Archive for Tuesday Weld

It’s a Weld, Wald, Wild World

Posted in FILM, literature, MUSIC with tags , , , , , , , on April 9, 2019 by dcairns

Did you know there’s an Elvis movie written by Clifford Odets? Because I did not know there’s an Elvis movie written by Clifford Odets. Nobody told me. Thanks a lot, my so-called friends.

WILD IN THE COUNTRY isn’t maybe as great as that makes it sound. Elvis actually acquits himself well, and gets to say “Hate’s a rattlesnake bitin’ his own tail,” the line he was born to say. But it clearly started life as just a straight drama and then they had to add songs when they cast the King. Fiona said, “Oh no, this feels weird,” when he first started in on the vocals. You needed Michael Palin in HOLY GRAIL guise to come in and shout, “No singing!”Inserting Elvis into a film opens up problems, it seems, despite him being a charismatic screen personality and a perfectly good, very natural actor. But the need to have him be Elvis on top of whatever he’s nominally supposed to be playing makes for an uncomfortable duality. And this bleeds over into the blurbs on the back of the DVD cases, which are a whole art form unto themselves —

Presley specialised in playing the bad boy, and this is Elvis at his baddest! ‘Wild in the Country’ features Elvis in one of his greatest and most overlooked roles; a rebellious backwoods delinquent gifted with a rare literary talent. Hope Lange is the sympathetic psychiatrist who tries to help Elvis […}”

That’s when I laughed out loud. I think the key to this form is to get Elvis’s name in as often as possible. I may try rewriting other movie synopses, inserting Elvis at every opportunity. If this Sunday [as I write this] continues to be so rainy, I may have to.

The Odets dialogue is not delivered quite as “hard and fast” as its author preferred (see SWEET SMELL OF SUCCESS for an example of how it should be done) but is quite effective, hampered only by director Philip Dunne (“who never lets us down” – The Cleopatra Papers) and his devotion to sluggishness.

“[…] that’s an eventuality that won’t be eventuatin’.”

andTuesday: “I wanna get out of here. I’m young. I want a good time out of life.”

[I want to hotcha-cha-cha!]

Elvis: “Then do it, hon. Paint your toenails red and run away.”

Tuesday: “It needs a man to go to Hell with, because that’s what I want. Hours and hours of Heaven that just slides on down to Hell and we don’t care how or when it ends. You’re wild, Glenn, just like me. Unhappy wild!”

God I love Technicolor.

Here’s Sheila O’Malley’s majestic appreciation of the Elvis oeuvre, a field so rich WITC does not even rate a mention. But this is a superb piece.

WILD IN THE COUNTRY stars Toby Kwimper; Joanna Kersey; Sue Ann Stepanek; Anne Frank; Cpl. Crump; Cherry Valance; Astronaut Frank Poole; and Alfred the butler.

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Never Put Durning in the Corner

Posted in FILM, MUSIC with tags , , , , , , , , on July 24, 2015 by dcairns

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A warning to all — never put Charles Durning at the point of an “A” composition. This may be a little academic now that Durning is no longer with us, but it’s still a valid point.

I shall elucidate. An “A” composition is a flat two-shot with a third party in the background. You can see how this forms an A lying on its back — the edges of the frame are the feet of the A, the distant figure is the point, and the eyeline between the two profile characters makes the horizontal strut of the A.

The third party can look from one principal player to another, and adds interest to the shot — you get extra depth, possibly A LOT of depth if the third character is far away, and you get someone who is full-face, which gives you more emotion than the two profiles. And by being attentive, this third character can subtly tell the audience that they should pay attention too. By looking from one profile to another, the third character can even signal to the audience which character to focus most attention on at a given time.

John Frankenheimer is a huge fan of the “A” — his live television days accustomed him to working with extreme deep focus, and he used every trick in the book to replicate the KANE-like effect in his movies, hence all those diopter shots that split the focus into two parts, or even three.

I WALK THE LINE (1970) is a pretty good southern drama with Gregory Peck straying from his usual straight-and-narrow, stalwart roles, as a sheriff who falls hard for moonshiner’s daughter Tuseday Weld. The smart, honest man is out of his depth once he falls to intrigue, and is easy prey for stupider characters, like Deputy Durning and moonshiner paterfamilias Ralph Meeker, since they’re used to living their lives in the shadows, manipulating and spying on others.

