022. (21 Jan) The Promise (1979, Gilbert Cates) 39
I've seen some convoluted, absurd melodrama plots, but The Promise really takes the cake. After a car accident, Kathleen Quinlan accepts evil Beatrice Straight's offer to get facial reconstruction surgery in lieu of ever seeing Straight's son, the dashing as ever Stephen Collins, again. Predictably enough, Straight tells Collins the love of his life is dead. He conveniently runs into her post-surgery, unable to recognize her with a new haircut apparently, spending much of the film trying too woo her while she's understandably annoyed that she has no idea who she is. It's utterly bizarre, and I'm skipping over most of the details just because it's far more complicated than that.
Far too focused on its plot, this is never a convincing romance. Without our being able to root for characters that are dopey and unlikable, it's hard to care about their titular promise to love each other forever. The finale is predictably sweet, but still surreal since Straight never gets her comeuppance for her villainy. It's classic camp, to be sure, but a puzzlement that the script ever got produced. The Oscar-nominated theme song fits the film's embarrassingly schmaltzy tone.
Ice Castles appears to be operating on a half-finished screenplay, full of major plot points and characters with way too much backstory that aren't remotely fleshed out. The dopiness, schmaltz and soapiness are fun to some degree, but the nonsensical story, bad acting, and painfully repetitive Marvin Hamlisch score wear thin quite quickly. The Oscar-nominated "Through the Eyes of Love" must play in some form fifty times.
Colleen Dewhurst's hammy turn is irresistible, and her over-the-top approach shows how embarrassing Lynn-Holly Johnson's earnestness really is. Johnson has no star quality to speak of; she's a good skater who got lucky and landed the lead. The hilarity reaches its height in the film's finale when we're meant to believe Johnson's blindness is a secret to the world where she was on the cover of Sports Illustrated and a famous Olympic hopeful a mere five months earlier.
008. (06 Jan) A Simple Story (1979, Claude Sautet) 32
Very much what it promises in the title, this is mundane despite the fact that it boldly opens in an abortion clinic and centers on a woman's break-up with her boyfriend and reconciliation with her ex-husband. The drama is understated to a fault since Romy Schneider is such a cold, unlikable presence. It's interesting how matter-of-factly this treats her relationship drama while peripheral characters get all the melodrama like a suicide attempt. Whenever it seems to get a bit of focus, it sidetracks to a throwaway scene. It'd be one thing if this was boring by design, but it's just boring in its amateurism.
This is vanity at its most pretentious. Fellini had his8 1/2 (1963) and director Bob Fosse had his All That Jazz (1979). Like Fellini, there is much to like about a Fosse production, but there are also, like Fellini, quibbles to be had, too. Films with an autobiographical bent can sometimes become too fantastical, and, well, self-indulgent—there are elements of both in All That Jazz.
Joe Gideon (Roy Scheider) is a successful director of films and musicals, as well as a gifted dancer and choreographer. But, he’s also a chain-smoking, womanizing workaholic on the verge of a massive coronary. He starts his days off by listening to Vivaldi’s Concerto in G, popping dexedrine, and smoking a pack of cigarettes before breakfast. In what can only be described as an extended ostentatious reflection, the audience gets to eavesdrop as Gideon discusses his life with a scantily-clad Angel of Death (Jessica Lange)—with over-the-top Fosse musical numbers scattered in for good measure. By the end of the film you are either pleased as punch with the ending or asking yourself WTF just happened—or perhaps both.
Well, it wouldn’t be a Fosse film if there wasn’t singing and dancing, so let’s start with the musical numbers. I love musicals, but for some reason I didn’t really like any of the numbers in All That Jazz. Sure, I loved hearing George Benson’s “On Broadway” at the start of the film, but found myself overly-taxed by watching the infamous cattle call at the beginning. Then, there’s “Take Off with Us”. The first part is palatable, the second part is one step above soft-core porn, and, as such, not my cup of tea. And, finally, there is the series of numbers relating to Gideon’s impending demise: “After You’re Gone”, “You Better Change Your Ways”, “Who’s Sorry Now,” “Some of These Days,” and “Bye Bye Life”. The production designs and costumes are interesting (both won Oscars), but the musical numbers seemed lacking.
Then, there’s the acting. Scheider was nominated for an Oscar, and overall I think he does a nice job of showing what a complete hedonistic ass Gideon is. I suppose before he started making Jaws sequels he was a decent actor. Still, I didn’t think his was the standout performance. I particularly enjoyed Leland Palmer as Audrey, Gideon’s ex wife, and Erzsebet Foldi as Michelle, Gideon’s daughter. My two favorite parts in the film involve the scenes where the two of them dance with (or in the case of Audrey, around) Gideon. The complexity of his relationships with Audrey and Michelle shine in these two particular instances, and give much more depth to Gideon’s personality. As for the rest of the cast, they are passable—except Deborah Geffner as Victoria, who plays her character as though she is really in a soft-core porno.
So, I’m not exactly raving on this, am I? Still, I gave it a **1/2 rating, so I guess I should say why. I think Fosse tells the story in a highly unusual and entertaining way. Yes, it can be pretentious at times, but the way he puts all of the varying parts of the story together to meet at a pretty startling conclusion is inspired storytelling in my opinion. Alan Heim won an Oscar for his editing of this, but I suspect Fosse had a heavy hand in every single cut. Sometimes originality doesn’t work, but that is not the case with All That Jazz.
