The Notorious Bettie Page

Saturday is traditionally "Take Out the Trash" Day. And although the film isn't trashy, the world it describes is...was...

This was originally written before Bettie Page's death in 2008.

The Notorious Bettie Page (Mary Harron, 2006) If Marilyn Monroe was the blonde goddess of sex in the 1950's, Bettie Page was her player on the other side. Marilyn was blonde, Bettie, brunette. Where Marilyn had success in Hollywood, Bettie never got beyond stag reels. Where Marilyn's sexuality was paired with a psychic pain, Bettie's was exuberant. Marilyn had booze and pills for sanctuary. Bettie had Jesus. Marilyn died fairly young. Bettie's still alive and kicking*** and getting royalties from the continuing interest in her, thanks to devotees such as artist Dave Stevens, who used her as the model for the girlfriend of "The Rocketeer." 

Both Marilyn and Bettie appeared as centerfolds within the first year of the publication of Playboy Magazine. And this has to be said--Marilyn had talent. Bettie...wasn't much of a dancer. Marilyn was the epitome of sex in Tinseltown, while Bettie worked in the squalid back-rooms of seamy pornographers, and panting "photo clubs."

Bettie's story mirrors Marilyn's: Pretty girl, growing up dirt-poor and abused, an early marriage that doesn't work out, and heading to the Big City to get into acting. There they diverge: Marilyn to fame and early death; Bettie to obscurity, long life and delayed fame. Bettie quit modeling in the 50's after she was hauled to DC to testify in Estes Kefauver's pornography hearings (she was never called in to the hearing room), and so both Marilyn and Bettie are frozen, existing in images of their prime.

Does the film by Mary Harron (who made American Psycho) explain Bettie Page and her circumstances and times? Not at all. The facts are laid out rather bare, stopping precisely at the hearings that ended Bettie's modeling days and goes no further. The closest it comes is her repeated defense for her nude modeling: "Well, I figure Adam and Eve were naked in the Garden of Eden..." Point taken, but it doesn't explain the spike heels, whips, spanking and ball-gags (The real Bettie always dismissed her bondage photos as being "silly" and paying the bills). Considering that most people only know her through her looks, Gretchen Mol does an amazing impersonation, right down to a clumsy dance in the end credits, that has just the right touch of amateur clunkiness. In fact, it's downright eerie. Still, it's nice to see this story have a happy ending. 

I think Bettie would be pleased to know that the copy I watched was from the Public Library. If that's not vindication, I don't know what is.

*** Bettie has been publicly reluctant to be photographed, preferring that people remember how she looked "in her prime." Still, an Image search for "Bettie Page" will reveal rare recent photos of her, and she looks GREAT! The woman's over 80!

Update: The "notorious" Bettie Page died December 11, 2008

The "3:10 to Yuma" Shoot-Out

Written at the time of the remake's release.

"Thar' Ain't Room in this Genre for Both of Us"

It's a truly fascinating experience to revisit Delmer Daves' strange little 1957 "oater" 3:10 to Yuma, and look at what James Mangold (Walk The Line) has done with it 50 years later. The original was a tight little psychological western based on an Elmore Leonard ("Get Shorty," "Out of Sight," "Hombre," "The Friends of Eddie Coyle") short story, but, as with his latter urban capers, character informs action. And it provided Van Heflin and Glenn Ford two of the finest roles of their careers. Ford, never the most inspired of actors, does wonders with the role of rogue-bandit Ben Wade, who's just as handy with his words as a gun, and is just as dangerous hand-cuffed and guarded as he is on the loose. No one is safe in his sphere and he rules a band of outlaws on sheer force of personality. 

Ford ekes out every subtlety, every nuance of his clever dialog and makes it look easy as taking a nap. His is a villain that never admits he's not in control of the situation. He's evenly matched by Van Heflin, looking haggard and down-trodden as a desert-farmer, who takes on a prisoner-transfer to save his farm, and maybe a touch of glory. Such a man is constantly in threat of temptation from the devil, and it's only his cussed stubbornness that makes him see through a job when other men give up. Heflin has the less fun role, but gives it his all, and is rewarded by a Divine Intervention that is announced by a choir of angels (who are backing Frankie Laine singing the inevitable Title Song).

So, 50 years on, what can Mangold bring to the material? Well, not much really. It's puffed up with some more action and the dialogue is retained (at least in spirit) a surprising amount of the time (original screenplay writer Hallstead Welles gets the lead screenplay credit). What new things are added are informed by earlier instances in the original and made explicit, some times thuddingly, and everything is tamped down in a nihilistic amoral rasp as is expected of a western post-Leone/Eastwood (but with none of the wit or stylism). 

More explosions (Two, instead of the none in the first), one in an unnecessary story-detour through a railroad camp. The one opportunity the modern makers had--that of fleshing out the denouement in terms of character, they manage to make even more false, by pumping up the action and circumstances, straining credibility to the snapping point. Russell Crowe's Ben Wade has the same dialogue, but none of the swagger, and enough skills that one wonders just what he's doing staying around the whole movie. Christian Bale's Dan Evans has the same motivations as the original, but his circumstances are worse, and to make his family connection explicit and situations more dire, his son sneaks along on the expedition. Still, its pretty obvious how much Mangold loves the original, seeing how much is retained, but the expansion of the story works against it, and we are left with what's good in the new one...being the old one.

But there are things missing, too. Besides the more colorful straight-ahead performances of Ford and Heflin, there is a marvelous one by the fine character-actor Richard Jaeckel, who makes Wade's lieutenant, Charlie Prince, a craftily-goofy rooster of a character. Ben Foster's performance has some of the characteristics, but is a stone-cold psycho (no doubt written that way) and pales by comparison.

