All Aboard for Laughs, Romance, and Nazis!…a look at SHIP AHOY (1942)

Oh, Those Glorious MGM Musicals! It’s 1942 and the second World War is raging with no end in sight. Jingoism was all the rage, and you’d be hard-pressed to find a movie from this time period that didn’t have some semblance of pro-Ally themes. Everyone was doing their part in the war effort, and Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer was no exception. In June, they released Mrs. Miniver, the perennial Hollywood classic that offered a poetic rose of hope in a time and place that had people scared about what the future would bring. The film was the biggest box office success of the year and picked up six well-deserved Academy Awards. However; that same summer, the film MGM released just prior to Mrs. Miniver is one that might not be so prestigious and might not resonate with anybody whatsoever, but it’s certainly just as entertaining and worthwhile- for different reasons. I’m talking about Ship Ahoy.

In times of war and turmoil, just as we need our spirits ignited and inspired in the crusade for change, we also need a little time to escape. In this case, the place we escape to may be called Puerto Rico, but it’s really to that shimmering, indescribably identifiable dream factory of the MGM Musical.

Really, this is one of the minor efforts in the MGM canon, and even though it’s formulaic, boy oh boy does it work. The plot is screwball-ish: When she is set to perform with the Tommy Dorsey Orchestra on a cruise ship en route to Puerto Rico, dancer Tallulah Winters (Eleanor Powell) is tricked into believing that she has been chosen by the US government to secretly transport the prototype for a new, highly magnetic mine across the ocean. What she doesn’t know is that she’s really working for spies who are posing as government officials. Said spies (aka Nazis) lifted their idea from a pulp novel written by the prolific Merton K. Kibble (Red Skelton), who happens to be aboard the ship with Ms. Winters after he overworks himself to the point of a nervous breakdown and is convinced to take a vacation. The cruise ship, overflowing with beautiful dancers, was picked by his so-horny-you-can’t-believe-it assistant, Skip Owens (Bert Lahr). Merton and Tallulah meet, fall in love, there’s a misunderstanding, they separate, Tallulah almost gets assassinated, they get back together. In a subplot, Skip pines for Fran Evans (Virginia O’Brien), another of the ship’s performers, but she is absolutely not having any of his shit. Everyone gets together in the end.

Occasional Marx Brothers director Edward Buzzell helms the project, with a screenplay and story by Matt Brooks and Bradford Ropes.

The movie was originally to be called I’ll Take Manila, with the destination being the Philippines rather than South America, but at the end of 1941, the country fell to Japan and the title was promptly changed, along with the title song, which became “I’ll Take Tallulah”. Speaking of music, this movie’s compendium ain’t that bad.

 

Ship Ahoy features a couple of musical interludes from The Tommy Dorsey Orchestra. They make me feel like I’m at my Grandma’s house watching the reruns of The Lawrence Welk Show that she loved so much. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

 

 

 

 

 

Although Ship Ahoy didn’t introduce any new standards to the American Songbook, or any notable numbers to the oeuvre of Movie Musicals’ Greatest Hits, nothing ever falls flat. There’s a reason these people are called “Legends”. Everybody can sing, dance, and clown around with their own unique style. Well, everyone except Tommy Dorsey, God bless him, who is rightfully relegated to mostly playing his trombone. The man was a genius, but there’s a reason you hardly hear him talk. Plus, I think he must have had trouble with lip synching, because at the end of the picture, when everybody links arms and sings a reprise of “Last Call For Love”, he does not seem to be on top of things. He does the same thing a year later in the final number of DuBarry Was a Lady (also with Skelton and O’Brien); unusual that such a skilled musician would have trouble with something like that.

Get your shit together, Tommy.

James “Stump” Cross and Eddie “Stumpy” Hartman get a rare chance to work their Vaudeville magic on film in one of their only screen appearances. Their sole scene (conspicuously edit-friendly for those lovely Southern states) is one of the most memorable in the film.

One might be surprised to see that Frank Sinatra is in this movie. I certainly was. In the opening credits, The Tommy Dorsey Orchestra gets a combined billing, so despite being the lead singer for the band, at this point in his career, Frankie had about as much clout as any goony triangle player in the back row. This was his second movie, and he wouldn’t receive a legitimate screen credit until his next one.