Prophecy (1979) is a socially-conscious “environmental” horror movie from prestigious director John Frankenheimer (1930 – 2002), the talent behind cinematic classics Birdman of Alcatraz (1962), The Manchurian Candidate (1962), Seven Days in May (1964) and, more recently, Ronin (1998).
All those films have in common a brand of technical precision and visual brilliance that isn’t often paralleled, especially in today’s cinema.
So the clumsy nature of Prophecy indeed remains a baffling puzzle. The film is alternately brilliant and inept in terms of staging, editing, direction, and pacing. Some scenes of suspense are absolutely spell-binding, whereas many of the more visceral moments -- including an animal attack on unsuspecting campers -- play as unintentionally hilarious.
Recently, I reviewed another environmental horror movie from a “mainstream” director, The Bay (2012) by Barry Levinson. That film, however, managed to maintain a consistent tone throughout, even if in the final analysis the director’s message (about water contamination) played as more important than the movie’s genre trappings.
The odd thing about Prophecy is that the film is so damned inconsistent. It’s a work of art of great, praise-worthy highs and sad, sad lows.
On one hand, the movie intelligently charts the uncomfortable nexus of big business/government/environment/pollution, and on the other hand, it consumes itself with gory moments of decapitation, bloody mutations, and other macabre tricks of the trade. Now, I happen to like such tricks of the trade, but Prophecy proves jarring at significant junctures because it can’t stick to a particularly tone, either the high-minded “cerebral” horror route, or the messy pathway of bleeding viscera.
As I wrote in a Memory Bank post before Christmas, here, I remember well the year 1979 and the cinematic battle royale between Ridley Scott’s Alien (1979) and Prophecy, two horror films that involved (at least in their ad campaigns…) horrible monstrosities hatched from eggs. Alien, however, ascended to masterpiece status while Prophecy remains a cult oddity. Watching the two films back-to-back, one can see why one effort succeeded and the other effort failed. Scott’s film maintains a consistent tone of suspense, surprise and curiosity, while Prophecy lurches from environmental polemic to soap opera, to mad monster party.
At the time of the film’s release, critics were generally unkind to Frankenheimer’s genre film too.
In The New York Times, Vincent Canby wrote: “Mr. Frankenheimer treats this material with the kind of majesty usually reserved for movies about Cleopatra, Napoleon and General Patton. "Prophecy," which opens today at Loews Astor Plaza and other theaters, is full of lingering lap-dissolves and elegant camera movements that suggest history is being made. Leonard Rosenman's soundtrack music is so grand it could be played at a coronation, and it's so loud that it pierces the ears and threatens the head. None of this fits the movie, which includes a fight between a man with an ax and a man with a portable power saw, and a number of attacks by the mutant monsters on random campers and forest rangers as well as on the film's principal players. For extra gore, there's the obligatory decapitation and the strong suggestion that one fellow is bitten in half at the waist.”
Writing in The New Yorker, Susan Lardner likened the Frankenheimer horror film to an “ill-cut jigsaw puzzle re-assembled by force by someone who has lost a few of the pieces.” (July 2, 1979, pages 66-67).
And writing for The Progressive, Kenneth Turan noted the goofiness of the monster: “Unfortunately, Prophecy begins to unravel the first time we get a good look at the monster, a berserk mess that resembles a nightmare version of Smokey the Bear.” (September 1979, pages 38 – 39).
Still, the film had at least one prominent defender in Master of Horror Stephen King, who copped to having seen the film three times. He felt that “settling into Prophecy is as comfortable as settling into an old easy-chair and visiting with good friends.” While he noted that the monster is “pretty hokey looking,” he admitted to loving the “old monster” as a spiritual sister to Godzilla, Mighty Joe Young, or Gorgo. (Danse Macabre; A Berkley Book; 1981, pages 205–206).
I should admit that I have seen this particular film, myself, considerably more than three times, and that I possess a kind of love/hate relationship with the bloody thing. Portions of Prophecy are extraordinarily rendered, namely a scene of high-suspense set in an underground tunnel, while other scenes are either cringe-worthy or intoxicating in their badness, depending on your love of bad movie tropes. Prophecy is self-important and preachy, yet it also possesses wondrous bad taste in terms of what it reveals on screen.
Some might (accurately) note that I have often praised horror movies on the blog that showcase just such lack of decorum. The problem arises, for this viewer anyway, in balancing the film’s incredible highs and lows. I can appreciate bad taste as much as the next fellow, but Prophecy is schizophrenic in approach.
“Here everything grows big. Real big.”
In a forest in Maine, a rescue expedition is murdered by an unseen monster.
Not long after, an environmentalist named Rob (Robert Foxworth) is assigned to determine the destiny of that very forest, because it is at the center of a dispute between American Indians and a local, industrial paper mill. Rob visits the forest with his wife, Maggie (Talia Shire) a cellist who has just learned that she is pregnant, but is reluctant to reveal the information to her husband.
In Maine, Rob and Maggie meet Mr. Isely (Richard Dysart), the paper mill owner, who tells them that lumberjacks and rescuers have disappeared in the woods and that he feels the Indians are responsible. He thinks they are attempting to bring to life an ancient legend about a monster with the eyes of a dragon, called Katadin. Rob soon meets John Hawkes (Armande Assante), the leader of the local Native Americans, and is not so certain his motives are impure.
Upon deeper investigation of the forest, Rob learns that the Indian people are suffering from a host of unusual maladies. Their babies are being born deformed, and many locals are losing their mental faculties, as if suffering from brain damage.
