elder. Sound  like All About Eve? Yes—and emphatically no. That’s part of the appeal of the 2014 French-German-Swiss co-production, Clouds of Sils Maria, that is just now appearing on American screens. This Olivier Assayas film, much admired at Cannes and elsewhere, does a marvelous job of foiling our expectations.

At the heart of Cloud of Sils Maria is the luminous Juliette Binoche, now at the mid-century mark but still ravishingly beautiful. As Maria Enders, she’s a revered icon of stage and screen, much sought after for glamour shoots, personal appearances, and prestigious new roles. She’s also negotiating a divorce, grieving the loss of an early mentor, and trying to decide what kind of future she wants. The big issue facing her is whether to accept a part in a revival of something called Maloja Snake. Years before, as an unknown, she’d shot to stardom in the same play. She had then played Sigrid, a mysterious and powerful young woman who set her sights on her straitlaced employer, Helena. Now she’s being asked to take on the role of Helena, whose passionate capitulation to Sigrid ends up destroying her life.

Partly this film is exploring what it means to be an actor. Maria—sensitive and riddled with insecurity—is a genius at camouflaging her emotions when she meets the press, the public, or virtually anyone beyond her ever-present personal assistant. She’s a thoroughly likable creature: she has a wonderfully hearty laugh, and her moments of private fun (like a giggle-fit over a corny sci-fi epic and a spontaneous skinny-dip in a mountain lake) are certainly contagious. Never does she take herself and her fame wholly seriously: clearly, it’s hard work keeping up that facade. By the same token, she makes us see that to be an actor is necessarily to be self-absorbed. She will never look very far beyond herself, and perhaps that’s why she has been so successful in her career path. But is her private life a success? That’s another question.

The striking young actress who will take on the role that once made Maria famous is played by Chloë Grace Moretz. Remarkably, Moretz (born in 1997) is still a teenager, but one who’s taken on her share of mature, gutsy roles (though she also convincingly played an adorable French gamine in Scorsese’s Hugo). In Clouds of Sils Maria, portraying a youthful actress known as much for her transgressive behavior as her talent, she is a brash and fascinating presence. But Maria’s real opposite number within the world of this film is her assistant, played by Kristen Stewart. Stewart’s impact on The Clouds of Sils Maria is such that she was recently given France’s César award for best supporting actress, the first American woman to be so honored. The film’s very first shots are of this earnest young woman, with her huge round glasses and ugly tattoos, dextrously putting out fires for her boss. Devoted and smart, she seems to have no personal ambition beyond serving as Maria’s factotum, sometimes advisor, and confidante What small hints we have of a personal life are not encouraging. But finally she remains a mystery. And this mystery is magnified by something that happens late in the film. I won’t spoil it, but it raised questions I am still trying to unravel.

This then, is not a movie that ends when the lights come on. As one who loves movies about complicated people, I’m happy to give it my thumbs-up.

Bruce (Jenner) Almighty-- A Hymn to Her

It’s an odd coincidence that just as Bruce Jenner was announcing to the world, via his 20/20 interview with Diane Sawyer, that he perceives himself as a woman, I was heading for the annual New York conference of the American Society of Journalists and Authors. This year’s keynote speaker was Jennifer Finney Boylan, whose memoir, She's Not There: A Life in Two Genders, was the first book by an openly transgender American to climb the bestseller lists. Because I was not familiar with Jennifer’s career, I anticipated her appearance at the conference as something of a stunt. As she herself jokes, in this day and age (following well-publicized visits to every major talk show) she’s something of a “professional transsexual.” But she’s also, I learned, a very real writer, who’s been devoted to her craft since (as James Boylan) she completed a graduate degree in English at John Hopkins University in the 1980s. She’s published novels as well as memoirs, and was a much-admired professor at Colby College from 1988 to 2014. (Here's a link to a recording of  her highly emotional keynote address.)

When you become a public figure representing a social issue of the moment, your privacy is gone. Jennifer mildly gripes that these days she spends her professional life discussing her “down below” parts. Interviewers “all want to talk about my panties,” rather than her authorial skills. It can’t be avoided. Since she transitioned in 2000 at the age of 40, she’s been a rather unusual-looking woman: very tall, very thin, with a voice that doesn’t seem to belong to either gender. There are other complications: she’s been married to a woman since 1988 and has fathered two sons. Fortunately, she’s got a great sense of humor, as well as a close-knit family, and the role of an activist seems to suit her fine. As Bruce Jenner goes through his awkward post-Kardashian phase, she’ll be cheering him on.