Each night on board the ship, there seems to be a de rigueur tacky theme for dress, including Hawaiian and… pirate?While Skelton and Powell have good chemistry, the pairing that everybody lives for is the one between Fran and Skip. Lahr’s near-manic, vaudevillian hurricane is no match for the icy bite of O’Brien’s dry-as-hell comebacks. One wishes the two had worked together more often.

The role of Skelton as a writer is reminiscent of the Wally Benton character he established in Whistling in The Dark, his leading-man debut made the previous year. Where Wally automatically uses his prowess as the writer of mystery scripts to his benefit, Merton has to dig out his inner “creativity” when he finds himself caught in jams similar to his characters. Skelton was already a Top 20 Box Office Star and headed his own radio show, which, in the year Ship Ahoy was released, would move from the #4 show in the country to the top spot, averaging more than 32 million listeners a week. In 1942 alone, he made four movies for MGM, all of them featuring his regular roster of co-stars, like Ann Sothern, Virginia O’Brien, Rags Ragland, and Donald Meek. He would also produce the second of his “Whistling” trilogy, Whistling in Dixie with Ann Rutherford.

Ship Ahoy was a sizable hit, grossing around two and a half million dollars. And yes, in the same year you could watch Red Skelton and Bert Lahr get drunk out of their minds while Eleanor Powell sent the FBI morse code messages through her tap routines, and you could watch Elsa and Rick weather love and war together in Casablanca. What a culture!

They called her The Queen of Tap, and nobody’s ever come close to stealing the crown. Eleanor Powell’s illustrious but selective career (she made less movies than Garbo) was nearing its close. A dozen years after her screen debut, Powell was barely 30 years old. She would appear in two revues in the following two years, and then make a small appearance as herself in the Esther Williams vehicle The Duchess of Idaho in 1950. In the mid-fifties she became an ordained minister for the Unity Church and hosted an Emmy-winning, weekly daytime religious TV series for young people called The Faith of Our Children.

Powell as we last saw her in 1981, at the AFI tribute to Fred Astaire. She would succumb to terminal cancer early the following year.

Skelton was right around the height of his movie success at this point, but, proving time and time again that everybody loves a clown, more than a quarter of a century later, his long-running TV show would still be among the most supremely popular in the country. One of the most versatile and successful artists in the history of America, along with his acting Skelton numbered among his talents, painting, writing, and music composition, each of which he was a shockingly prolific participant in. After the abrupt demise of his still-Top Ten rated series, Skelton turned his attention to his other artistic efforts and saved most of his performing for the live stage. He was the most sought-after college act during the 1980s, outranking in popularity rock groups and “edgier” comedians more than fifty years his junior. That same decade, he produced a handful of successful specials for HBO, but ended his partnership after they failed to honor his request to not air his work in tandem with any programs that he deemed “too dirty”.

Besides performing, writing, composing, and painting well into his 80s, the latter part of Skelton’s career saw America’s Clown Prince being bestowed with a wealth of honors, including a “Doctorate in Foolology” from Ball State University, which he graciously accepted in-character as Clem Kadiddlehopper. At the 1986 Primetime Emmy Awards, Lucille Ball presented him with The Governor’s Award for Lifetime Achievement. In 1988, he was inducted into the Television Academy Hall of Fame, and in 1993, he was among the first group of legends selected for induction into the Comedy Hall of Fame. He died in 1997.

Bert Lahr will forever have a reserved seat in the audience of cultural icons for his incredible performance as The Cowardly Lion, but for as skilled a comedian he was, people may be surprised by his dramatic credits. He was one of the first to perform in Waiting for Godot, and was named 1960’s Shakespearean Actor of The Year after his performance as Bottom in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. He made only a smattering of movies after Ship Ahoy, but remained active on stage and in television- not to mention being the face for Lay’s Potato Chips in a legendary ad campaign.

Lahr would reunite with his co-stars from this film throughout his career, including acting in a televised version of Anything Goes with Frank Sinatra. One of his final appearances before his surprise death of cancer in 1967 was in an episode of The Red Skelton Show, where he and Red performed a series of Vaudeville-style blackout routines and an extended sketch taking place in Medieval England where he portrayed a slightly buffoonish monarch called King Foulup I.

The absolute last word in Deadpan, Virginia O’Brien is one of the most beloved comediennes from the Golden Age of the Hollywood Musical. She continued to appear regularly in movies (particularly with Skelton) until 1947. Her last appearance was as a reporter in the Disney comedy Gus in 1976.