When Rob sees several mutated examples of the local wildlife (including a giant tadpole…) he becomes convinced that the paper mill is somehow contaminating the water supply. He finds evidence that mercury is being used in the mill’s refining process because it is cheap and effective. However, mercury contamination can also decimate healthy nervous systems. Worse, it can jump the placental barrier and deform a developing fetus, a fact which terrifies Maggie since she has eaten contaminated fish.
As Rob, Maggie, and Hawkes investigate further, Katadin -- a giant, mutated bear-- strikes again and again, even murdering a family of campers.
After Rob and Maggie take possession of one of Katadin’s mutated offspring, the Mama Bear turns her murderous eye towards their party, and a night of terror and death ensues.
“It’s not the hours. It’s the damned futility.”
Bad reputation to the contrary, there are moments of pure beauty and sleek terror in Prophecy. The film was lensed in gorgeous, mountainous British Columbia, and Frankenheimer and cinematographer Harry Stradling Jr. certainly have an eye for capturing the picturesque terrain. The movie features moments of breathtaking natural beauty, particularly in long, establishing shots. Much of the film’s running time is spent outdoors, in mysterious terrains of heavy mist, or impenetrable black lakes.
In contrast to those moments, the film also features moments of pure human ugliness. The paper mill is first seen in a long, moving establishing shot (from the vantage point of a helicopter in flight, approaching), and its dominance over the natural landscape is evident immediately. The approach to the environment-destroying paper mill is accompanied by Leonard Rosenman’s Wagnerian score, and the moment achieves a kind of portentous, ominous feel.
Similarly, I can’t write enough positive words about a sustained scene, late in the film, during which Rob, Maggie, Isely, Hawkes and a few others hide from Mama Katadin in a subterranean tunnel system.
These shots of terrified survivors are artistically composed, making extraordinary use of foreground and background fields, to capture the terror of those trapped in the caves. Frankenheimer’s editor (Tom Rolf) cuts brilliantly from one shot of worried survivors’ faces to another shot, to another…and the suspense builds and builds until it feels palpable.
I admire this sequence inProphecy in large part because it remembers that horror films must possess peaks and valleys, cacophony and silences. This scene represents the (brief) calm between surrounding storms, but every moment of apparent “peace” is spent worrying about the next attack.
Just look at some of these beautiful shots, pictured below. The blocking, the color palette, the focus on faces near and far, big and small, sell the terror of what remains unseen in the frame.
Note as well the image of the old Indian man, Ramona’s grandfather M’rai (George Clutesi) as flames are reflected upon his eye glasses. This is a shot that visually reveals how his world has been destroyed; how his people’s “protector” (Katadin) is actually but another destroyer, a monster.
Again, you’ve got to give the devil his due here. Frankenheimer knows how to stage and execute powerful visuals, and Prophecy features many such compositions.
Yet for every such moment of eloquent, sterling visualization, Prophecy also features sequences of horror that are, in a word, laughable.
The most ridiculous (and yet beloved…) of these sequences involves the giant bear attack on a family of innocent campers. The bear approaches the sleeping campers, and one young camper -- wrapped up in a yellow sleeping bag and resembling nothing so much as a giant banana (or perhaps a condom…) -- tries to hop away from danger.
The hopping away from danger is funny enough on its own, but then Katadin’s tail whacks the unlucky lad, hurtling him into a rock at warp speed…where the camper literally explodes on-screen.
After the camper and sleeping bag are pulped, feathers (from the sleeping bag, apparently), rain down, blanketing the frame. Generously speaking, the moment plays as high camp.
Or to put it another way, this scene is hilarious in a way the filmmakers surely did not intend. We were not meant to laugh at the murder of an innocent child, yet all the creative decisions in the scene are questionable…and risible.
Why make the unfortunate camper hop about vainly in the sleeping bag, instead of unzipping the bag, exiting it, and running from danger?
Why does the strike of Katadin’s tail hurl the camper through the air at speeds defying the laws of Physics?
And why make the camper and bag literally explode, and include the ridiculous sight of what appear to be chicken feathers falling to Earth?
Listen, I love horror movies and also boast a tremendous love for “bad” movies, or even genre movies that violate decorum. But the sleeping bag scene is so ridiculously vetted that it actually damages the credibility of Prophecy.
Similarly, the film’s valedictory moment -- with a rubbery second mutant rearing its ugly head -- ends Prophecy on a low note. The monster looks awful in the light of day, under the full glare of sunlight, and the moment is simply a pitiful “sting in the tail/tale” hoping against hope for a sequel. Like the sleeping bag scene, the final punch of Prophecy is humorously inept.
I wrote in Horror Films of the 1970s(2002) that Prophecy is “sometimes obvious, sometimes clever” in its approach to its thematic material, and over a decade later, I feel I can stand by that assessment.
The film’s best scene is actually one far away from the “monster movie” material, and set at a place of "real-life: human horror: the paper mill. As if shooting a documentary, Frankenheimer’s probing camera tours a real-life factory, a massive industrial park dedicated to transforming nature’s logs into shredded pulp.
Filmed in both exterior and interior with long informative pans across its grotesque girth, the mill is revealed to be an ugly, dehumanizing place dedicated solely to environmental destruction. Chemicals such as chlorine are deployed here, and the plant’s interior is bathed in an ugly, sterile, green-white light.
No preaching is necessary here because one of the prime gifts of film as an art form is its ability to reveal things to audiences that they have never seen before, but which nonetheless exist. I’ve never been to a paper mill, but Prophecycertainly makes a compelling case about one's capacity for destruction. I also like how the film attempts to portray Isely’s character in less-than-villainous terms. The paper mill owner makes a memorable speech about supply and demand, one that reminded me of my own career as a professional writer and consumer of paper.
