Archive for James Coco

Bare-ass in the Park

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , , , , , on November 10, 2015 by dcairns

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I’m slowly polishing off the Otto Preminger filmography. Chris Fujiwara’s career study names SUCH GOOD FRIENDS, scripted by a pseudonymous Elaine May, as the best of the late-period Premingers, and I have to agree. As he says, following a rocky opening, the film “starts to work,” though its tone is so weird it can be hard to be sure at times. If DAISY KENYON is a miraculous film for its era, avoiding telegraphing its views of its characters to a staggering degree — Preminger is often praised for his impartiality — SUCH GOOD FRIENDS takes things to an extreme only possible in the seventies. Tonal markers are absent, so that vicious humour can alternate with sincere emotion, but you’re not even sure the humour is humour, the emotion emotion.

Things sure do start rocky, though. Glenn Kenny pinpointed the most jarring and repulsive moments, which climax with sixty-four-year-old Burgess Meredith’s nude scene. Unlike Glenn, I won’t reproduce a frame-grab of that moment. But this is Fiona’s reaction  ~

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Fiona points out that Meredith was hanging out with John C. Lilly and was kind of a counter-culture guy, so letting it all hang out, or most of it, was probably a political statement for him. But Nobody Wants To See That, Burgess. Not even if you were TWENTY-four.

More damaging, for me, was a throwaway line by Dyan Cannon’s lead character, dealing with an inefficient (black) maid: “Jesus, why did they abolish slavery?” Making the audience despise your main character in the first five minutes of your movie seems unwise, unless there’s a definite strategy at work. Not all of us are as impartial as you, Otto.

Another uncomfortable moment: Cannon narrowly avoids being slammed by a speeding yellow cab, a fate which actually befell the director a few years later, resulting in brain damage similar in effect to Alzheimers. Eerie.

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As ever with Otto, shooting was NOT FUN. Cannon got a bollocking from Otto for laughing during a sad scene — but with an insensitivity not foreign to his nature, he was missing the fact that the laugh was IN CHARACTER. Cannon does hysterical laughter in THE LAST OF SHEILA after narrowly escaping death. As Fiona says, the quirky and unexpected moment is Cannon’s stock-in-trade. It’s what you hire her for. Maybe it’s Otto’s method at work, but her best moments in this one are portrayals of dazed shock and depression.

Lots of funny lines — a foot specialist at Elizabeth Arden’s (Fiona was thrilled to see the inside of the real place) droning on, “The trouble with most women is they don’t realize the foot is part of the body.” A few funny situations and a lot of impressively ghastly ones. “Please don’t let anything sexual happen with James Coco,” prayed Fiona, and right on cue it does, and Preminger, in prolonged takes, milks agonizing suspense from the humiliated fatty’s desperate attempts to conceal his corset from his surprise paramour as she undresses him.

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Is the movie mean? A lot of people seem to think so. I kind of felt it was compassionate on some deep level. All these people are running around being petty and sharp-witted and jagged and unfaithful. The death arrives and blows a hole in this vanity fair and shows what’s important. And then the film ends, because there isn’t really room in these crowded frames for what’s really important. But we get the point.

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Party Down

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , , , on May 5, 2014 by dcairns

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My impression of James Ivory was formed by the films I saw in the 90s, which seemed like the antithesis of cinema to me then but were often held up as embodying what our movies should be about. I didn’t enjoy A Room with a View when I was forced to read it at school — I found Ivory’s film slightly easier to take because it could be consumed more quickly, but really — he managed to get a bad performance from Denholm Elliott, which ought to be impossible, by miscasting him as a slightly vulgar lower-middle-class parvenu. It’s the only role in the book that doesn’t require a toff, and he cast a toff. I thought Daniel Day-Lewis was overdoing things too. What else did I see? THE REMAINS OF THE DAY, which was OK, but didn’t seem to know what to do with the book’s political dimension.

So THE WILD PARTY (1975) was something I entered into with middling expectations. It has an intriguing central duo: James Coco, who’s great, and Raquel Welch. at her loveliest — “THAT is a GODDESS,” declared Fiona — and giving probably her best performance, which is to say she’s OK, and she sings and dances real good. But here comes her director, cutting away from her big dance number in order to get back to his “plot” — unforgivable! Revenge for Raquel making him apologise to her in front of everyone after he criticised her performance a bit insensitively?

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Spirited rendition of “Singapore Sally,” sat in Buddha’s lap.

As is typical with Ivory, the costumes and art direction are a treat, and here the setting is one I like a lot more than the Edwardian era. And then there’s the movie’s strangest feature, the fact that it’s based, nominally at least, on a narrative poem by John Moncure March. Not many narrative poems get filmed. Dante’s Inferno, yes, but not so much Paradise Lost. In fact, Walter Marks’ script rewrites the story completely, upscales the social setting to suit Ivory’s poshlust, and makes it a kind of dream-amalgamation of the Arbuckle scandal and the Thomas Ince “shooting” — even the verse has to be substantially rewritten. Relatively small amounts of it are spoken in VO, but they’re my favourite parts of the film —

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Because, let’s face it, Ivory sucks at directing dramatic scenes. He can do homage to the decor, but his photographs of people talking are just that, and his scenes go so flat you could slide them under the door before they’re half over. Several times he actually keeps the film running as the actors walk off the set, as if what he really wanted was to film the empty room, all that scenic dressing at last unobstructed by the damn cast. The actors are all good — in medium shot and long shot. Everybody’s playing too big for close-up (except maybe Coco, sometimes), but they must have their close-ups.

I have to admit, though, the songs (by Marks again) are very enjoyable. The movie probably needed a Ken Russell to do full justice to them, but Ivory scrapes by.

Ultimately, the film stops an entire act too soon (but not soon enough). It mattered that Roscoe Arbuckle was a movie star accused of a crime because the press crucified him. It mattered that William Randolph Hearst was a press baron and his supposed victim a movie director because the press didn’t cover it at all. Why does it matter that “Jolly Grimm” is a famous comedian? After “fat guy goes nutzoid,” is he treated any differently than you or I would be? If not, why tell this story?