Seen here with Classic Hollywood’s most endearing and lovable Fan From Hell, Skip E. Lowe, Virginia O’Brien rode the wave of her fan base all the way to the end of her career. She spent many years doing cabaret shows and oldies nostalgia tours, plus a live album in the mid-80s singing (what else) songs from MGM Musicals. She died of natural causes in 2001.

 

Oh, and as for that skinny kid who sang with the Dorsey Orchestra, nothing much ever came of him.

 

Still Suits Me- a look at SHOW BOAT (1936)

Literally everyone who has ever seen Universal’s 1936 production of Show Boat ends up saying some variation of the same thing: “This is incredible, way better than MGM’s, how come you don’t hear about it, why isn’t it glorified on home video, etc etc etc.” Lemme tell ya, it’s true. Show Boat is right up there with some of the best movies I have ever seen. I don’t use that phrase lightly.

Universal originally adapted the blockbuster stage show back in 1929 as a silent film with some sound musical numbers. Flash forward to 1936, where Carl Laemmle Jr. gets it in his head that it should be remade. Universal’s biggest director was James Whale, who had made a few horror masterpieces, which were the studio’s stock in trade at the time. I don’t know who got the idea to take the director of Bride of Frankenstein and attach him to this Saga-of-the-Old-South musical romp, but it worked out brilliantly. The cast is a knockout as well.

The incredible Irene Dunne, then in her 30s, was cast as the “lead” Magnolia, who is 18 at the start of the picture. But let’s face it, Irene Dunne can do anything. She made this movie right after Roberta and Magnificent Obsession and right before The Awful Truth and Love Affair. Talk about versatile! I fucking love Irene Dunne.

Helen Morgan, who originated the role of doomed Mulatto Julie, is cast in the role again, and it’s no wonder. She played Julie in the 1929 version as well. Unfortunately, life was imitating art and Morgan had a serious drinking problem. She doesn’t look ill and she still acts and sings to perfection. Although you’d never know that she had health troubles, she’s still a performer that carries an indelible sadness in her eyes, perfect for the role of Julie. You can tell she’s been through some shit. She would die of cirrhosis of the liver in 1941.

Paul Robeson. This is the one thing everyone remembers about the movie. The football player-turned singer- turned actor- turned civil rights activist is a highly beloved figure, and it’s a darn shame that Show Boat is one of his only screen representations. He didn’t originate the role of Joe on stage, but Jerome Kern said that the song Ol’ Man River was written with Robeson in mind. You can absolutely tell. His rendition of the song is definitive and earth-shattering.

In the role of Queenie- Hattie McDaniel! Everyone loves Hattie! A couple of years prior to her historic Oscar win, McDaniel is keeping up her excellent work. Queenie and Mammy aren’t really different characters on paper, but Hattie does a marvelous job of crafting two separate and memorable characterizations.

TV fans will remember Charles Winninger as Barney Kurtz, the ex-vaudeville partner of Fred Mertz on I Love Lucy. One can’t help but associate Barney Kurtz with Captain Andy- you get the impression that way back when, Mertz and Kurtz might have worked with Captain Andy. I really like that old vaudeville style of performing, but you could never get away with it today.

Familiar face Helen Westley plays the comedic relief shrew Parthy. Westley does her job very well. She’s in the same vein as Florence Bates. Cunty matrons in Old Hollywood movies are always funny, equipped with flowery hats, bustles, and tiny eyeglasses on sticks, suitable for giving you a clearer vision of the unscrupulous, unorthodox behavior going on around you.

Show Boat spans a timeline about as long as Gone With The Wind, but at like half the runtime. I’m not super familiar with the stage version, but from what I’ve read, it’s one of those super old Broadway shows that goes through a new iteration every time it hits the stage (Anything Goes is another). There’s much talk of the show’s themes of racism, a commendable effort to talk about something that people would have trouble talking about for decades. Hell, it’s 2017 and we still have trouble talking about it. Although race is a factor, I think the movie’s major point of discussion is the triumph of women. In the face of everything, Magnolia and Julie just keep rollin’ along. I’m sure the race stuff was toned down because of censorship, but the Strong Independent Women angle is much sharper.