I’ve written how many books? And how many copies have been sold? How many pieces of paper is that, exactly?
How many trees destroyed is that?
I’m also on the fence here regarding Frankenheimer’s treatment of Maggie. This is a character that learns she is likely carrying a mutated fetus in her womb. Maggie becomes so obsessed with this (horrific) idea that she takes Katadin’s youngling as her own, essentially, during the film’s last act, carrying it round on her shoulder and protecting it from harm. At one point, the monster baby seems to nurse from the blood on Maggie’s neck-wound, furthering the metaphor of mother-and-child. Yet the film gives the audience no catharsis regarding Maggie’s ultimate disposition.
Does she deliver the baby or undergo an abortion? Is the baby born mutated or healthy? If it is mutated, can Maggie and Rob love it anyway?
Prophecy doesn’t provide any information or dramatic closure on this key character/plot point, instead focusing on that rubbery final sting-in-the-tail/tale. In the end, the dopey monster movie aspects of the film thus win out over the excavation of character and theme. I sure hope Talia Shire complained, because it's clear from her performance she gave the film her all.
Prophecy is one of those horror films that I return to at least once or twice every five or so years, and I suspect that is the case because there’s so much potential evident in the film. In certain moments, Prophecy possesses a kind of undeniable visual poetry. In other moments, it is pure, unadulterated schlock.
I suppose that as an optimistic film reviewer I return to Prophecy again and again because I keep hoping to see something that I’ve missed or overlooked, or to discover that somehow the balance of poetry to schlock has changed for the better.
As of this 2013 viewing, however, it hasn’t.
I’ll let you know in 2020 if I feel differently. Meanwhile, below you'll find Prophecy sleeping bag kill in all its bloody glory.
This source material apparently invites the wackiest filmmakers to try their hand at its adaptation. Derek Jarman's moody lighting and maniacal tone give this no shortage of intrigue, but it's hardly a definitive The Tempest. The high point comes early with Antonio's arrival on the island, washing up and wandering the place in the nude. It's a reminder that Jarman's power is in his prurience, while scenes that don't operate on such a base level fall flat. At its zaniest, this can be either downright irritating or entrancing like when Elisabeth Welch performs "Stormy Weather" to a crowd of handsome sailors in the finale.
282. (21 Nov) To Forget Venice (1979, Franco Brusati) 38
The dramatic possibility in To Forget Venice is mostly squandered, despite a strong premise where a gay brother and lesbian sister return home for a visit with their partners. The film is strongest at its midpoint, where at a wedding the siblings recognize how far they are from the norm of small town heterosexuals. They cannot share a dance with their partner, vaguely explain they're unmarried to people they haven't seen since childhood, and longingly look at the happy couple realizing they won't get a day like this. But instead of fleshing out these characters or their romances, the film instead focuses too much on their ailing opera singer mother. It's totally unwilling to show gay affection, suggesting this is a cowardly as well as a wasted opportunity.
I cannot conclude that Marsha turns in some really special work in Chapter Two, her performance adds some life to the movie and prevent it from becoming a cure for chronic insomnia. Her luminous, interesting presence and impeccable delivery make you go on with the movie. Still, since she's not able to pull of the harder, more emotional scenes.
Jill Clayburgh gives a really charming, likeable performance in Starting Over, that really is much better than the film it's in. She creates a very human character that seems very easy to relate to. Although her chemistry with Burt Reynolds is not perfect, the most important thing is that Jill is able to tell you why Phil fell in love with Marilyn. Very enjoyable lightweight work.
Bette Midler's performance is a real emotional roller coaster that's outstanding in every possible way and does so seeming natural all the time. She's everything that people like to see on screen, she indeed sings, dances and dies. I could mention her loud breakdowns, her amazing singing or her tender moments with Frederick Forrest, it wouldn't describe properly how fantastic she is.
Jane Fonda is nothing short of amazing in The China Syndrome. What could seem to be one of her least passionate performances is in fact one of the most mysterious and layered ones she's ever given. As usual, she commands every scene as well as develops her character beautifully, adding new layers and dimensions to her in every minute. Jane so wonderously portrays Kimberly's awakening and development as a person that you just marvel at every little detail in this performance.
Sally Field is perfect as Norma Rae. She developed this character with great care and expertise and you just constanly feel how much compassion she has for this woman. Every single scene, every single monologue of hers is exceptionally done by her, making it especially difficult not to fall in love with her and the character. A deeply affecting, wonderful, unforgettable performance, the true highlight of a great actress' career.
So I can proudly announce
that the winner is...
Sally Field
in
Norma Rae
You got what you wanted Sally. :)
Final thoughts: What a year! Three truly knockout performances that will be really high in my ranking. No matter how strict I tried to be, the work of these three women was just unbelievable. Sally won this for me rather easily though I'm really sad that I can't say goodbye to Jane with another win. In the end, I narrowed it down to the two of them, Bette fell behind a bit (I love her and would be my pick in many other years). Jill and especially Marsha were far behind these amazing ladies, but I found many things to be respected and loved in there respective performances. Overall, a wonderfully interesting year, which is right up there with the best (1989 is still my favorite, though, for whatever reason, 1979 is very close).
If you think that Jane won't get a special tribute after this, something's seriously wrong with you. :) She'll get it from me.
Omissions:
Vera Pap in Angi, Vera *My pick* (in a tie with Sally)
About the next year: I'll get to do a year from a decade I rarely cover, let's leave it there. Let's say that this is the very first Oscar year that Jane Fonda took part in (even if it was a small one) :)). I can't part with her, sorry.