I’ve just viewed an ABC news report on the attention-grabbing Jenner interview. Jenner, of course, moved into the spotlight at the 1976 Olympics, when he won a gold medal in the decathlon and was crowned the world’s finest athlete. Since then he’s tried to make it in Hollywood, first with such lame movies as Can’t Stop the Music (a pseudo-biopic about the Village People) and more recently on reality TV’s Keeping Up with the Kardashians. It’s doubtless challenging for him to transition while in the public eye, but at the same time he’s able to do a great deal of good for others in his predicament. One ABC newscaster mentioned that only 8% of us actually know someone who’s transgender. His colleague summed up Jenner’s contribution: “In a sense, we all know someone now.” Jenner’s fame, in other words, helps others who question their gender identity feel that they’re not alone.

Hollywood celebrities sometimes seem rather pointless in the great scheme of things. They wear great clothes; they make lots of money—so what? But because of their fame, they’re in a position to do much good in the world. Rock Hudson’s admission that he was dying of AIDS put a face on a terrible epidemic. The plight of Christopher Reeve drew attention to spinal cord injuries; Michael J. Fox made the world take heed of Parkinson’s disease. Angelina Jolie’s willing to speak openly of her double mastectomy may help save the lives of other women who, like her, are coping with a BRCA1 gene mutation that almost guarantees breast cancer. So now it’s Bruce Jenner -- superathlete, actor, honorary Kardashian -- who can use his own private woes to educate the rest of us. I wish him (or her) well.

"Pretty in Pink": Dress for Success (or Excess)

Pretty in Pink, like virtually all movies written by John Hughes, is about teenagers. But it’s also fundamentally about clothing, about the transformative power of wearing what suits you best. This motif is certainly not a rare one in Hollywood. Way back in 1939, Ernst Lubitsch directed Ninotchka, a satirical look at the USSR of Stalin’s day. It features Greta Garbo as a by-the-book Soviet envoy who arrives in Paris wearing a sensible suit and a stern look on her lovely face. Fairly quickly, though, she’s seduced by the French attitude toward life, which includes romantically-inclined men and gorgeously romantic gowns. A change of clothing inevitably produces a change in attitude, which leads to the famous advertising catchline, “Garbo Laughs!” (The musical version of Ninotchka, with tunes by Cole Porter and starring Cyd Charisse in the Garbo role, is appropriately titled Silk Stockings.)

In the 1950s, a good many of Audrey Hepburn’s best romantic comedies involve the changing of clothes. Roman Holiday, from 1953, details the evolution of a princess when she flees her royal digs, ditches the white gloves, gets a pixie haircut, and tours Rome on the back of a motorbike. Sabrina (1954) shows Hepburn evolving in the opposite direction: once this chauffeur’s daughter returns from culinary school in Paris, she’s so modishly turned out that wealthy suitors come flocking. In Funny Face (1957), once photographer Fred Astaire spots her in a New York bookstore, Hepburn blossoms from a hard-core turtle-necked Bohemian into an elegant fashion model. And then of course there’s My Fair Lady (1964), in which her Eliza Doolittle learns not only to speak proper English but also to garb herself like a duchess.

Anne Hathaway’s discovery of the art of looking chic is central to the plot of The Devil Wears Prada. But when it comes to high school movies, style generally goes hand in hand with a focus on conformity. Take Grease (1978), in which the romance between Sandy and Danny is nearly thwarted because her prim good-girl clothing doesn’t jibe with his leather-jacket greaser look. When true love finally wins out, the finale is marked by Sandy’s sudden metamorphosis into a hot chick squeezed into tight pants and black leather. But the quintessential high school fashion flick is Clueless (1995), in which Cher Horowitz and her coterie at Beverly Hills High turn up their pretty noses at anyone who lacks their style savvy. A good deed for Cher is giving a drab newcomer a makeover, which of course includes a wardrobe overhaul. And Cher and her friends seem far less interested in education than in the contents of their trendy, extensive closets.

What makes Pretty in Pink distinctive is that it celebrates those high school non-conformists who write their own fashion rules. Though Andie Walsh (played by Molly Ringwald in a role written with her in mind) is unable to afford the stylish duds the rich kids wear, she also clearly takes pride in her thrift shop finds and in the outfits she’s cobbled together from odds and ends. In Pretty in Pink, an urban L.A. high school is divided between the pampered “richies” and the outcast “zoids,” who consciously elevate oddness into a fashion statement. Some, like Andie’s pal Duckie, merely look peculiar in their clashing patterns and eccentric accessories. But Andie’s sartorial experiments are born out of a true artistic sensibility that we know will ensure her a bright future. She may be mocked by her more upper-crust female classmates, but her bravery, originality, and flair also win her admiring glances—and get her the guy of her dreams.    

"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.