And besides, even though its support of a semi-racial romantic relationship can certainly be called “progressive”, it’s still 1936, and the depiction of black people can get a little muddy…

Julie is half-black, half-white. Even though in the South anyone with just “one drop of Negro blood” is looked upon as tainted, she still has the support of her husband and her theater troupe- a very very admirable viewpoint. At the same time, Magnolia specializes in Coon Songs. This is where we run into some issues. Are we showing this from an historical context? Minstrel shows and Coon Songs went out of favor by the early 20s, so is James Whale making fun of the “cheesiness” of this backwards performance art? The film’s depiction of the one-act melodrama put on by the Cotton Blossom crew is very obviously (and very hilariously) a satire of bad theater, so I guess we could infer that Gallavantin’ Around is performed with a bit of a wink.

Queenie and Joe are straight up stereotypes. It’s a testament to how INCREDIBLE these two actors are that they move past the roles of a mammy and her lazy black husband and turn them into two real people, with a real relationship. Queenie is playful and no-nonsense. She works hard and her husband’s aversion to any kind of physical labor drives her crazy, but in the end, she can’t help lovin’ dat man. While it’s true that Joe doesn’t like work, it’s because he doesn’t see the point in it. While Magnolia and Julie are like the river in their ability to keep moving, Joe is like the river because he seems to have things all figured out. He ends up looking the wisest of any of the movie’s characters. In a cast that’s hard to beat, McDaniel and Robeson win the well-earned MVP awards.

This is certainly a James Whale movie. His films exist in a smoky black-and-white world that has detail, depth, and a lot of panning shots. It’s unlike any musical you’ll ever see. It failed to receive any Oscar nominations- 1936 was a decent year. The Great Ziegfeld was the big winner, along with the boring-as-shit Anthony Adverse. The academy chose to nominate Irene Dunne for her work in the charming comedy Theodora Goes Wild, which is definitely worthy checking out.

So why isn’t this thing more readily available? It’s worthy of a frame-by-frame restoration and a release on Blu Ray with extras up the wazoo. Well, what happened was, when MGM decided to make their version in 1951, they had to buy the rights to Universal’s version. They took hold of that sucker and didn’t let anybody see it until the 80s. It was on VHS and it’s been released by the Warner Archive on a barebones DVD at least once. It’s not that the MGM version is bad, it’s just that it’s tough to beat something so wonderful and so unique as this. Turn it on and you won’t be able to turn it off; watch another version and you won’t be able to stop thinking about this one. Once it’s over, you’ll be humming the Jerome Kern tunes and shuffling and shimmying around your house like Irene Dunne did 80 years ago. Metro Goldwyn who?

A Dame Can’t Catch a Break: a look at THE SCREAMING WOMAN (1972)

Oh, Miss Olivia. What would we do without you? The last shining relic of Hollywood’s Golden Age is still an active industry figure in the 21st century with her highly-publicized lawsuit against every middle school girl’s favorite hack producer Ryan Murphy. It’s mind-boggling that we have a real, honest-to-goodness 1930s Star sharing her peace of mind in 2017. We’re getting headlines about Kylie Jenner’s pregnancy and Olivia de Havilland’s badassery. Indiana Jones need look no further, because the Arc of The Covenant is being stored at No. 3 Rue Bénouville in Paris.

It probably goes without saying that Miss Olivia is one of my favorite actresses. Between two Academy Awards and over fifty years in film, she’s made some real gems. From her wonderful collaborations with Errol Flynn all the way to Melanie Wilkes, it’s easy to see that she tries very hard to only pick projects with the utmost value…

But even living legends can stray from the path.

The Movie of The Week empire in the 70s was like the awful bastard child of Playhouse 90 and The Loretta Young Show. ABC found tremendous success in producing fairly cheap small-screen teleplays with various celebrities. When The Screaming Woman premiered in January of 1971, MoTW was a Top 5 Nielsen Ratings Smash Hit, pulling in even more viewers than shows like Here’s Lucy, The Carol Burnett Show, and The Mary Tyler Moore Show. It could be argued that once in awhile ABC produced a movie that was groundbreaking enough to still be remembered today (Brian’s Song, That Certain Summer, The Morning After), but most of the time it was fluff. Very entertaining fluff. A common sub genre besides the “Very Special Movies” is the “Female Hollywood Royalty In Garbage Horror/Suspense”, where we were treated to austere fare like Celeste Holm in Death Cruise, Gale Sondergaard in The Cat Creature, and Gloria Swanson in Killer Bees. 

Honestly this isn’t even close to being the most batshit crazy thing Gloria Swanson has ever done.