I imagine how Jane Fonda, Jill Clayburgh and Marsha Mason all must have been like "DAMN!" when Sally Field took home the Oscar over them for a role that they all passed on. Sally Field basically swept all the awards for her performance as the textile worker Norma Rae, who's fighting for a union in Martin Ritt's Best Picture nominated film, Norma Rae. I don't really think that her win came as a surprise for anyone, save for Bette Midler maybe, who still seems to be somewhat pissed by this particular loss of hers. Although Sally may not have won by a landslide, I think she pretty much had it in the Oscar in the bag.
One of the reasons for having an advantage over others was that Sally Field was starring in an important, controversial movie that received a Best Picture nomination. And I have to agree with The Academy here: Norma Rae is a profound, upsetting and uplifting piece of work, which is a beautiful story of a woman's development as well as a political movie. It deserved all the nominations and was worthy of the Oscar for Best Original Song for the moving theme of "It Goes Like It Goes". I was also wondering whether or not the other actors deserved nominations for their respective performances. On the one hand, I'm not sure since 1979 was a strong year in Best Supporting Actor.
On the other hand, Norma Rae is The Sally Field Show and therefore she overshadows every other actor in the movie, no matter how beautifully they support her (this is not criticism in any way, it's more of an observation about the movie itself). If there's an actress to whom a one-woman-show is suitable, it's Sally Field who always dominates the screen with her non-apologetical, almost shameless emotionality. She approaches her characters emotionally rather than intellectuall, which made her the perfect choice for complicated women, like M'Lynn from Steel Magnolias, Maggie Wyczenski on ER (Abby's bipolar mother) or her latest role, Mary Todd Lincoln. And that's also why I think her work in Places in the Heart didn't work on every level. Her persona is just not fit for being toned down, she's way too vivid and colorful to play ordinary, repressed women.
Of all the possible choices for Norma's part, I don't have difficulties imagining Jane Fonda or Marsha Mason as Norma since I believe that both of them would have done an excellent job portraying the soul of a revolutionary (for Jane, it wouldn't have been a real challange) and yet I'm glad that even Jane turned down the part (mind you, this rarely happens to me). Sally Field made Norma Rae her own in such a way that she herself also disappeared completely into her. There are no boundaries anymore between the character and the actress. She applies The Method in the most in the most unusual and exciting way, fabulously adjusting herself to the character and vice versa.
I've seen people being turned off by Sally's very first scene where her character is yelling to the doctor about how her mother became deaf and although it indeed feels like being kicked in the butt right away, I felt that was necessary for the introduction to the character. Norma is not a person who likes beating around the bush, she's the kind of person who's wearing her heart on her sleeve and doesn't hold back anything. However, I felt that, unlike Bette Midler, Sally tried not to completely get carried away by the part because overacting could easily work with The Rose, but it could have ruined Norma's character completely. I was delighted by the fact that Field figured out that Norma was a raw and emotional person, not a wreck. Sally exceptionally balanced subtlety with over-the-top screaming and all of that served the character.
Also, what totally amazes me about this performance is that Norma Rae is not far as baity as it sounds, it's just a damn difficult part to pull off and yet Sally succeeded brilliantly. First of all, Sally's Southern accent is just impeccable and so believable that I actually looked up where she was born after I finished the film (she's a California girl, actually). It really is an authentic portrayal of a Southern working-class woman without any pity or feeling of superiority from the actor's part. Sally portrays Norma with the maximum amount of compassion and understanding.
And this is probably the greatest achievement of Sally, which was most definitely the reason why she won the Oscar: this passion about her character is almost contagious. Not only do we sympathise with her as her audience, but we also get to see her values, we get into her head and she revolutionises our way of thinking about the issue of the movie. I suppose Martin Ritt was aware of the fact that the movie's success and effect was all due to Sally and I guess choosing the actress who gave the world The Flying Nun was risky (even though she'd given an acclaimed performance in Sybil). However, Sally, in my opinion, did more than communicating "the message", she made us all decide what we think about the importance of an issue. And this kind of a move can be so refreshing among Hollywood movies when everything is all prepared for us and we don't even have to think. Sally touches both your heart and your brain as Norma.
Also, the way she develops this character is nothing short of extraordinary: she portrays Norma's awakening so brilliantly. She points out that Norma may not be the most educated or intelligent, but her courage and passion sets the screen on fire (to say the least). As I said, her passion is contagious. Norma is actually in many ways like Kimberly Wells from The China Syndrome: she gradually becomes aware of the world surrounding her and it's in every way an uplifting journey for the viewer as well. Sally didn't choose to be as subtle as Jane, I don't think one can hold that against her since subtlety simply doesn't fit the character.
Sally is seriously so fantastic in this movie and her acting works on so many levels that I can't even choose her greatest scene. If you're looking for a subtle one, her conversation with her children is the one that stands out the most: the quiet tenderness that seems strange from that character at first becomes so effective and heartbreaking in just two seconds and Sally conveys so many emotions in the that quietness. However, if you're looking for a big scene that went down in film history, the big riot in the factory has to be the standout. She's loud, unapologetic and totally brilliant and makes you associate the word "union" with her forever.
Quite simply, Sally Field is perfect as Norma Rae. She developed this character with great care and expertise and you just constanly feel how much compassion she has for this woman. Every single scene, every single monologue of hers is exceptionally done by her, making it especially difficult not to fall in love with her and the character. A deeply affecting, wonderful, unforgettable performance, the true highlight of a great actress' career.
In terms of sci-fi movies and collectible toys, 1979 was a banner year.