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This is a scene where Peck is under pressure from Federal man Lonny Chapman to do something about the moonshine trade. Durning suspects already that for some reason Peck is reluctant to do so. I’m not saying what he does here is wrong, precisely, but it certainly puts the entire attention on him, leaving Peck and Chapman as blurry silhouettes, featureless despite all Frankenheimer and DoP David M. Walsh’s deep focus.

Durning actually leans in, seemingly to get a better listen but blatantly just to be more clearly seen himself, and to attract our attention. And he makes a stupid, hilarious face, as if frozen in the act of eating a sandwich while grinning.

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The movie is quite good — Weld is enticing and natural as ever. Peck can do conflicted. He can’t quite do lust, and looks a bit uncomfortable as he tries hard not to seem fatherly. Estelle Parsons is touching as Peck’s wife, who does not inspire him with Tuesday Weld type passion. Never has. The marriage is very much like the bleak, lifeless one at the start of SECONDS, only Parsons quotes from Reader’s Digest to try to fill the yawning silences.

There is also a major example of the Frankenheimer Dog.

Frankenheimer, as I will argue in a forthcoming piece for Masters of Cinema (watch this space), has a particular affinity for emptiness, and he finds his ideal image in a deserted house, former home to pack’s deceased mother and sisters, which he tries to use as a love nest. The ruined residence affords Frankenheimer just all kinds of compositional pleasure.

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Music is by Johnny Cash, including the title song. All the music is in the form of songs, which, as is the way of such brilliant ideas, creates a tricky problem during one scene of trauma that just wouldn’t be helped by lyrics, no matter how gravelly. Frankenheimer dubs in a LOW DRONE — not, I think, a Johnny Cash composition. A sound like feedback from an incorrectly inserted audio jack. The sound of disconnection, of emptiness.

Hardcore Stenography

Posted in FILM, MUSIC with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 30, 2014 by dcairns

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So, INVESTIGATING SEX — I had a hard time getting to see this. I heard about it when it was new, ie before it failed to come out, from Emily Bruni, who plays the wife of Alan Cumming and the lover of Til Schweiger in it, and she spoke very warmly of writer/director Alan Rudolph, whom I love (usually). Not long after, I shared a car with Alan Cumming, but I didn’t get a chance to ask him much of anything as he was on the phone most of the time. He seemed nice, but very very busy.

Meanwhile, years passed, and the film never got a UK distributor (despite featuring Dermot Mulroney, Julie Delpy, Neve Campbell, Robin Tunney, Nick Nolte, Tuesday Weld…) and didn’t play any festivals near me.

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Finally I obtained a copy, which proved to be dubbed into Greek, then another copy in English and subtitled in Portuguese, and then the film turned up on YouTube in its entirety, and I quite simply failed to watch it.

But now I have, and it joins the pile of really good Rudolphs, funny and sweet and romantic and just a little strange. At the mansion of an eccentric millionaire (Nolte), a group of (initially all male) artists, writers, filmmakers gather to recount their observations and experiences of sex. It’s 1929, so dressing a couple of lady stenographers in sexy black uniforms and employing them as combination secretaries/muses seems cool. The known factors (Campbell, who never previously seemed able to act, and Tunney, whom I don’t recall well enough from THE CRAFT because that had Fairuza Balk in it) are excellent, but the film also has up-and-comers Terrence Howard and Til Schweiger and Jeremy Davies — and the aforementioned Bruni, whose face has all these unexpected swoops and arches, like a wondrous funhouse Fonda, and John Light, neither of whom has caught on as they should (though they both work regularly, which is the main thing). Both have the kind of faces that make you lean forward, and maybe even cock your head sideways sometimes, which I regard as a good thing.

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Funny how Rudolph’s ensembles — the main thing he shares with his mentor Mr. Altman, an exec producer here, is a desire to let the supporting players nose ahead of the leads — never really attracted a big audience. They’re always intriguing mixtures, like a great party you wish you could throw. Consider —

Kris Kristofferson, Genevieve Bujold, Keith Carradine, Lori Singer, Joe Morton, Divine…

Jennifer Jason Leigh, Campbell Scott, Matthew Broderick, Peter Gallagher, Wallace Shawn, Lili Taylor…

The film doesn’t have a Mark Isham score, normally an essential trait of any Rudolph joint, nor does it have songs per se, but Ulf Skogsbergh’s slightly eerie music — woven around the idea of the succubus that tantalises Mulroney’s character — is a standout. Why hasn’t he done anything else in movies? Google suggests he’s a photographer, unless there are two Ulfs.

Highlight: Nolte’s confession of a love affair with a donkey.

Retrospective, anyone? Or an Eclipse box set?

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