The Screaming Woman. Ay yi yi yi yi, as Ricky Ricardo would say. The plot concerns Laura Wynant, a wealthy woman who has just finished up a stay in an asylum. Literally the day she gets back, she’s walking through the grounds of her home when she thinks she hears a woman screaming under the earth. When she tries to tell her family this, they see a quick opportunity to prove her insanity and take her money.

Let’s get serious for a minute, Livvie. I know that Barbra Stanwyck and Bette Davis also made shitty TV horror, but if every Golden Age leading lady jumped off a bridge, would you do it too?

I won’t spoil too much for you, but there’s absolutely no ambiguity as to whether or not there really is a woman in the ground. You may find yourself wanting to skip some of the more tenuous scenes, but I personally enjoy watching a recipient of the Presidential Medal of Honor run through the streets of Beverly Hills offering kids money to dig up her yard.

If you’re a fan of Hush… Hush, Sweet Charlotte (I actually watch it more than Baby Jane), you might enjoy seeing Cousin Miriam and Dr. Drew working together again. They also collaborated in Airport ’77 and a Love Boat, but that’s a whole other kettle of shit.

Twilight Time just released HHSC on Blu Ray, btw.

If the title mislead you to think that this movie’s soundtrack only featured female shrieks, you’re mistaken! It has a score (and I use that term loosely) composed by John Williams! When I saw his name pop up in the end credits I had to backtrack and try to remember if there even was a score. There is. And it sounds exactly how you think it does.

It takes a very specific person to enjoy a movie of the week. I am one of those persons. You’ll know within two minutes whether or not you want to watch the whole thing. Interestingly, a huge number of these movies are available on DVD and for free on YouTube, all of which look like they were transferred from VHS. I’m curious about the copyright of these. I guess if ABC just didn’t want to claim them, I wouldn’t blame them.

In my eyes, The Screaming Woman isn’t really a disaster. How can it be with such a Grand Dame at the helm? Let us please remember that Miss Olivia De Havilland is one of the world’s purest, most precious treasures. Don’t fuck with her, Ryan Murphy.

 

The Divine Wears Trousers- a look at QUEEN CHRISTINA (1933)

Garbo. What more can be said? The enigma. The androgynous beauty. The bone structure.

God bless William Daniels, amiright?

“Queen Christina of Sweden is a popular monarch who is loyal to her country. However, when she falls in love with a Spanish envoy, she must choose between the throne and the man she loves.” Synopsis courtesy of IMDb.

1933 was a hella good year for Hollywood. Pre-Code was in full swing, with Mae West’s self-penned starring vehicles I’m No Angel and She Done Him Wrong holding two spots in the top ten moneymakers of the year, along with the decidedly racy original version of State Fair and a watered-down version of Nöel Coward’s Design For Living. Queen Christina was #1. Marie Dressler took her final glorious bow in Dinner at Eight. Lucille Ball made her debut in Roman Scandals. King Kong, Footlight Parade, The Invisible Man, 42nd Street, Gold Diggers of 1933. Hepburn won her first Oscar for Morning Glory. Charles Laughton won his only Oscar for The Private Life of Henry VIII. The Three Stooges made their first short film. Fatty Arbuckle dies. Roman Polanski is born. RKO decides to pair up Ginger Rogers with a young stage performer named Fred Astaire for a supporting appearance in Flying Down to Rio. That’s just the tip of the iceberg.

Garbo is on top. Even though her career was more or less stellar until her final film, Queen Christina is her last huge triumph until Ninotchka. Thanks to her mentor and possible lover Salka Viertel, after this film she strayed towards stuffy European costume dramas that owed a lot of their financial success to the foreign market. You don’t have to be a member of the foreign market to enjoy Queen Christina, however. It’s a beautiful melodrama.

Garbo looks on in dismay when she realizes Adrian has accidentally sent her up the costumes for Little Lord Fauntleroy.

Per Garbo’s insistence, MGM very reluctantly cast John Gilbert as her Spanish leading man. Garbo and Gilbert had at one time been engaged, but things went downhill after Greta (not too unexpectedly) left her boi at the altar. Gilbert’s already toxic relationship with LB Mayer got worse when sound came along and his career took a nosedive. He was drunk, sad, and not too far from death when Garbo said that it was Gilbert or nothing for her co-star. He basically gets bottom billing in this picture. This movie is also ample evidence that Jack Gilbert had a perfectly fine speaking voice- contrary to folklore. Let’s also acknowledge that his daughter, the late Leatrice Fountain, had one of the most terrific speaking voices of all time. Look her up. I’m not kidding.