Movies such as Star Trek: The Motion Picture, Alien, Buck Rogers in the 25thCentury, The Black Hole and Moonraker premiered that year, and every title on that list also saw memorable toys produced by Mego Corp.
I collected toys from all those sci-fi franchises, but never had the full line ofMoonraker action-figures, alas.
Still, I vividly recall seeing these 12.5” -tall action figures on the shelves at Toys R Us and wishing for them.
Recommended for children three and over was this action-figure of Roger Moore as James Bond, described here as “The World’s Greatest Secret Agent…Legendary Commander 007.” On the box is emblazoned the legend: “Action-packed Spy Adventures in the Fabulous Realm of Space.”
The most amusing facet of the action-figure, however, is that Bond wears a (loose) bow tie over his space suit.
Other figures in the “fully articulated, fully poseable” line included Holly Goodhead, the menacing Jaws and Drax. I remember seeing all of the figures in stores many times, save for Drax, and to this day, Jaws fetches a pretty penny on E-Bay.
What makes this particular Bond toy special and memorable to me is that Moonrakerrepresents the first occasion since the 1960s, I believe, that James Bond action-figures were mass produced and widely available. This is the first time, in other words, Bond was in toy stores in his 1970s Roger Moore persona.
I also had a Moonraker model kit in 1979, which, of course, was merely a space shuttle model with special decals.
Marsha Mason received her third nomination in the Best Actress category for playing Jennie MacLaine, a fictionalized version of herself in the movie Chapter Two. Marsha hadn't received any awards for this performance, only a Golden Globe nomination in Best Actress - Musical/Comedy where she really didn't have much of a chance of winning, either considering she was nominated alongside the powerhouse performance of Bette Midler. I suppose Chapter Two combined with Promises in the Dark ensured Marsha's position in that year's Best Actress line-up. I'm not sure, though, if she was able to get ahead of Jill Clayburgh (probably not) so unlike the other years, Marsha didn't have any chance of winning (not even her biggest fans love this performance of hers as much as, say Only When I Laugh).
Chapter Two, quite frankly, is a terrible movie that I have no intention of rewatching in the foreseeable future, only if someone's life depends on it. Although it's not Gloria or The Morning After level of horribleness, it's pretty much like Afterglow: pointless, boring, it's just dragging with the viewer literally praying for it to end quickly. I really admire Neil Simon as a writer, but I suppose his material always works much better on stage (except for the outrageously funny comedies, like The Odd Couple or Barefoot in the Park). His exagerrated, unrealistic style works wonderfully on stage, but leads to forced and boring movies that are uplifted by the performances. I must say, though, that nobody uplifts Chapter Two: not James Caan and not even my dear Valerie Harper.
Well, nobody, except for Marsha Mason. Just like in Cinderella Liberty, Marsha doesn't give a totally amazing, mindblowing performance, but she illuminates the screen anyhow whenever she's present in a scene. Although I wouldn't say that I'm a huge fan of hers, I admire her luminous aura that's best displayed in The Goodbye Girl. It's true that that her marriage to Neil Simon gave some boost to her career, her performances have their respective merits as well. While Simon wrote some nice parts for Marsha, she was the heart and soul of these pictures.
That being said, in Chapter Two, Marsha had the easiest/hardest part: she basically had to play herself. Some people regard the performances of Gloria Swanson and Mickey Rourke in Sunset Blvd. and The Wrestler, respectively, as inferior ones since they basically recreate their own experiences. In those cases, you can easily dismiss these arguments since some similar events in the respective lives of these two performers only made the part more suitable for them. However, Marsha actually replays her life on the screen (in a fictionalised, more dramatised way, probably).
First of all, Chapter Two tries to become a touching potrait of two complicated people, searching for new meanings in life. In the beginning, Marsha's scenes rank with her best performances: her delivery is amazing, she gets all the lines, she's lovely, funny, dynamic and you just cannot wait to see more of her. Actually, I believe the scenes with James Caan kill her balanced, excellent work. First of all, Caan gives such a bored/boring performance that puts James Franco's Oscar hosting into shame. That being said, the chemistry could have worked between the two actors like it did in Cinderella Liberty, but, alas, it doesn't.
Also, while the movie was considered a Comedy at the Golden Globes, I felt it fell (flat) between Drama and Comedy. It pushed hard to be seen as serious, but Neil Simon just couldn't resist writing one or two ironic one-liners. As a result, for most of the time, the actors are standing there, completely clueless about what to do, hoping that the respect for Simon carries them to success. Unfortunately, I felt that abour Marsha as well. Sometimes she gave the character from The Goodbye Girl, sometimes she played her role from Only When I Laugh (in advance). I could almost see her crossing her fingers, saying "please let it go right". And it's actually right occasionally.
Still, the previously mentioned luminous presence of Marsha makes up for a number of things. Whenever the movie is unbearably boring and slow, Marsha makes you go on with the film. She develops her character quite well, actually, and it's interesting to see her how this movie obviously resonates with her own life. Although she's obviously playing herself, she fearlessly reveals intimate details about herself.
The movie gets a total chaos after the honeymoon and although Marsha seems to give up trying, she stands tall as much as the movie lets her. Although the last scenes seem to be painful recreations of The Goodbye Girl, I didn't mind, since Marha did what she does best: being charming and portraying happiness. Few people can deliver a happy ending like she does, that's for sure.