And then there's that Frankie Laine song...

It's the 1957 version. The 2007 version goes to Boot Hill.

Manchester By the Sea

Good Grief!
or
Tough Love, Massachusetts-Style

I giggled in the lobby of the theater after seeing Manchester by the Sea. A matronly patron groused "Well, THAT was the 'feel-good movie of the year!'" And the voice in my head said "It wasn't SUPPOSED to be, you ass!" Then, I laughed. I could have been doing dialog from the movie.

First off, I loved it, it's definitely a highlight of what has been a dispiriting and disappointing year of movies. Part of the reason is that Manchester by the Sea is determined to not do things the usual "movie" (Hollywood) way. For all the touting of "grit" and "realism" in films, there's always a disconnect. People do not talk like writers talk. If anything, the interpretation by the actors "saves" dialog that is too pointed or too "on the nose" to be really reflective of reality. Movie-goers like to have things spelled out—you show them what's going and reinforce it by telling them what they're seeing. That is the typical movie-making way. You fill the audience in, so no one gets left behind, even if you have to beat somebody over the head with a tacked-on "looped" line.

Manchester by the Sea doesn't do that. At times, it comes frustratingly close to going in that direction and then simply...doesn't do it, not meeting expectations or going the easy way. I like that. I felt like the movie was treating me as an adult and that's a rare sensation in movie-going these days. 

But, then my definition of an adult—as opposed to a child—is someone who knows grief.

Lee Chandler (Casey Affleck, absolutely brilliant, but not showy, which will frustrate some) is a live-in handyman for four properties in a suburb of Boston. His life is "getting by". He gets called to solve problems for the tenants in as efficient a way as possible in order to get the job done. He shovels snow on walk-ways before people can fall and break a hip, he'll do plumbing, electrical—all non-union, all skirting code—janitorial. He gets it done. He's responsible. But, he has a low tolerance for bullshit, as he demonstrates with a tenant, who clearly has issues with thinking of things beyond her orbit. Chandler disrespects her and the super gets wind of it and tells him to apologize. This Chandler won't do, reminding the super very matter-of-factly that he's got a very good deal with him as an employee, but no, he's not going to apologize. The super caves "Alright, I'll talk to her!" Lee goes back to work.

But, a phone call throws him off his duties. He gets a call to go back to his home-town, Manchester—his brother's in the hospital. He goes and quickly, but by the time he gets there, his brother Joe (Kyle Chandler) is already dead of heart failure. He talks to the nurse, he talks to the doctor, he talks to family friend, George (C. J. Wilson), who was there when Joe was stricken. Joe had a bad heart, everybody knew it and it just gave out. The doctor expresses his concerns and Lee just brushes it off with a harsh "Fuck this...."

Cut to eight years earlier. A simple cut. No warning, no fade. A single cut to the day Joe is told he has congestive heart failure and has maybe five to ten years to live. "It's a bad disease," says his doctor. "Is there a good disease?" asks Joe. "Poison ivy," she offers. "Athlete's foot," Lee adds. That's the breaking point for Joe's wife (Gretchen Mol), who is trying to deal and she walks out of the room. 

Back to the present, and Lee is escorted to the morgue to see his brother's body. He lingers, unable to speak, leans over his brother's body and kisses him on the cheek. He leaves.

Joe's son, Patrick (Lucas Hedges) is in hockey practice and is having a bad day, when Lee shows up to tell him. Despite facing disciplinary actions for his attitude on the ice, he is allowed to go home with his uncle. "So that's the Lee Chandler," says one of his classmates. "You know, that story is total bullshit..." says another.

Back home at Joe's house, Lee is trying to make arrangements, find a funeral home, and deal with the logistics of his brother's service and burial...and trying to keep an eye on Patrick. Patrick is a diffident teen, and Lee is having a difficult time trying to be a supportive uncle and being there for him like Joe would have. He's unsure and agrees to have Patrick's friends from school come over to help him deal, even...somewhat reluctantly letting Patrick's girlfriend Sylvia stay the night.

But, the two males have a difficult relationship, especially given the difficult times. It's when he drags Patrick along for a meeting with Joe's lawyer that Lee gets his biggest shock: Joe has arranged for Lee to be Patrick's guardian in the event of his death. This floors Lee—financially, Joe has everything set up for Lee to take over (Patrick gets everything and Joe has set up a stipend for Lee to handle things until Patrick turns 21), but it means that Lee will have to uproot what there is of his life and move back to Manchester—which he does not want, nor does he want the responsibility of being Patrick's guardian, all for reasons of his own. Lee has a past there, and his ex-wife (Michelle Williams, who has few scenes but don't be surprised if she wins the Oscar for them) lives there and...well, he just does not want to move back.

This sets up a conflict between uncle and nephew that becomes contentious. Both of them have trouble communicating, anyway—Lee has few words, if any, and Patrick can't help but retort to anything other than derision and sarcasm. Patrick is without a parent, and is old enough that he wants to have a say in his own life, and Lee would just as soon give that to him, but he is legally and responsibly bound to take care of his nephew, who he loves...but....

I hate to cop out at this point, but to say any more will spoil some big reveals that Lonergan inserts at opportune times to show the reasons Lee does what he does, and why. Affleck plays his scenes with an internal intensity that may be off-putting for most audiences, but he's a man in pain and deeply grieving and infects his entire being right down to his soul. He's a man who doesn't trust himself, and doesn't trust the responsibility of taking care of his nephew. He's responsible and it scares him to death.

"Feel-good movie of the year?" Not in the least. But, I deeply loved Manchester by the Sea, which, like Lonergan's You Can Count on Me, feels less like a movie than life, which is messy and you have to pick your way through it, with no easy answers. It's not for everybody. But it certainly is for me.