If Tumblr had existed during The Great Depression, the Garbo/Gilbert romance would be classified under definite Relationship Goals.

The role of Queen Christina is a perfect fit for our leading lady. The script was written (partially by Salka Viertel) with Garbo in mind, and, of course, QC is thoroughly Swedish. By all accounts the real Queen Christina was a flaming-garbage-dump-troll-of-a-woman. She was bisexual, though. And that’s a big part of the story. The “gender lines” are blurred here probably more than in any of Garbo’s movies.

Hot Stuff!

She wears trousers and comes off as real, real dominant. Physically and spiritually. You forget that John Gilbert is even in the movie.

This movie very famously has Gilbert’s Spanish Envoy character become attracted to Queen Christina when she’s pretending to be a fella. A man who falls in love with a woman pretending to be a man? This was, in fact, the year of Viktor und Viktoria, a German comedy that Blake Edwards would remake fifty years later to huge acclaim.

PhAlLiC!

Although it may seem pretty tame by Pre-Code standards, Queen Christina was actually one of the straws that broke the camel’s back in regard to William Hays being brought on board in Hollywood. It wasn’t as instrumental as, say, Baby Face, where Barbara Stanwyck fucks her way to the top faster than Joan Crawford on speed. But the scene that ruffled some feathers is pretty legendary. And rightfully so. In the film, Garbo and Gilbert have just had sex in an Oh-So-Swedish hotel room. (Gilbert has probably figured out his companion is a girl by now) The scene is literally five minutes of Garbo walking around the room so she can “memorize” it. A lot of credit is owed to her presence as an actress. It’s pretty much her eyes that make the whole thing so erotic. The music and cinematography don’t hurt, either. She also takes the opportunity to say a TERRIBLY BLASPHEMOUS LINE:

“This is how the Lord must have felt when he beheld the finished world with all His creatures living… breathing.”

This did not make the Production Code people very happy. The line was kept in the film, though. A similar statement made by Colin Clive a couple of years earlier in Frankenstein wasn’t so lucky.

During an MGM blackout, Ms. Garbo dons a Statue of Liberty costume and tries to find her way to the commissary.

Perhaps the most famous moment of the entire film is its final shot. A lot has been said about this- where Garbo takes the place of the masthead on her ship and proceeds to project every emotion all at once, while remaining completely still. Kind of like how they say black contains all other colors or whatever.

Grief. Pensiveness. Indifference. Arousal? Exhaustion. Hope. Swedish.

This final shot is like the pure diamond essence of Garbo. Project everything by doing nothing. If only we all had it that easy.

There’s a lot of discussion in 2017 about gender identity or whatever. It’s a shame Greta Garbo isn’t really brought up at all. By all accounts, she did whatever the hell she wanted and didn’t make a hero or victim out of herself. We could all take a page from her book.

It’s so cool that this was the highest-grossing movie of 1933. There’s something so funny and so foreign about the general public having good taste. In 2016 all the top ten movies were Superhero/Inane Kids’ Movies. Zootopia was good, though. And apparently Deadpool was, too. Why is it that a woman with a blank expression holds more excitement, energy, and emotion that every studio-trash blockbuster combined? No amount of CGI can create something with as much weight and substance as the shimmering celluloid face of this person who has been dead for more than a quarter century.

Greta Garbo was 27 when she made Queen Christina. As a point of reference, Kristen Stewart is currently 27 years old. Have a good day, folks.

“…Whatever that means.” a look at BLAKE EDWARDS’ S.O.B. (1981)

I’d like to preface this little discussion by saying that there’s no significance behind Blake Edwards’ S.O.B. being my “introductory” post. It just so happened that I was watching the movie the other day and thought to myself, “Now if I ever did get around to doing that whole blog thing, this would certainly be one I’d like to talk about.” I guess S.O.B. is sort of the catalyst that got me on here, trying to figure out how to use this damn website, so we have it to thank for that.