So I cannot conclude that Marsha turns in some really special work in Chapter Two, her performance adds some life to the movie and prevent it from becoming a cure for chronic insomnia. Her luminous, interesting presence and impeccable delivery make you go on with the movie. Still, since she's not able to pull of the harder, more emotional scenes, I'd say that this was more of a respectable, but a bit failed effort from a strong performer. What do you think? And thanks to Alex again for providing me with access to the film!
Bette Midler, also known as The Divine Miss M received her first Best Actress nomination for playing Mary Rose Foster, "The Rose", a tortured singer modeled after the late Janis Joplin in the movie The Rose. Although The Rose was obviously made as an Oscar vehicle for Bette Midler, Sally Field's Norma Rae stood in the way of Bette's Oscar dreams. Nevetheless, Bette was able to gain tons of fans of this work of hers and her supporters must have been backing her while voting though I suppose that wasn't enough to get ahead of Sally. Still, I believe Bette was a close second.
The Rose is a movie that doesn't offer anything revolutionary in its genre though I believe it's much better than Lady Sings The Blues (a movie made with very similar goals for the famous lead actress). At least the filmmakers in this case had the decency not to claim it was an autobiography so that they can adjust it to Bette Midler's talent and persona. Mark Rydell's never been a favorite of mine (the only film of his I enjoy is On Golden Pond, but that's mostly because the autobiographical connections with the Fondas) and this film is definitely not his masterpiece. Although sometimes it's painfully dragging along, it's intense enough occasionally to capture the viewer's imagination (I must add, though, that it can be because of The Rose's character and Bette's performance). Frederick Forrest gives a really proper performance that adds lots of balance to do movie and balances the over-the-top acting of Bette excellently. A well-deserved Oscar nomination.
And we have Bette Midler in her first big starring role as The Rose. At that point, Bette was no stranger to show business, having won Gramys and gaining acclaim for her work on stage. Since she was already a big star, it was time for her to break into the film industry as well and I believe there wasn't a better role for her to achieve that goal. It obviously has Oscar written all over it and it's very similar to the case of Diana Ross in 1972. Take the tragic life of a singer, adjust it a little bit to the lead actress and you can sit back and enjoy the superlatives. However, there's an undeniable difference between the two ladies: unlike Ross, Bette's talents are not restricted only to music, she's also a damn brilliant actress. Bette Midler essentially embodies everything that show business is all about: outrageous comedy, over-the-top drama, towering presence, singing, dancing, love, laughter and death.
Unfortunately, I'm not acquainted with Bette's singing career, but from what I heard, her songs are not the most earth-shattering rock records. While Mary Rose Foster's style couldn't be more different from what Bette's used to, The Divine Miss M's singing rock like nobody's business. I suppose this is the point when I can criticise myself why Bette's singing mattered here and why Marion's lip-syncing didn't in La vie en rose. Since people probably expected basically Bette's performance from Marion, it must have been quite a disappointment. However, Bette had an advantage over Marion: in Mary Rose Foster, she created a brand new character whose life was loosely based on that of Janis Joplin. It would have been just as difficult to imitate Janis' real voice (even for a brilliant singer like Bette), but Midler did something even more important: she evokes Janis Joplin's dazzling, fantastic aura that makes it so easy to understand why the whole world went crazy for her. Bette's turn is a Star Turn with a capital S and a capital T. :)
Not only does Midler perfectly recreate Janis' star power on the screen, she also points out spectacularly why people are so obsessed with this singer or any other star that they run on stage to touch her, too feel her close to them. Midler so effortlessly concludes that it's not only Janis Joplin that she recreated in The Rose. It's also The Rolling Stones, The Beatles or even stars like Michael Jackson, Madonna or Lady Gaga. Bette draws a perfect portrait of ultimate stardom: she portrays all the love towards stars, but also how this immense fame isolates them from the rest of society. In the end, The Rose is just as isolated and as much of an outcast as a homeless person.
And if you thought that this all was enough for a spectacular performance, you don't know the half of it. :) Bette brilliantly shows addiction and how damaging alcohol and drugs are to The Rose. She doesn't hold back at all and mercilessly reveals the torture of this woman, making this movie a real emotional roller coaster. The Rose is a real wreck in every possible way and her breakdowns are real treats for anyone who loves over-the-top acting. Although it's true that there isn't one subtle moment in Bette's performance, I think this chaos has an even greater effect on the viewer. I must quickly add, though, that Bette is perfectly aware of how far she can go and even though she's almost crossing the line, she manages to remain believable and harrowing instead of total crazy overacting.
The more tender and playful moments of this film come when Frederick Forrest enters the screen as Houston, the boyfriend of The Rose. His presence brings balance to the movie and Bette's performance and these two are playing off each other wonderfully and they show how these two people are changing each other's lives.
That being said, the most painful and harrowing moments of the movie comes when The Rose returns to her hometown. The Rose's desire of proving her own greatness to her folks at home is brilliantly portrayed by Bette and that's what makes her scene at the store just as painful as her phone call from the football field where she's nothing short of spectacular: she's able to show vulnerability and suffering so painfully that one just keeps marvelling at the intensity of Bette's performance. At the bottom, she holds everything back. This breakdown is different from everything that we saw from The Rose: it's not loud, not over-the-top, it's something deeper and more disturbing. Witnessing the last hours of a person's life is always hard for the viewer but Bette makes it almost unbearable. I tell you all, it's probably the greatest scene I've witnessed since the start of these reviews (it's up there with Jane's tape scene from Klute).
This intensity is what makes the very last scene of Bette even more cathartic and uplifting: what you can hear is just a divine voice that changed many lives. The death of The Rose is inevitable and Bette's singing makes it so dramatic and earth-shattering that only compares to an opera. And this is Midler's greatest achievement: showing all the emotions of a human being with her over-the-top but ultimately mindblowing acting.