If you were to ask me for a short list of all-time favorite movies, Blake Edwards’ S.O.B. would probably make it into the Top 20, certainly Top 25. It’s a “comfort movie” for me. I have a thing for filmmakers who make movies that tear down/satirize the entertainment business. When Billy Wilder did it, it was Sunset Boulevard. When Sidney Lumet and Paddy Chayefsky did it, it was Network. And now, in 1981, Blake Edwards presents his own, uproarious, tit-filled, excretory farce of a picture with S.O.B. A moniker that does not, as some may guess, stand for “Son of a Bitch”, but for “Standard Operational Bullshit”, and boy, does this movie have plenty of S.O.B.!

It’s not short on stars either.

Above: 1981’s definition of Squad Goals.

A bit about the plot and its players:

Hollywood producer Felix Farmer has never been a critical darling, but his fluffy populist pictures always make big bucks for the studio, so he’s in good shape. That is, until he makes a movie called Night Wind starring his purer-than-pure, honest-as-the-Doris-Day-is-long wife, Sally Miles. Exploiting Sally’s image as America’s Sweetheart, Night Wind appears to be Cotton Candy On Celluloid. It flops. Boy, does it flop. Not only do the critics pan it, but nobody shows up at the theater. This literally drives Felix crazy. Our first encounter is of him lying on his deck, looking not unlike the Johnny Depp of recent years.

Above: The ever-loving Richard Mulligan, who won Emmys for Soap and Empty Nest turns in an Oscar-worthy performance as a man so crazy he would put Howard Beale to shame.

As if things weren’t bad enough for poor Felix in his fragile state, Sally decides to up and leave, taking the children and her violently gay assistant along with her.

Above: The only time Dame Julie Andrews™ isn’t wearing fur in this picture is when she isn’t wearing anything. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

Just as Felix is pulling off a half-hearted suicide attempt that leaves a Cadillac in the Pacific Ocean, several of Hollywood’s most despicable cronies are converging at Casa Crazy. They include:

TIM CULLEY (William Holden), an old friend of Felix’s and presumably the director of Night Wind. He loves booze, Sinatra, and underage girls.

DR. IRVING FINEGARTEN (Robert Preston), a slightly spaced-out, slightly effeminate, self-titled Quack, who might just be the nicest person in the building.

BEN COOGAN (Robert Webber), the neurotic, Jewish press agent who can’t keep his orafices shut.

POLLY REED (Loretta Swit), a gossip columnist who is the poster child for Harpies, Anonymous.

Above: Big Bill and his Jailbait. Holden must’ve had a thing for directors tearing the facade off the system, too. He appeared in Sunset, Network, and of course this little gem. S.O.B. was his last picture.

Above: The Music Man himself. One year after this, Bobby Baby would reunite with Edwards and Andrews for Victor/Victoria, which would garner him his first and (sadly) only Oscar nomination. 

Above: Culley, Finegarten, and Coogan. The Three Muscatels. Character actor Robert Webber should be given mad props for some of (most of) the things he’s made to do in this.

Left: A lot of this movie feels like the actors are using the scenery for an eating competition. Nobody fits more set pieces down her gullet than Loretta Swit. She’s marvelous. 

Another suicide attempt ensues. While trying to hang himself, Felix falls through the floor and lands on Polly, putting her in traction (Hooray! It doesn’t stop her for long, though). There’s a subplot involving a Marisa Berenson/Robert Vaughn/David Young love triangle. A party ends up being thrown at the beach house. It’s a party so depraved, so nasty, so very HOLLYWOOD that it snaps Felix out of his Blob State and into his FUCKING INSANE State. He realizes that all the public wants is sex, sex, sex! He talks the studio executives into selling him Night Wind so he can recut it into his modern-day Sodom and Gomorrah. Sally is contractually obligated to appear in the reshoots. One thing leads to another, and thanks to one of Dr. Finegarten’s shots, America’s Sweetheart goes wild in the way only Sophia Loren, Glenda Jackson, Jane Fonda, and Liv Ullman can.

Below: A candid shot of a post-injection, pre-boobie moment. 

Sally’s nude scene has got everybody buzzing, and the studio suspects that Night Wind could be a hit after all, so they convince Sally to use the California Community Property law to sign the rights of the film back over to them. When Felix finds this out, the result is an epic car chase and a shootout that leaves him full of bullets, but also full of hope that his death could mean “another ten million at the box office.” Suddenly, the industry that killed Felix is saluting him. The Night Wind soundstage is filled to capacity with Hollywood goons, including that double-crosser Sally and her imported Swami, who gives Felix’s eulogy. Culley, Finegarten, and Coogan aren’t present at the funeral. Neither is Felix. The three fellas got completely wasted and stole the late producer’s body so they could give it a viking funeral at sea.