All in all, Bette Midler's performance is a real emotional roller coaster that's outstanding in every possible way and does so seeming natural all the time. She's everything that people like to see on screen, she indeed sings, dances and dies. I could mention her loud breakdowns, her amazing singing or her tender moments with Frederick Forrest, it wouldn't describe properly how fantastic she is. It's indeed a piece of work that make Bette perfectly deserving of the title of "The Divine Miss M" and also a big
Jill Clayburgh received her second Oscar nomination for playing Marilyn Holmberg, a neurotic schoolteacher having an on-again-off-again relationship with Burt Reynolds' character in Starting Over. Jill had previously received a Golden Globe nomination and yet I'm very surprised that she managed to pull off this nomination, considering the fact that Jill was in contention for a Drama as well. I suppose this film was more successful and had more hype than La luna. Interesting enough, three of the Comedy Actress nominees went on to receive Oscar nomination (that's something that quite rarely happens). I'm not sure if Jill or Marsha was the fifth finally, but I guess Jill had more leftover love from last year (though you can say the same about Marsha's 1977 nod).
Although Starting Over tries to be a very intelligent romantic comedy, much in the style of Annie Hall, it becomes a weak imitation of that classic way too often. It's much more Hollywood (change Woody to Burt Reynolds) and it's humor is much less sarcastic. In fact, I didn't find this movie funny at all despite the fact that I knew which parts were supposed to make me laugh. That being said, Burt Reynolds gives a proper performance, though hardly one that screams an Oscar nomination to me. Same goes for Candice Bergen, who's really sexy and is singing that catchy song excellently, but fails to give any depth to her character. I'm not surprised by her nomination, though (she's a sexy Hollywood insider, so there we go).
The only thing about Starting Over that's not screaming Hollywood seems to be Jill Clayburgh, fresh off her An Unmarried Woman fame. She obviously doesn't fit the criteria of the sexy Hollywood lead in this movie: first of all, co-lead at best and she's also not sexy in a very traditional way. I suppose Clayburgh's career was very much about challenging Old Hollywood's idea of how a woman really "should be" and in fact, she tried to portray the reality. And I suppose that's what made her so popular in the seventies, when American cinema took a radical turn from what it was and didn't become what it was later in the eighties. Jill Clayburgh is one of the typical 70s figures.
This way, Marilyn Holmberg also seems to be out of place in Starting Over, especially comparing her to Candice Bergen's character: Marilyn is neurotic, insecure and she's basically the definition of the ugly(ish) duckling that doesn't turn out to be a beautiful swan. Although she may be an ugly duckling, it's just impossible not to fall in love with her, when she starts yelling at Burt Reynolds in her first scene. It's easy to see why she made such a strong impression on him.
What I really enjoy about this performance is that it's coming from an era when quirky didn't mean the annoying Zooey Deschanel, but something utterly loveable and natural. What I mostly loved about Jill here is that the charm and wit of Marilyn was coming out of her so naturally and effortlessly. This kind of performance can seem incerdibly artificial if the actress doesn't possess a natural charm. Many people compare Marilyn to Diane Keaton's Annie Hall and even accuse Jill of imitating Diane, which has some merit, though I feel it's more the screenplay that tries to outdo Annie Hall, making Marilyn even weirder, even more neurotic and putting her in even more awkward situations. Although Jill occasionally surrenders to that cause, most of the time she manages to add her very own touch to this character.
Also, if I had to find a better comparision to this character, it would be Diane Chambers in Cheers. Shelley Long's flawless, perfect performance showed three years later (on television, Hollywood was too busy making popular blockbusters at the time) what Marilyn should have been, how she should have been written and acted. I think Long would have done miracles with Marilyn, turning her into one of the most iconic characters of the seventies, with a very simple thing: subtlty. If Jill's was also a perfect performance, I probably wouldn't be able to imagine anyone else in this part, but in every scene, I was wondering how brilliant Shelley Long would have been (and how amazing Ted Danson would have been in Burt Reynold's role!!!). You could blame it on the fact that Cheers has been on my mind lately (true), but I cannot ignore the obvious comparisions in the character.
What made me think about that is also the most brilliant chemistry ever between Danson and Long, which Reynolds and Clayburgh do no have. I should obviously think that despite all of the differences, Phil and Marilyn were destined to be together and I always had my doubts if they really were. However, I felt that it's more of Burt Reynolds' fault than Jill's. Since he failed at showing the dilemma of the character believably, Jill's excellent job seems to be wasted and the movie is about how they are supposed to be together, no matter what.
That being said, Jill Clayburgh excels the most in the scenes when Marilyn has meltdowns over Phil's behavior. Jill points out brilliantly how Marilyn becomes the most honest when she's raging and yelling. Although it's not that obvious that Marilyn is putting on a performance with her calm self, she seems way more honest this way. :)
Jill was able to make up for most of the mistakes of the screenplay: although it never intends to make Marilyn more than an interesting turn in the story, Jill created something more complex that really is, by far, the biggest achievement in the movie. Jill could have done even more with this character if she had been given better material, but she' charming even under the limitations of the story.
It boils down to one thing in the end: Jill Clayburgh gives a really charming, likeable performance in Starting Over, that really is much better than the film it's in. She creates a very human character that seems very easy to relate to. Although her chemistry with Burt Reynolds is not perfect, the most important thing is that Jill is able to tell you why Phil fell in love with Marilyn. Very enjoyable lightweight work.