Above: “What do we do if he catches anything?”

Now, I’m leaving out a helluva lot. I just gave a ridiculously incomplete plot synopsis. S.O.B. has a lot going on. It feels like every single joke has a callback or payoff, making for a seemingly endless knot of tiny subplots that don’t directly contribute to the main story of the making of Night Wind. The cast also features the likes of Robert Loggia, Stuart Margolin, Craig Stevens, John Pleshette, Hamilton Camp, Paul Stewart, Benson Fong, Virginia Gregg, and Larry Goddam Storch.

The screenplay, written solely by Edwards, is too sardonic to not be based on very specific events. We can at least assume that the pre-wet Night Wind is in reference to Edwards’ experience with Darling Lili. And there’s almost no need to draw attention to the fact that S.O.B. concerns a beloved director convincing his White Bread Wife to go topless for the sake of a movie. Unlike Night Wind, however, S.O.B. did not become the biggest moneymaker in Hollywood’s history. It was however, a decent critical and financial success. It holds a 90% on Rotten Tomatoes and made upwards of $15,000,000. It was the 50th highest-grossing movie of 1981. Impressive for a year that held the likes of Raiders of The Lost Ark, Cannonball Run, For Your Eyes Only, The Great Muppet Caper, The Fox and The Hound, Arthur, An American Werewolf in London, Mommie Dearest, My Dinner With Andre, Halloween II, On Golden Pond, Superman II, Chariots of Fire, and Reds.

Gee, I guess compared to Melting Nazis, Michael Myers, Werewolves, and Joan Crawford, Richard Mulligan’s overacting isn’t all that impressive.

This was the start of the Reagan years, after all. Excess was in. Now, I’m not knocking Reagan, but his “era” is darn easy to satirize.

It should also be of note that M*A*S*H* and Dallas were more or less at the top of the ratings game at this point. I don’t know if that’s why the movie features Larry Hagman and Loretta Swit, but it’s nice to see them here. Dallas was popular because from the early to mid 80s, primetime soaps were Da Bomb. And The Big D was certainly the best of them. M*A*S*H* was popular because in 1981 it was just about the only television comedy that had some semblance of a brain. Seriously. Look at the 1980-81 Primetime Schedule: Alice, Happy Days, Three’s Company, Too Close For Comfort, The Jeffersons, Diff’rent Strokes, The Facts of Life, The Love Boat. Keep in mind that several of these shows were certainly high quality- at one point. By this time, they were well past their prime. M*A*S*H*, Taxi, Soap, WKRP in Cincinnati, and Barney Miller were bright lights in a darkly saturated world. The early 80s are a low point for television comedy that could only be rivaled by the late 60s and, in my opinion, present day. (But that’s a discussion for another time.) No wonder Blake Edwards was fed up.

We can, of course talk about how relevant certain themes in this movie are today. In 2017, we can’t deny that studios are shifty and go where the money is. Gratuitous gimmicks pull in the masses who are willing to watch anything as long as it doesn’t challenge them. Dame Julie Andrews™ showing her tits is just as horrifying as anything on The Disney Channel.

Maybe S.O.B. would’ve gotten more traction had it come out two or three years later and it hadn’t been so very Blake Edwards. I’m not saying Blake Edwards is a bad director by any means. But he’s certainly flawed. Even with the car chases and shootouts and boobs, the movie needs to be trimmed down. I love Shelley Winters to death, but really, her subplot in this movie could’ve been taken out and nobody would know the difference. The fact that the Good Stuff (guns, boobs, vomit) is spaced so far apart wouldn’t be such a bad thing, if the intermittent dialogue scenes weren’t framed in Edward’s go-to Wide Shot. I know Wide Shots are good for comedy or whatever, but for goodness sakes, the last time anybody did this kind of thing was in the 30s.

I shouldn’t act like such a shit towards this movie. I really do love it, or I wouldn’t have wanted to briefly discuss it this way. If you watch S.O.B., you’re in for a really good time, especially if you like boobs. Take a shot every time you see a nipple in this movie. One shot for each nipple. Before you drink it, you have to quote Dr. Irving Finegarten and say “L’chaim! …Whatever that means.”

 

The hills are alive, indeed.